The music is by:
ProleteR, a producer, musician, beatmaker and swing-hop pioneer from Toulouse,
Chinese Man, a French trip hop band originally from Aix-en-Provence,
Daniel Norgren, a Swedish singer-songwriter and musician known for his distinctive blend of folk, blues, and Americana.
Today’s story continues from from last week’s:
A walking menu-man has just ambled just inches away from my empty stomach for what feels like the umpteenth time. Yet, I have decided to maintain my strategic bench, waiting for the Great Venerable Kelud to roll past the feeding grounds of the equally Great and Honourable, though remarkably Humble, Hulk. My destination is Medan, on the island of Sumatra, far to the north of HHH’s La Vie en Rose. Thus, in a zigzag fashion, I’ll soon sail past HHHulk’s burrow No.2, and only then am I prepared to relinquish my claim to this starboard-side bench.
Right under the walking menu-man’s pitch-black mustache, the cardboard menu reads MINUMAN, followed by a long list of options like Beras Kencur, Es Kelapa Muda, or Es Laksamana Mengamuk. A similar list MAKANAN dangles from the poor man’s back. With no Nina in sight and the polite, well-spoken gentleman from Medan long gone, English is useless here. My starving stomach, encouraged by the walking menu-man’s loud propaganda, forces me to order whatever sounds appealing. I lock eyes with my tormentor’s glassy, pleading gaze and, in desperation, point to Es Laksamana Mengamuk.
Try as I might, I can’t shake off any of the many curious eyes intently looking at the painful process of my ordering of what I hope will be a well-earned brunch.
It seems everyone around was keen to see what and why I would pick. Now, my choice of Es Laksamana Mengamuk has lifted many thumbs up. If it sounds so good to everyone around, then what on earth have I just ordered?
When faced head-on, my fellow passengers smile warmly, but both corners of my vision catch something deeper—rintense, diagnostic, exploratory analyses that want to siphon off all or at least some my piggy-pink, blue-eyed exotic essence. I understand you, my dear travel companions, but can’t you see that I feel like a lone square peg among a thousand round holes?
Won’t you stop
until you drop?
My mango with milk has arrived, and now I know for sure that my favourite fruit is called “mengamuk” down here!*
I’m thoroughly enjoying this lexical-gustatory exercise in Basic Indonesian. I’d love nothing more than to commit “mengamuk” to my Indonesian vocabulary bank by filtering it through my taste buds and sending it all the way down my digestive tract, but I can’t! It’s just too cold for my sore throat, already ravaged by Singapore’s relentless air-conditioning frenzy.
In this event, I will have to let go of Malacca once again and ask the Minuman dan makanan walking menu man to take me down to whatever cattle feed box he is advertising here.
It’s 1.22 p.m., and my freezing dessert has just landed on a round table in the middle of Kafetaria Karia Karaoke on Deck 6. It’s a dark, loud, yet oddly cheerful place. A screechy flock of fledglings at the next table keep ordering and singing one song after another for just 2,500 rupiahs a pop. They can’t be more than 15, yet they’re pulling cigarettes out of their packets faster than they’re switching their songs.
Nasi Goreng** has arrived at my table. It is so loud that my desperate stomach can’t tell where the Nasi ends and the Goreng begins. Having profusely splashed the disoriented dish with the accompanying colourful condiments, a blurry haze has now come over my eyes. I’m beginning to worry that if I lose my faculties, they mightl pull me into their karaoke lineup—a decision I’m sure they’d quickly regret.
The joint assault of Nasi Goreng and its fiery accompaniments have burnt everything they’ve touched on their way down. I wonder what will happen at night. I’ve already calculated the human-to-toilet-hole ratio on Deck 4 at a terrifying 500 to 5. In order to temporarily mitigate the impact of my dessert and brunch, I am going to order a hot mug of Coclat As and a cup of strong black kopi, hoping the former might somehow help to “cloglat” or maybe even to “corklad” my “as,” and the latter might invite a fancy for one of the clove cigarettes, 1000 rupiahs a piece***.
I’ve calculated that the three-piece after-meal emergency order will cost the same as a permission to sing two and a half songs. It’s true that “I’ve got that word
I’ve got that tune,” but I much prefer to indulge in hazardous substances than to send the crowd of happy warblers out of Karia Karaoke with my pathetic rendition of whatever “I’ve been rehearsing under the moon”****.
With each puff on my highly carcinogenic kretek*****, the karaoke videos seem to grow sexier and sexier. How do you like them apples, my dear Allah? Could these new, ominous, spasmodic-orgiastic sounds now coming from the Mighty Kelud be your divine response to the profanities on the screen of Kafeteria Karia Karaoke? If so, then haven’t I just discovered the genesis of all those infamous Indonesian ferry sinkings?
It’s almost 2 p.m., and rather than sink, Kelud has come to a standstill. Were we supposed to dock at Pulau Karimunbesar on the port side? The warbling minors at the neighbouring table seem to be as baffled as I am. I could venture up to investigate, but the prospect of hauling Nasi Goreng, colourful condiments, Coclat As, strong black kopi, and kretek against the force of gravity makes the allure of Pulau Karimunbesar’s shoreline seem rather unappealing.
There is so much downward gravitational pull in me that even if the sirens from the lascivious karaoke screen were to dance half-naked on the beach, I wouldn’t muster enough desire to emerge. It seems that I’ll have to let go of the port side island in favour of a long, uncompromising nap down in the manger. Tuck me in, Lady Kelud…
* In fact my lexical-gustatory exercise in Basic Indonesian led me astray. I much later learnt that Laksamana Mengamuk means Admiral’s Fury, and that mango is just mangga in Indonesian.
** Nasi goreng is a Southeast Asian fried rice dish, usually cooked with pieces of meat and vegetables. One of Indonesia's national dishes.
*** 1000 Indonesian rupiahs is 6 US cents.
**** I’ve Got That Tune by Chinese Man .This song was chosen by Mercedes-Benz for its promotional campaign and by the 35th French Film Festival in Hong Kong as its theme (Wikipedia).
***** Kretek are unfiltered cigarettes of Indonesian origin, made with a blend of tobacco, cloves, and other flavours. The word "kretek" itself is an onomatopoetic term for the crackling sound of burning cloves (Wikipedia).
There will be much more from Lady Kelud in the coming weeks. And remember my dear subscriber that whatever’s been published before, can be found in the archives. Also, if you can’t find my post on Monday next week, well… it will mean that I have gone to do the next thing that is making me tick at that moment I time….