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Why Indonesian Offices close at 1pm... 27 October 2000

You may have been wondering why Indonesian government offices close at 1 pm in the afternoon, you may not have been wondering at all, but due to the fact that I am the one writing this email and you are the one reading it, you are about to find out. The simple reason is the fact that for more than half the year, Indonesia experiences what is known as the rainy season. That means that on any given day, after noon and normally about 3 or 4 pm it will rain, but not always, Indonesia is known for being unpredictable in every way and the weather is predictably so.

Rain, you may think, that's not a problem, but that is only because you haven't experienced rain Indo style. It more or less stops the world. What must be remembered is that in this developing country, the family motor vehicle is usually a very undersized, 100cc motorbike, 125cc on a good day. This is sufficient for carrying a mother and father two small children and a baby as well as whatever shopping they happen to be carrying at the time. This is however not sufficient, in the words of a very cool Sheila on 7 song (sorry to those outside Indonesia who have no idea who Sheila on 7 are) to keep one's family out of the rain. That means that when it rains in Indonesia the traffic does not slow down a little like it may in Canberra, it completely stops as motorbike riding citizens from all walks of life become brothers and sisters, comrades and assistants in one great cause, the search for a bit of dry ground.

Household carports, roadside food stalls, petrol stations, small huts owned by flower sellers and basically anything horizontal enough to keep the rain off and high enough off the ground to fit an Indonesian under it, and that's not very high, becomes common property, all in the name of helping one's fellow rain drenched victim avoid getting any wetter than he or she may already be. Normal obligations, like buying a drink or eating in a food stall, purchasing petrol in a petrol station and actually being acquainted with the person whose driveway you are standing in are all ignored as this volatile nation unites under a banner of dark storm clouds, rain ponchos and wet feet.

The common methods for dealing with the rain are twofold, threefold actually but not many take the third. The first is diving for the aforementioned varieties of cover from aforementioned rain. The second is pausing briefly to don (wear, sorry my English is crap) a sheet of plastic that looks ridiculous but is superb for keeping all of oneself dry and then continuing. It needs to be said that I have refused to purchase same said sheet of plastic because I brought a perfectly good raincoat from home, so when it rains my jeans get soaked. The third and rarely used option is continuing nonetheless, while the rain falls, the roads flood and every inch of your body gets wet to the bone. Yes, I have often applied method three, thinking, "Nah I can't get any wetter", then thinking, "Strewth this is wet, how can I be this wet?"

Now I apply method number one, stand and wait. Waiting for rain in Indonesia takes a long time, and I never seem to start the process early enough so am always wet to begin with. But while one waits for the rain, one does not get bored, Indonesia in all its Indonesia-ness comes to the party. Waiting for the rain as I was this afternoon, second time in two days, once bitten twice shy, yesterdays jeans are still wet, I hardly noticed the 45 mins pass by. First there was a piece of a sign on some description bearing the numerals 22-23, I looked for meaning and couldn't find any. Then a thong, preferred Indonesian footwear, floated by down the edge of the street which had become a river, half a foot deep. That's funny I thought. A minute later, the matching thong went by , obviously looking for its friend. I was glad of closure and almost wished the thong well. Then a few minutes later, a wet, bedraggled Indonesian male of about 25 years half ran by, searching in the stream of water that used to be a road. I looked at his feet and saw that they were bare. Then it all made sense. I was about to yell out "Hey they're down there, went past about a minute or two ago, good luck", but despite the cultural appropriateness of this comment, I declined and let the lad go on his merry way.

If the thongs weren't enough, in a long elegant procession around the corner of the now completely flooded intersection came, in this order, 1 VB Commodore, 1 late model Peugeot, 1 early c1960 model Holden resprayed a green that would never have come out of the factory and 1 not so late model BMW 318i MI with full body kit. I was stoked. Australian cars do not normally make it in Indonesia, but Malang is an exception. Yes I am aware that Australians only made 2 of the 4 cars mentioned but that's not the point.

I waited again, spirits lifting as the rain eased and then went on my merry way, promising myself that next time I'd think of a better spot to be when Java decided to send down some precipitation.