Surabaya, my place of solace. A show-off.
Black riots of noise, dirt and gear.
Praying. Barking. Dusting.
A sight of construction.
Calls of “Hello, Mister!” – Thumbs up “Good!” – “Photo. Photo.” Not interested in seeing the shoot at all, only about being shooted, smiling at an unknown face, at an unknown place, in a different culture, someday at a that-was-my-travel slide show, inviting the world to see Surabaya and its crazy inhabitants, hanging around on rickshaws, benches or perforated sideways. Maybe.
Sideways? Walk on the road is a better choice, drunken or not. Haven´t seen tourist during my stay. Not a charming, sightseeing city in general.
Busy. There is always a truck, car, rickshaw, bemo or bicycle to get loaded or unloaded.
Dirty. A churned backyard of a hell´s kitchen. My feet looked like the inner of an exhaust. Two days of walking, until the hard skin was a bloody storage of a blister field. Walking on blood, greasy! But who fuckin cares, didn´t wanna a miss the corner, the next and the passed. My head a sun´s high noon. A hardness test for my flip-flops.
Ordinary and unique. Browsing around, getting lost in the narrow
variety of colors, hidden neighbourhoods, inspiring a city of paradises, with its open air kitchens and small gardens, leveled, hanging, roof-shaped.
Inviting. Stopped counting how often I was pleased to join, at one of the hundreds warungs, for kopi, beer, nasi or a smoke. Police men presenting me bottles of water, like on a marathon man´s run, reminding me to moisten the drain of my dry ripped innards. Gaging on pollution. My cambodian scarfs again saved my sweat. My white shirt seems to absorb still the yellow of the sulphur trekk. Weird.
Running into roadworkers, young men, wearing metalshirts and -caps, tried to but “No”, no answer. Maybe Surabaya only brings up metal bands, but has no stage, to praise the lords. No sign of a dark place, pub, club or garage, only facebook profiles, no message, no respond. A dissapointment. Even though after a day of torturing my feet, maybe would have been a short mass. Fixies, Skaters, BMX riders, street dancers… but no english, no melting stage.
No nightlife, no disasters, no mayhem, no angels in black, no noise puking masters. Unfortunately.
Surabaya, I love you!
