If You Can't Give 'em a Diagnosis, Give 'em a Big Mac...

The journey to Jakarta began in "subuh sekali:" the wee hours of morning, in the dark, before the first call to prayer.

I taxied to the train station where Ethan was waiting for me at a Western-style coffee house with a cappuccino in hand. For a moment, the setting seemed so familiar to me, meeting a fellow grad student at the local coffee shop to exchange ideas and feel all intellectual and stuff. Then, as a crowd of Indonesian men descended upon us to help carry our luggage to make a quick buck, (or a thousand rupiah, as the case may be) reality set in. Ethan and I pushed our way through the crowds, purchased our tickets and settled in for the ride.

It was nice to have a companion, especially one who had never been to West Java before. He gleefully pointed out all the international products that I could buy in Bandung, as opposed to the central Javanese town that he was living in, like Time Magazine! And on the train ride, where I would have slept through the glorious views, he helped me re-appreciate the lush green mountainous landscape that has helped make the area a tourist destination for city-slicker Jakarta types--after the sun came out, that is. After we got into the city, through his eyes, I realized that Jakarta is much prettier and greener than I ever gave it credit for being.

The doctors at the clinic took about a gallon of blood out of my body, ordered us Big Mac's (thereby solidifying to me that I was no longer in America) and promptly told me that I didn't have AIDS, leukemia, or even hepatitis. I certainly didn't have an allergic reaction to my medication. One of the doctors thought I might have mono. Wouldn't that have been great? I went from being diagnosed with all sorts of exciting tropical diseases only to find out that the whole time I just had mono. Thank goodness that test came back negative!

Then they called in the head doctor. He was from France and he really wanted to talk about an ethnomusicologist he knew living in Makassar. Doctors love talking about ethnomusicology; it makes them feel like they're developing a good doctor-patient relationship.

After the chit-chat ended, he got to the diagnosis part. (Note to reader: Try to imagine this next part with a cute French accent.) "You have an inflammation somewhere in your body, a rash, a cold; you're feeling nauseous...you are clearly ill. If you stay in Indonesia, it could take months to figure out what is wrong with you. I suggest you fly directly to Singapore where they can diagnose you much, much quicker. Singapore is not so far. It is like flying from Marseille to Paris."

So that was it. They drained me of most of my blood, gave me a Big Mac, and then told me that Indonesia couldn't help me. And that is why the US Embassy declares Jakarta a "Hardship Zone" as far as health-care is concerned, and the rest of Indonesia as an "Extreme Hardship Zone."

The rest of my time in Jakarta was spent: 1) convincing Fulbright and the US State Department to splurge on a plane ticket and some real doctors, 2) almost getting kicked out of the US Embassy cuz those people are just plain mean, and or course, 3) EATING! My personal goal was to gain ten pounds in four days. I'm pretty sure I accomplished it. I think I out-ate Ethan every day, with such delectable activities as single-handedly devouring a whole grouper, ordering bowls of Indian curry, and eating sushi roll after sushi roll. Mmmm, yummy... And not once did we order Indonesian food! Yay!