Meanwhile, in Indonesia

We had been talking for two hours. History of religions, Pink Floyd, Nyepi (the Balinese New Year), what makes Indonesians so Indonesian - the conversation naturally jumped from one subject to another. Despite being the last customers of that warung still open at 4am, we were in no rush to leave. The dusty old wooden café hidden on the side of the main road was the only one we could find at such sinful hours, when most locals indulge in their last bit of sleep before the first prayer of the morning.

Me and Monk were on our way home from a street party we had attended – when we decided to stop for just a tea. Having met him two weeks before, shortly after my arrival in Indonesia, Monk would eventually become one of my best friends during my 6 months of studies there. He was a student himself – immersed in the science of ethnomusicology. And, as it turned out, the perfect person to help me start making sense of what was going on around me.

After a deeper, philosophical twist, the conversation reached one of its few silent moments. Our eyes were now fixing the steaming cups of tea in front of us, while our thoughts were enjoying a well-deserved break. The sound of frying gorengan was the only thing reminding us the young vendor hadn’t fallen asleep yet. The sweet smell of fresh kretek cigars lying provocatively between our cups was awakening my senses – if only had I been a smoker.

During the few weeks since my arrival, I hadn’t learnt many Indonesian words yet. Just the basics to get me going with the everyday chores of my careless traveling life. However, then and there I could not help but get distracted by an old commercial hung on the wall just in front of us. The yellowish piece of paper was one of the many in the warung – in Europe I believe we’d call them “vintage”. An elegantly sketched mug of coffee and a discreet yet obvious Nescafe logo in the bottom right corner seemed strategically placed on the poster. Also, many words I was yet to understand. Among them, “Karena hidup banyak rasa” written in bold, faded letters right in the middle of the ad.

“What does it mean?” I asked Monk, intrigued by the distraction that poster had become for me. Surprised by my sudden break of silence, he lifted his head, bringing his thoughts back from far away worlds. “Because life has a lot of flavours”, he explained.

“Fair enough” I told to myself. And while lighting one of the kretek cigars, I started picturing future flavours I wish my life would have.