Hotel Indah, Jl. Kalimantan, Madiun, Indonesia

30 years later Sri is yet working at Hotel Indah, Madiun.  she's watched everything change around her,  roads paved, open sewers covered, a 4 story shopping center went up on the corner selling probably anything, groceries, motorcycles, clothing, toyotas, you name it, with a parking garage on the ground floor. And that's not the only one in town.  The becek as a mode of transportation still exists but to a much lesser extent.  I recognized her, or at least I thought so.  But when I asked her if here name was Sri, and began to explain that I once lived here, she came to realize who I am/was.  It was easier for me, the recognition, since I had come prepared to find Sri, Martono, Junia, and the others, while Sri simply was working another day.
Most of the staff at Hotel Indah have dispersed while the town has built up around it. Sri now has a daughter 30 years old, I think.  I hope I can get the story straight tomorrow.  My Indonesian language skills leave a lot to be desired.  Sri did say she'd be able to contact Martono tomorrow by telephone.  He taught me virtually all the Indonesian I know.

Rakiman, Sri, Yunia, Kim, Martono - '83?

Hotel Indah is virtually unchanged except lack of maintenance, the polished terrazzo floor is now ceramic tile, the spiral staircase - exactly the same, with open risers, and the polished stainless and glass railing.  The posts are 2 inch plexi rods apparently bubbling inside;  the wall sculpture in the atrium, those funky '50's western (vs. eastern) style globular chandeliers, chrome stalks and a half dozen globes each, the little bar (but now the glass cabinet behind the bar is empty), it's really all(most) the same.  The TV got bigger, but the fan got smaller.  Amazing, and Sri is still here.  Pat says no wonder I recognized her, her face is the same, wide handsome jaw, same black hair, same wide smile, just a little older.  Kind of like the hotel, actually.

There is one thing that I feel sorry for and that is the profound increase in the use of the Muslim head gear for women.  I've been calling them helmets - I think I heard that term used somewhere else.  Sometimes a simple scarf, and others, some serious covering up.  But it's got to be 33C in the shade.  I saw one woman at the Jogja train station, lift up the head gear skirt fanning herself, while her husband, arm over her shoulder telling her something, gestured like a rap star.  I need to get the names of the different varieties of cover-ups, but one has a tight fitting cloth around the face, room at the back for a pony tail, and the material flows down over the shoulders, back and breast for another foot or so.  Seems to me my great aunts, Catholic nuns, wore  habits similarly designed.  It is clearly too hot for a getup like that.  I thought I was going to fall asleep while translating an advertising banner in the train station.

Martono was already here at the hotel when we came down after breakfast.  At 61 years He's frail, half blind with glaucoma.  I recognized his voice immediately as Sri announced our arrival and his visiting.  We laughed a lot at the old photos I have on the laptop. I assisted him to the front steps to retake the same photo as 30 years ago.  He explains that he has plans next month to get treatment for his eyes in Solo, a 3 hour non-stop car ride, where he can get cheaper government assisted health care.  In our former lives we sat nearly every night for 3 or 4 months exchanging our languages' idioms (barang kali (baggage instance) = who knows).  And after working at the same hotel for 25 years he got nothing, now riding around town on a bicycle, rigged with a double-wide box on the back, selling grilled corn, barely making ends meet, barely able to see, sometimes pushing the bike, or taking a breather in the shade of a store.  So, what's the deal here, some weird capitalistic system that ensures down the trodden stay down?

Martono's daughter, 22 years, is out of work.  I think the '08 crash hit here in Madiun a bit too; retail outlets seem a bit over-built, the mezzanine at the 4-story super-k-mart is vacant.  She, her father, mother and grandmother live together in a "medium size" size house, he said.  Grandmother is totally blind, keeping herself company with the radio.  Martono and wife of course assist Martono's mother with her every need.

How can I help?  A handout?  A gift?  Pay for the glaucoma operation?  Martono is a proud man, struggling, but proud none the less.  I am so sad, if I were wiser maybe I'd know exactly what to do, and then I wouldn't cry.  I hope we see him again tomorrow so I can buy some of his grilled corn.
I talked with Martno about the modernity, the material changes versus the emotions.  Maybe it's our age, but he too felt the old days were better in his heart.  More things but less heart.

???, Sri, Martono, Kim - '12