Indonesia

Traveling the world can lead to some pretty hilarious moments of lost-in-translation mishaps. Picture this: I’m jetting from Kansas City, making pit stops in Denver and Tokyo before finally heading to Jakarta, Indonesia. Right before we took off, our lead flight attendant gave the usual spiel to stow our stuff and buckle up. But then she said, “Let us take care of your gadget, when it gets lost!” I nearly lost it laughing. Clearly, she meant those times when your phone gets wedged in the seat, and people go full-on MacGyver trying to fish it out—only to end up destroying the poor thing. She even added, “Please let the professionals touch your gadget.” It instantly reminded me of the movie Lost in Translation. I loved that movie… well, the part I saw, since my old-school CD always got stuck at the same spot.

Touching down at Jakarta’s Soekarno-Hatta International Airport was a shocker—super modern, huge, and it felt like I walked a marathon just to get to immigration. Thanks to a runway closure in Tokyo, I arrived at 1 PM, a bit later than planned. And boy, did I have a wait at immigration! It wasn’t so much the number of people, but the fact that the passengers from the Korean flight ahead of me hadn’t realized they needed an e-visa. Watching them fumble through Google Translate with the officers was something else. But hey, the bright side? No traffic jams at 2:30 AM!

Indonesia holds a special place in my heart. Back in 1935, my grandmother’s brother moved there and became a renowned painter (I like to think I inherited his artistic genes). He soon convinced his sister to join him, which led to my mom being born on Indonesian soil. My roots are forever intertwined with this beautiful country, home to over 17,000 islands, hundreds of languages, and countless traditions. This was my second trip back, and both times, I’ve been warmly welcomed by a family I’ve come to love over the past decade. The memories of my grandmother were strong, especially since she lived through the war here. Despite the hardships, she always spoke fondly of Indonesia and its people. My mom carried that love forward, cooking Indonesian food whenever my dad wasn’t around—he couldn’t handle the spice! If you ever find yourself in Holland, skip the Dutch food (trust me) and dive into the Indonesian cuisine. It’s absolutely divine.

As we drove into Jakarta, giant billboards welcomed me. One featured Natasha, a striking beauty promoting a dermatology clinic—one of many in the city, it seems. Honestly, Natasha doesn’t look like she needs any work done. Me, on the other hand, might consider a visit, especially since the wait times in the U.S. are six months. Then it hit me—we were driving on the left side of the road! A leftover from English influence, perhaps? Speaking of which, I’m not exactly proud of what the Dutch did in Indonesia, even if my friend pointed out some Dutch-designed infrastructure. Indonesia gained its independence in 1945, and the people here have been nothing short of wonderful.

My mom and grandmother lived in Jakarta, and on my last visit, I tried to find their old house. I didn’t have much luck, but I did feel this weird connection as we drove through the streets where my ancestors once walked. Jakarta has changed so much since then, now home to around 13 million people, leading to major traffic and pollution issues. With just a two-day visit, I was back at the airport before I could even catch my breath. Between giving lectures and battling jet lag, time became a blur. On the way to the airport, we got stuck in traffic—apparently, someone decided to set fire to a highway ramp, and things got a little out of control. As we sat there, an emergency vehicle passed us—a yellow pick up truck with a siren blaring and a guy in the back frantically waving a red flag. “Welcome to Indonesia,” my host said with a grin, “we do things a bit differently here.”