Currently I’m stuck in Ambon, Indonesia. I want it to be an idyllic, oozing sort of tropical provincial capital city but my optimism has mangled to carrion. Death by bugs, rain and bland bustle.
Despite the guidebook’s attempt at a favorable description, Kota-Ambon fails to live up to anything but reality: this is a bonafide bustle in a country that holds up universally-execrated Jakarta as a model metropolis. Ambon fits the mold of its big, mean, ugly older sister city: it’s polluted, littered with trash and produces odd smells that mix feces with NASA-grade adhesives. It is uninspiring to the extreme despite its picturesque seaside setting–and I’m a devout “always look on the bright side” kinda gal. What a shame. My impressions are not rectified by the citizens who seem to have either an unfortunate lisp, poor comprehension of anatomy or highly misinformed English teachers–or might they be cursed with all of the above? “Hallo Mister!” children and teenagers jubilantly proclaim to me as I stroll past in teal skirt and purple sunglasses.
Before arriving to Ambon I’d read the Lonely Planet guide and brushed up on travelers forums about my short-stay home. The research hardly required even one cup of kopi rorobang, the local answer to caffeine-injected rocket fuel… Prior to immersion I learned that Ambon is best known for three things (besides its aforementioned notoriety as the capital of one of Indonesia’s most scattered and largest regions): Continue reading