do you speak cockney?

18 godzin lotu i 16 godzin snu. Bynajmniej nie w samolocie (notoryczna 'travel insomnia'), ale w stosunkowo obskurnym hostelu, jeśli można go tak określić. Jeśli widziałeś/aś film 'Plaża' z Leonardo DiCaprio, wiesz o czym mówię. Hostel wygląda dokładnie tak samo, no, może nie odnotowałam kopulującej parki za ścianą.
Jestem w Dżakarcie, jest duszno, pot ścieka z potu i jest to jedno z tych miast, gdzie granica między chodnikiem a ulicą jest mocno, jeśli nie w ogóle, zatarta. Motocykle rozpychają się wszędzie i dochodzę do wniosku, że potrącenie to kwestia czasu. 
Lokalsi są mocno sympatyczni, nienachalni w swoim zagadywaniu na ulicy i w ten oto sposób  poznałam dziś gościa, który od razu się spytał "Do you speak cockney?. 
No, I don't, but I live in South London. 
Poznałam też lokalnych punków, wypiłam kilka ES'ów czyli świeżo wyciskanych soków z owoców, mimo kategorycznej dezaprobaty autorów przewodnika Lonely Planet: Indonesia. Do soków dodaje się wodę i/lub lód, i stąd ryzyko załapania jednej z licznych tutaj nieprzyjaznych Europejczykom bakterii, ale prawdziwa, tropikalna biegunka to tylko kwestia czasu, więc lepiej wcześniej, niż później, nie?
Tyle na dziś. OPa. 

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