The Dreamland

My cafe's first visitor was a guy with a Budweiser baseball cap. He looked fresh, tanned and just finished his tennis session next door. He ordered a standard breakfast of scrambled eggs and juice. Plus coffee.He ate his breakfast and I told him the story of my newly-established cafe.

A traveler's cafe in the heart of Jakarta - Jalan Jaksa - famous district... not too formal, far from being fancy. Where hookers, tourists, budget hotels, cheapy internet cafes and bars, and every daily lives of Indonesia's the-haves and the-don't-haves, meet and greet each other.

He smiled. He laughed. Ate his breakfast clean. Wiped his brownish hair. He's an Indonesian, born and breed in Amsterdam. Then he moved to Brugge, lecturing European Economics at the College of Europe.

He turned his laptop on. Showing pictures and videos of his journeys so far. Serving as UN volunteer in Kenya. Working as junior officer in Sudan. African from the foreigner's perspectives. African from the foreign resident. African beauty from the eyes of the distant viewer.

Poverty reduction programmes intertwined with a lush beauty of zebras, giraffes, lakes, ponds and lion kings... Peacekeeping missions inline with mud-houses, traditional dancing and children dreaming.
World Food Programme trucks parked with tons of basic food supply. Medical doctors discussing the stocks of anti-diarrhea tablets. Parents queuing for medication cards...

The awaken dream.

Just like the good old days. Back in time where the Dreamland Beach in Bali was known only among the surfers. No tourists busses flocked in, no 100s bikinis and legs laying on the sandy beach.... only surfers playing around with the waves.... on and on...