Joey zegt: Pretty Woman in Pink: Joey goes Royal

Djoe and Pretty Woman

On the last day of the meditation retreat, I headed to the airport of Jakarta (north of Java), to fly back to Yogjakarta (south of Java). For sure, this retreat must have left some strong kind of aura around my head, because once I got out of the airplane, I stepped into the Indonesian version of ‘Pretty Woman’ (except for the male actor, not as handsome as Richard Gere).

A nice story, told in the order of events:

I asked the guy next to me in the airplane for some directions into Yogjakarta. I showed him the address of my house. ‘No problem. We’ll take you there.’ The ‘we’ turned out to be two old friends, visiting Yogja because they had to attend a wedding. So I stepped into their car. Huge car. With driver in front. One of them carried the Indonesian version of my name: Djoe. The other one pointed at himself as 'Wir'.

‘You are Joey, I am Djoe. So we should bring some joy into this day, no?’ And was it because of the similarity in our names, was it because of my wonderful meditation aura of was it because of my blond hair and blue eyes? Whatever may have been the reason, fact remains that I got onto a rollercoaster of events.

We drove to the oldest and most beautiful hotel of Yogja –The Phoenix Hotel- where I got pushed into a (hot!) shower to get ready for … a marriage party. While I enjoyed the luxury of the shower, Djoe and his friend Wir went to the hotels’ boutique (batik shop, verrrrrrrry expensive) and showed up again with two different batik blouses. ‘You try both and choose one. Or no, better take the pink one. Suits you best.’ So I did. I threw the pink batik blouse over my head. Silk. Unique piece. I couldn’t stop smiling. I had no say in all of this. I went back to the bathroom and regretted not to have any make-up or perfume or lipstick in my bag (I stopped using all of this two months ago). Whatever. Natural look should bring me through this wedding as well.

‘Ready?’ Ready.

‘Don’t you have any shoes?’ (I was wearing flip-flops). ‘Eh… No.’ (looking down at my curling toes, ashamed)

So we got into the car again. Rain was pouring down, but not to worry, umbrella’s popped up everywhere to make sure Mr. Djoe and his two followers wouldn’t get wet (it was in those little gestures that I noticed that Mr Djoe was a well-known and important man). The car pulled over at Mirota Batik, one of the biggest and most popular batik shops in Yogja. Djoe headed straight to the shoes department. Wir and I just hobbled after him, not knowing what to do. ‘Just follow Djoe’, Wir said. In the shoe department I got a pair of typical wooden sandals, with flowers painted on it. Finding a good pair of shoes was kind of a hassle since my feet are bigger than average Indonesian size (everything is so tiny here). ‘Comfortable?’ Yeah. Click-clack, click-clack, instead of flip-flop, flip-flop. Stylish! And again Wir and I hobbled and wobbled trying to catch up with Djoe, because Djoe was already wading through the shop again. Head high. Attitude of a king.

Wir and Pretty Woman

Before I knew it, a shawl was thrown over my shoulders. A beautiful one. One that matched the blouse and the shoes (I must admit: this man had a good taste for clothes). ‘Nice?’ Yeah, nice. What to say more? But when Djoe started to climb the stairs to the jewelry department, I stopped him. ‘That’s enough. I don’t need jewelry. I’m ready for the wedding now.’ Clothes are one thing. Jewels are another. I don’t accept jewels from strange men. That’s way out of my line.

Of course we didn’t leave the shop without taking pictures. And in the end, this turned out to be my major activity of the evening: posing in pictures. Together with Djoe, of course, because this was his wish. It made me feel like princess Diana (and in a way I see some resemblance in the pictures, I have this royal style, don’t you think?).

Royal style me

Happy uncle X and aunt Y

Bride and groom in the middle

The wedding in itself was a disappointing event. A heaven for the senses: splendid colors, fantastic smells, great food and drinks. But no dancing or laughter. Quite a formal thing.

So after a while we got into the car again and said our goodbyes. Of course I got to keep the clothes and the shoes. And again I didn’t know what to say. First time that a thing like this happened to me. Must have been the meditation aura, I’m sure! The driver took me straight to my little village house, where my teacher and some friends were waiting for me, and where I should have gone in the first place.