Kzenon Überforward

Indonesia, as such, is not a bad place to be. Even though a lot of things do not work as we mere mortal Westerners might think they should work and other things do not work at all there are small miracles that make you cheer and happy to be here. One of those is “Bintang Zero”, a “non-alcoholic malt” of “international quality” (or so the label says) which even the brewery does not dare to call “beer”. “Zero” gets raving reviews on ratebeer.com. Reviewers note that it is “not unpleasant as such, but very, very unusual” and analyze the aroma as consisting of “rotting pineapple with stale butter”. Others are less enthusiastic, remarking very wittily to be “glad [they] did not swallow it” or calling it simply “perhaps the worst beer in Indonesia, even cold”, which is probably true.

Small wonder I recently developed a knack for it. Lucky I am that the Oakwood Ranchmarket just opposite to our building has the drink in stock. Basically as the only non-alcoholic beer-like thing. The market for such things seems to be small in a overwhelmingly Muslim country where beer and wine is plenty. I shall not wonder.

I absolutely love looking at skylines. For some reason it gives my ego a better proportion to the whole than it usually has and strangely enough I very much enjoy this mixture of humility and transcendence. The theory (remember the punch cake) goes otherwise but I pretend not to know. Having been headquartered most of my time in Munich, Germany, where the local people voted to ban high-rise buildings, I did not have a chance that often.

So it is very fortunate that currently I happen to live in the 18th floor of a nice building with a view on Jakarta’s Menteng (I think, probably I am wrong) skyline. It is rainy season – and very much so – but still there are some clear days. As most skylines this one also is much more impressive by night but I still have to find a decent tripod somewhere an then shall come back to that issue.

My love will laugh with me before the morning comes. Or so Jagger thinks.

Having my autumn-retro-phase listening to classic rock I still cannot believe how unbelievably kuhl the Stones were in there heydays – and I also cannot believe how reluctant they were to learning to play their instruments properly. On the other hand: if you manage to do a song like “sympathy for the devil” that is simply not from this world, who then cares whether you keep the beat. That’s so for sissies.

I was not at the spot when it happened and my wife, who was, is very well. It feels a bit strange if you live just 200 m away from the scene of a terrorist bombing attack. The city is crowded now and my wife reports the way to the airport – where she is scheduled for a flight this evening – is jammed with cars because many people want to leave the town to relax just somewhere out.

The picture was not taken by me. By the way, you do not see very much. This is because of the smoke that blocks your view. The smoke is exactly where only minutes before a restaurant was in which a lot of people had a peaceful breakfast. Until the blast. To me it is very hard to see what makes people do such awful things. This is a rather lame statement and I know it but people died, I do not know why and I do not know what else to say.

Most microstock agencies employ some kind of level system. That means that contributing photographers will be “promoted” once they have reached a certain amount of pictures sold. At the “grand old agency” – that is iStock – the levels are called “canisters” and go from “base” (harmless) up to “black diamond” (elite).

I just hit diamond with my portfolio at iStock, the second highest level, which requires 25.000 sold pictures. Not terribly bad for a weekend shooter who started late in the revolution. I must confess, however, that only a short time ago I thought my whole life would suddenly change and I would feel distinctively different once I reached the semi-god level at iStock. But it just happened without much additional noise. I try to take this as a good sign though: I convince myself that I have outgrown the need for outside motivation and derive the pleasure and the high I get from the act of creating itself.

That is, I think, a very good thing.

There may be several different kinds of sin. One – and I am surely liable of that one – may be trying to create visualizations for a nonexistent fucked up plastic world. Another one is giving up too early.

The day that started with a whitish-grey and overcast sky. When it started to rain cats and dogs we went on shooting cheeseburgers instead of pictures. But then late in the afternoon the sun started to shine again albeit hesitantly. We sent the models already home – except for the boy kuhl cats. But funny thing: at the lake we were shooting at there was a rock festival with three stages, beer and lots of fine looking young ladies willing to become models. The girl cats here not professionals but simply law abiding citizens being present accidentally but with the strong determination to squeeze as much fun as possible out of that day.

If you want to know how it feels shooting stock among hundreds of rock fans celebrating at the beach: funny.

Everybody who has been here knows that Jakarta really comes to life only at night. When the sun is down, the heat no longer unbearable and the traffic calms down from standstill to only severe congestion the music starts and the drinks are served chilled.

I had the privilege to be invited to a party of a couple of friends in a wonderful Kemang location complete with columns at the entrance and a large pool in the backyard. In the living room a DJ imported from Berlin served fresh elektro beats city style while a Dutch VJ put the lights on. Soto could be had directly from an original street booth and beer was on tap. Drinks ran dry for the first time at three o’clock and several people were severely wounded and had to go to hospital after a mass hop in the pool.

Sunday’s breakfast started a bit later than usually.