Day 197 – 14 February 2010: Rain on my face on Valentine’s Day

In the morning I recruit Stacie to follow me to Jen’s room to film my planned serenading of her. I have written a special song for the occasion (sample line: ‘Oh that scent of coconut, sunscreen I’ll rub into your butt, oh Jen!’), but I we have to knock on the door a few times before Jen answers it, obviously having just been woken up. She looks at Stacie, who is already filming, inquisitively and then turns to me, striking my first chord, with a look of utter disdain, and promptly shuts the door firmly in my face without saying a word. ‘Ah, that went well,’ I think out loud to myself.

I go out for breakfast but there is a downpour and I spend most of the day hiding in my room. Then, at about 3pm, I go for a walk around Malioboro Street which lined with an outdoor market crammed under sheltered walkways due to the rain, where there are numerous stalls selling Batik t-shirts and dresses. There being a pedestrian jam under these walkways, I let myself get drenched heading back towards the hotel.

I explore a few of the back streets, where I am lured into another gallery. The artist starts with a soft sell, serving me tea and sitting down to chat with me. The sell gets progressively harder though and he asks me to make an offer on a painting I say I like, saying he ‘won’t be insulted if I only offer one or two pounds,’ although he is asking me for the equivalent of £40 (615,000 Rupiah). He goes down to 300,000 Rupiah even though I did say that if I actually wanted it I would pay 350,000. I have to apologetically say I do not want the painting to get myself away.

At dinner, I see Jen, who says she now wants to hear the song. However, I had been drinking and by the time I go to her room to sing her the song, Stacie has had to prop me up with a couple of cups of strong local coffee, served by the local women folk under a hut in the square in front of the hotel. These women seem to be there when we wake up and when we go to bed, so I don’t know when they sleep. I spit out a rendition of the song and at least I am massacring one of my own. I dismiss it as a practice, and get through a slightly improved second take before stumbling to my room to go to bed.