You realize you’re in the right place when you find it while you’re driving around randomly on a scooter through the hills; from outside it looks nice, there’s a lot of bamboo and a sign with something like “bamboo grill” written on it, tables, benches and chairs. There’s also quite a mess, stuff on the ground, and no one around. Yet the shutters are open and there’s music coming from inside. You decide to work up the courage, and stop your hog at the side of the road. You enter the place, hoping with all your heart that there’s Wi-Fi. You enter the place and see that no one is there. You enter the place and decide to keep on being brave:
“Hellooooooooouuuuuuh?!? Is there anybody out there?”
A male human figure takes shape from the darkness. Gotta keep on flowing. You ask the young man, not without a certain insecurity, whether they have Wi-Fi. The young man says yes, that they do have it, but not the password, his wife has it. You look directly into his eyeballs and say: “Could you ask your wife for the password?”. He suggests you to go to Tanah Rata hunting for Wi-Fi, but that’s exactly the place you’re coming from and you want to get away from. So, once he realizes you’re not going to give way that easily, he leads you to one of the tables and says alright, the signal sucks but let’s give it a try. Well, he didn’t say exactly this. So you sit and start placing your stuff on the filthy table, appreciating the decadence around you and realizing you’re in the right place and praying for the Wi-Fi to work and hoping in a long-term partnership with that same table while looking at the road in front of you with watery eyes painted in green hope.
A few minutes after he pops up behind you with the password, which much to your surprise seems to be working. It’s kind of slow, but it’s waaaay better than the Wi-Fi in that stupid fancy bar in Tanah Rata. You gloat, still getting a hold of yourself. Way too thrilled, you ask if they have fresh fruit juices. No matter if it looks like a fucking hurricane just hit this place, if there are at least a hundred cigarette butts laying on the floor, a pungent smell of not so fresh paint and not a living soul around. Hell no, no fruit juices, he says with a smile.
Maybe it’s not the right place.
Still too stupid or too naïve to realize where you actually are, you ask if they have any coffee. Hell no, he says, no coffee either, my shop is closed and they just have Coke and another weird drink that I show you. You follow him, obedient, and look at the bottles with a certain disappointment. Stupid! You know very well that expectations are bullshit! You’re learning something, so you might be in the right place.
Peach, pineapple, strawberry or raspberry? Peach, let’s go for it. You sit down and get to work.
You suddenly realize you might be in the right place.
You have a word with the guy who is suggesting you all the places where the fucking tourists go to.
Maybe it’s not the right place.
You keep on working, appreciating those few people walking by and greeting you with huge smiles. You also appreciate the fact that you are almost on the road and all the noises that go with it, because it was your choice. You have a couple more words with the guy, who tells you they’re closed for Ramadan and it’s opening again on Friday. Hari Raya! Then he asks you where you’re from and tells you he’s got a Coke bottle that was made in Italy. Made in Italy, WOW. While you’re wondering why the hell he would tell you something like that, who the fuck gives a shit, and what’s so special about it, he’s like: follow me, and so do you.
You realize you’re in the right place when you see the showcase containing his crazy collection of Cokes and when he’s even able to convey some of his Coca-Cola enthusiasm to you: Chinese bottles, Malaysian bottles, Nepalese bottles, special editions, special flavours, special shapes. A little Coca-Cola truck, a Coca-Cola ashtray.. Wait, what the hell is a Pepsi can doing there?
You realize you’re in the right place when just before leaving to go to the Ramadan bazar the guy comes and says he’s going downtown for some errands, but that you can stay as long as you want and also come in the evening, if you like. Come here and scrounge my Wifi, baby, no worries.
You realize you’re in the right place when he invites you to come back on Wednesday to eat sticky rice, which is by the way one of your favs, telling you that if you need to he can come and pick you up with his freaking cool light green motorbike and you also know you don’t have to worry that he might turn out to be an invasive pervert guy because he’s married and you even saw his wife, who’s quite chubby, but she’s also got a huuuge fat smile and a well-working password.
This must be the place
