My father's handshake will be firm... [MAY 15th 2008]

When I wrote this story a few years ago, I had already given up that my father would ever board a plane and leave his farm. However, a phone call from my mother this week brought me the most exiting news I've heard since a long time: dad has finally agreed to come to Indonesia! My brother is getting married with a girl from Magelang and the old man just had no choice. But, only under one condition he had firmly told my mother: 'I only stay for two days'. 'Its a break-through!', my mother said over the phone. 'We will think of a way to keep him longer once we are there', she added. 'We sure will, mom. We sure will...'

'Hi, Bartele! It's me! Look at me! Yes, it is you! My god, you haven't changed a bit!' It was the first person that came up to me through the slowly growing crowd at this villa party, somewhere in Oberoi, Bali. From the moment I stepped through the garden entrance I knew this was not my scene. But a good friend brought me along and here I was, between expats, but so different from the ones I was used to. Most of the guests looked like they were flying, wearing long shawls, flowerily blouses and most of the men and women had long hair. They smelled funny.

The man who recognized me was in his late 30s, his heavily gelled black hair combed backwards, expensive sunglasses on top of his head prevented his shiny hair from fallen down. He hugged me, again repeating how happy he was to see me. I had no clue who the man was. He looked to me like a newly promoted drugs baron from Miami Vice. Now he grabbed my shoulders and took a good look at me. 'I heard you are doing well in Jakarta. Fantastic!' He waited for a reaction that didn't come and then he shook his head as if he was really, really happy for me and hugged me again. 'Let me get you a bottle of the best wine in house. I have it hidden from the rest. Wait...' He disappeared and I turned to my friend, who lives in Bali. 'That's Jack.', he said. 'Jack met you once in BuGils, but you probably forgot.' I looked again at Jack who was now busy explaining the local kitchen staff how they should open a bottle. Now I suddenly remembered Jack. Not too long ago I had indeed met him in BuGils. When I had asked him in what kind of business he was, he answered that he had no business. He didn't do anything and he was not planning to do so anytime soon. He had only one goal in life which was to never work. He hated work, he said.

Jack enthusiastically welcomed people he passed while coming into my direction with the expensive wine in his hand. Left and right he greeted people as if it was his own party, which it wasn't. 'Hi man! Good to see you! Hi, you are looking good! Fantastic!' I figured he was on track with his goal to never work. He pushed the red wine in my hand. 'Let's cheers!' shouted Jack. 'And meet the woman I love and married!' He pulled a lady from the crowd. Her long grey hair was swirling over her shoulders. Her face was grooved and her eyes tired, but it still showed a beauty that probably had been more intense some 50 years earlier. 'I won the lottery. The English lottery.. Jackpot', he quickly whispered in my ear before introducing me to his wife, who I estimated to be at least 25 years older then Jack himself. 'My dear, this is the guy I told you about! The book? The bars in Jakarta? THIS is the man!' She looked at me for less then a second, nodded unimpressed and after a 'oh, ok...', turned around again to rest of the mostly pink and yellow colored crowd. Jack had reached his goal. Maybe she was over 60, but she was rich and as long as he would be with her, he never needed to work again. 'Congratulations', I told him. It was the first word I said to him. With a relieved, sincere and -from the bottom of his heart-  'thank you', he lifted his glass and looked me proud in the eyes. 'Thank you...'. he repeated and turned around, back into to the life he enjoyed. He greeted a gay guy in total white with a pink belt with a long 'Hiiiii...! How are youuuu!' and then turned around again to three surprised Indians that he hugged and grabbed by the shoulders.

Colorful. And although a lazy bastard, he had reached his goal to never do any work in his life. I tried to imagine my father as a visitor to this party. A man who has milked cows his whole life, 5am in the morning and again at 5pm in the afternoon, day in - day out! He had never missed a day for the last 60 years. How would my old man ever fit in here? A grooved face with big hands, probably still with cow dirt on them at arrival in Bali. How would he look at these people? He wouldn't say much. Oh yes; he will shake hands with the long hair guy, dressed in the long white robes, and ask him what Jesus is doing in a Muslim country. As a real Dutch open-minded citizen, he will give the gay guy a 'light' hand shake and tell him that Bart has a nephew that is gay as well. I wonder what he will say to the Japanese property sales woman, who does not eat XTC, but puts it 'up her behind', to get the maximum effect. He will probably tell her that he does something similar with cows back home, but that insemination has a different purpose and it goes much deeper. He will shake hands with the man who never wants to work. For this man my fathers' handshake will be firm. Firm and long, so firm, that the person will beg him to release his grip. 'He doesn't need his hands anyway, so who cares', he will mumble. After a few expensive red wines, he might actually enjoy a Bali villa party. Imagine the stories he can tell in our local village pub in Friesland on his return.

But soon after leaving the party, he would ask me to borrow my mobile to call the farm. 'Has Eelkje 31 recovered? Don't forget to feed Aaltje 48 a bit extra'. I realize, while dreaming away on this, that I do the same while I am away from the job. 'How is the new waitress doing? Warn her for the guy who is always chasing new waitresses. How are Riza and Yenita? They should stick to the cheap catering food and not eat from the menu, they are getting too fat.'

There is not much difference between running a farm and running a bar. Milk and alcohol are both healthy. Cows smell funny. Bali expats smell funny. Cheeses and wine both have good years. Maybe I have followed in my fathers footsteps after all.... 
Bartele