One drawback to living on the forty-fifth floor is that getting a little fresh air is not as easy as opening the ten foot, floor to ceiling, blast resistant, double-glazed, window. At the best of times there’s enough updraft to promote base jumping fantasies even in those of us not partial to Suicide Yellow. Unless I arrange the night before for the driver to pick me up at whatever o’clock and take me to the fresh air-conditioning of the mall, I have two options; the hotel pool and Starbucks, both have distinct advantages.

-The pool offers wireless internet (when it works), free cut oranges and a cocktail menu. You’d be surprised how well a juicy piece of citrus fruit blocks out the leather skinned, middle aged, Eurotrash groping each other under the palm tree, and the half dozen screaming children left to the supervision of the waitstaff.

-Starbucks has no internet access, so I actually have to work rather than just pretend while surfing the net and IMing friends. It’s located within walking distance of a mall, a gym, three hotels and four embassies (… and a partridge in a pear tree), so there’s an abundance of people to watch (read: gawk at and judge superficially). Oh, and of course it has coffee, and the place next to it, pizza – two food groups right there.

 

The parental units are both back in Oz for a while (yes, I’m 25 and I live with my folks. Happy? I admit I have a problem.), so in the interest of maintaining basic civilly accepted social skills, my laptop and I decided to hit Starbucks today and partake in lots of glorious caffeine beverages in numerous styles and sizes. (Segway: Why do they call it a ‘tall cappuccino’ when it’s the small one? Just call it small, I doubt it will develop cup envy.)

 

Taking a stroll down to Starbucks should be a simple concept in of itself, you’d think. I live in a safe area (there’s an army of security guards running bomb and weapons checks at the entrance to every building), we have actual footpaths not just worn down mud trails, and street vending is prohibited. A walk down to Starbucks? No problem at all. I wave at my (because they’re so only there for me), ex-military, security guards. They scrawl something on a clipboard (probably ‘Bulai Girl walking’), lift the boom-gate with a round of Selmat Soray’s and Starbucks is only a few hundred metres round to the left… And when the first motorbike nearly crashes into a four-wheel drive I can’t help but giggle a little. Welcome to Side Show Alley.

 

No, I’m not fabulously good looking (I wish) nor do I flash the DDs at passing motorists (never was the Girls Gone Wild type), I’m just white. Or rather, I’m a very white, women. Since I moved here (Jakarta, Indonesia, for those that didn’t get the memo) the people in my neighbourhood have become more accustomed to the odd White Women sighting, and as time goes by there seems to be an ever increasing number of us (we’re like the plague with three inch heels and a Visa card), but still, my presence as a pedestrian never fails to attract attention…like a flashing neon sign, you just never expect to see one on your block.

I’ve tried to explain the White Women phenomena to friends back home with little success. White women here are graced with such high status its mind boggling and difficult to grasp unless experienced personally. We are a mythological mystery, rarely witnessed by the masses. We may occasionally be sighted through the windows of a Lexus, or when dashing the few feet from a BMW to the door of an ‘approved’ establishment. We are exotic rarities, to be coddled and cradled for our fragility… or just plain stared at for being weird. Our sexuality is notorious (thank you Hollywood). We attract our own paparazzi when venturing out of our ‘normal’ surroundings (I’m not exaggerating on that one) and WE DO NOT WALK THE STREET, we especially don’t do it alone.  

 

“Mama, there’s a white lady on the road!”

“Did she lose her driver?”

“I didn’t know they could walk that far.” Well, normally I would require a cocktail on the way, but I can make an exception in the name of caffeine.

 

When my local Starbucks first opened over the summer I thought it perfectly normal to go for a walk and check it out. My crossing two lanes of traffic without an escort practically sent their security guard into cardiac arrest. For a moment, I thought I may have to resuscitate him. Awkward. In the few minutes it takes for me to dawdle to the coffee kingdom, nearly a dozen taxis beep at me. Surely, I don’t actually intend on walking and must need their services, if only I’m made aware of their presence-right in front on me. And yes, I flinch every time.

 

Inside Starbucks I’m still a novelty, because I actually drink coffee. (I quit for four years, don’t I get points for trying?.) My “Tall (??) cappuccino please,” is often met with looks of fascination and glee. Odd to say the least given I’m in STARBUCKS.

While I stand by the bar waiting for a girl, of all about four feet in height, to put the plastic thingy (technical term) on my espresso I pause for a moment to take in my surroundings (gawk, judge and assess the best place to sit for future judgmental gawking) and notice that everyone, accept me, is drinking snot.

Okay, so it’s not actually snot, but it’s milky, green, thick, liquid, that’s definitely not mint…on ice! Judging (it’s a hobby) by the fact that my cappuccino has no foam, I’m going to guess that Miss Four-feet-tall’s smile at hearing my order was joy at finally getting a chance to make her first mucus-free beverage.

 

An hour and a half later, a flat laptop battery, seven insect bites, and the first white guys without grey hair, under 100kg that don’t work for Dad, I’ve seen in three months (hellooo Gym Guys), it’s home time. An easy fifteen minutes, only ten on them spent with two teenage girls wanting me to pose for photos with them (normally something that only happens out of town, and then people tend to form orderly ques and ask very politely). Think less Angelina Jolie and more “Amazon Woman now appearing on Side Show Alley!” or “Have your picture taken with the palest women on Earth”.