Almost: Entangled (Part 3 of 3)

A Pain In the Neck

A week or so prior to this story I had experienced increasingly severe neck pain over a week. I suspect I aggravated my neck in many small ways that accumulated over several nights of deep sleep. The resulting explosion of pain was much akin to a spouse who saved all her frustrations for a torrential downpour of incrimination and criticism (not that I’d know). My neck decided it was done supporting my fool head for free. Every turn or nod of the head was fire followed by desperate self-reflection on poor life choices and poorer sleep hygiene.

I did not (and still don’t) trust Indonesian chiropractors. I told my workmates that I would go to one of the several massage parlors that operate in our office complex. They said, “Make sure you go with Dana…. this district is known for those kinds of places.” I asked Dana if she would, in fact, go with me so I could fix my neck. Her first words were, “Do I have to go with you?” Then she rolled her eyes to heaven and said, “Ok, I’ll do it for you…” Neck pain is easier to deal with than guilt, especially if said guilt comes back to haunt me later. I did not go.

I did search online out of curiosity. No places advertised themselves as brothels, of course. Yet the Indonesian forums, blogs, and instagrams were rife with information about the “men’s health spas” and tempat pijat ++ (massage parlor with “extra services”) that peppered my office’s district. I was amused to learn that I’d been working near several brothels over the last year.

Context

Every country on earth has prostitution, illegal or otherwise. Sex and poverty are such primal driving forces that prostitution’s continual resurgence seems inevitable. Its actors might adopt different names, such as “contract wives”, “escorts”, “karaoke girls”, “bar girls”, or “massage/spa therapists”. Its essence is the same no matter the name or place. There is money, then there is sex. Nothing stops the “most ancient profession in the world”.

Indonesia’s sex industry boomed after President Soeharto (the second president) resigned in the late 90’s. Strip clubs, love motels, and escort services were everywhere in the larger urban centers within a few years of his resignation. Pretty village girls flowed in to work for enterprising mammies. More refined ones prowled the richer areas for sugar daddies and rich businessmen on holiday. Foreign ladies from developing nations were in high demand to come and service the wealthy and rapidly growing middle class. Karaoke bars and pool halls were practically synonymous with prostitution even just a few years ago.

The Indonesian government has always considered prostitution illegal, at least on paper. The police occasionally raid brothels and arrest street workers. On the other hand, stories of police taking out trafficking rings or the higher infrastructure necessary to run brothels rarely appear in the news. Many large urban centers even have well-known red-light districts.

Cynics note that police raids occur more often during election years when candidates want to project an image of upholding good moral values. They also note that the prostitution industry in Indonesia brings in billions (if not trillions) of rupiah every year through the informal sector. I can not vouch for the validity of their implications. The fact remains that prostitution will continue as long as government policy does not: (a) provide alternatives to prostitution; or (b) dismantle existing infrastructure that facilitates prostitution. I’m also certain that law enforcement isn’t working that hard to uproot them.

My theory is that the brothels are left alone as long as they maintain some sense of legitimacy. Tempat pijat ++ do in fact operate as massage parlors. The “++” simply denotes “extra services”. Karaoke bars offer a room, alcohol, songs, and a pretty girl to sing with you if you want a bit of company. How long and intimate that company is depends on you and the girl. Health spas offer legitimate spa packages. Some of the working girls there might finish earlier than expected so there is spare time for negotiating other services.

The same is true of housing complexes. Portions of luxury apartment buildings house unsuspecting tenants even though other portions of the same building serve as a high-end brothel. Some apartment buildings house many beautiful young ladies. They live there as tenants but in reality are “simpanan”, high-priced mistresses who are “stored away” till their rich foreign patron returns in-country. One would never know it from the outside.

On the other hand, I once came across a men’s health spa with a distinctly phallic Greek column for a logo. Their staff was advertised as young, pretty, and entirely female. I could just be projecting my expectations, but I rather doubt it. The important thing is that many of these places: (a) operate as advertised; (b) offer more than advertised. They are invisible, but open secrets. Everyone knows where they are. Only the right person or the right questions gain you entry.

I mention the anecdote below as a point of reference. The police raided and shut down several massage parlor / brothels in the East Bay about six months before Dana and I left San Leandro for Indonesia. At least three were within a mile of our apartment. I was not surprised. Blackened windows, partitioned back and front counter, open till extremely late hours. The indicators were fairly blatant. This was not the case in my district.

A Haircut

I’ve utilized the same barbershop in my neighborhood all last year. The same picture is shown every visit, a standard Asian buzz cut. I’ve received twelve unique haircuts, none of them an Asian buzz cut. The last one was decidedly ugly. The barbershop in my office complex had good reviews so I went there. Lo, an Asian buzz cut! This would be my new barbershop.

One month later, a new massage parlor announced its upcoming opening next to said barbershop. I decided I need not worry about it. The barber chairs, sinks, and wall-sized pane of transparent glass confirmed that the barbershop is as advertised. I would not have an issue as long as anyone watching could see I was getting a haircut.

I left my office at 6pm a week or so later. The street was already dark and quiet. The barbershop appeared empty save for a bored female cashier watching something on her phone. I opened the door.

That new wrinkle took me aback momentarily. I could not choose my barber last month. On the tablet’s screen were sixteen gorgeous young ladies. Almost all were Chinese and certainly in their lower to mid-20’s. This was unusual because barber shops are usually staffed by men. Ladies staff salons. Further, sixteen barbers for four chairs seemed like overkill even if the standard practice is to keep extra employees on hand in case of heavy business.

I heard a loud sigh. A old man’s weary face peered around the corner. He ushered me into a seat, looked at the picture, and proceeded to cut my hair. The mirror in front showed a steady succession of older, middle-aged men walk in and pass behind me to somewhere else as I received my buzz cut. I suppose they had reservations.

The barber finished twenty minutes later. Two more middle-aged men entered as I walked out. I turned and watched them head directly up the stairs. I realized that: (a) the massage parlor had already opened; (b) it was not next to, but rather on top of, the barbershop; and (c) the barbershop and the massage parlor shared the same name. These were connected businesses. Om was probably not even expecting to work that night.

To be clear, I don’t know if the massage parlor was a tempat pijat ++ or not. I would say it is likely if sixteen allegedly beautiful young women (based on their pictures) and a steady succession of middle-aged men (the demographic most likely to afford ++ services) were any indication. Some things are better left unknown. I almost became entangled that night. At least, I think I did. On to another barbershop.