The Dude abides

We went bowling today, at the Patriot Bowling Club. The place was fairly large, with 32 lanes. It resembled a rundown American Midwest alley circa 1983 (including the name), except with some first generation computer scoring machines. I felt instantly at home. I belong right here, I thought.

I was a little worried at first because our friend who organized the outing said they did not have beer, and it is hard to bowl without beer. Or whiskey. Or a White Russian. But she was wrong abut the beer, and it was the cheapest I've found in Surabaya.

We paid for our shoes and they handed us a pair of socks. This was good, since many of us forgot socks (not me, though; I am always prepared). And it makes sense, because many people here constantly wear sandals. Some people probably don't even own shoes or socks.

I was also a little worried that they wouldn't have bowling shoes for my giant white-man feet. As we approached the shoe hut, there was a diagram with shoe sizes. It went up to 10. I wear size 12. The man behind the counter looked at me weirdly when I told him my size, but they did have a pair that fit.

Apparently the cheap Bintang beer made for some good aiming juice, because I managed to roll a 185 in the second game.
We were reminded that we were in Indonesia about halfway through our four games when the power went out for five minutes. And when I went into the bathroom and saw where a previous rainstorm had leaked a giant hole through the ceiling.

Despite the brief power failure, we had a great time and will definitely go back. Cheap beer and cheap bowling is like a siren's call for us displaced Midwestern sons. Sometimes we just need that little taste of home, to keep us from running back to where we came from.