The Indonesian man shares a special bond—or perhaps I should say, a full-on relationship—with his uniform.
Me? I’m all about sleek design. One plus one equals two, right? That’s where this story begins.

I used to think only Italians had that kind of connection with their uniforms. But back then, I hadn’t traveled much and was a bit blind to other cultural takes on the theme. My tastes were somewhat limited in those days. 😉

The Indonesians, however—and please, no offense intended—are, in my book, the undisputed champions.

No matter the profession, they wear their uniforms to perfection. And preferably as tight-fitting as possible.
I try, wherever I am, to stay focused on the matter at hand… but every time, that uniform—and what’s inside it—pulls my attention away.

My mind drifts, and I wonder… what exactly am I thinking?
Sir, how on earth do you plan to run in that skin-tight suit?
And how, pray tell, are you going to rescue me if the need arises?

Seriously, those uniforms hug the rear end so tightly, they make me dizzy.
And baby, let me tell you—I’ve seen quite a few!

Round ones, full ones, ordinary ones, even square ones. And some so flat you’d be hard-pressed to call it a butt at all.
But my God, were they demanding attention. 🤣

Whether you’re in the police, the military, private security, or cleaning staff—the uniform is impeccable. And mostly tight.
Only the cleaners get a little leeway—understandably, they need room to bend and crouch. The job requires it. 🙃

The women, though… well, they’re a different story—for me at least.
Not surprising, since this is still, in many ways, a man’s world when it comes to appearances.
For the sharp-eyed readers among us: I said appearances.
In reality, women run the world.
Men—sorry, not sorry—just think they do.
I call that: dick thinking. A philosophical term. 😎

In everyday life, women here often sport the most impressive collections of behinds—and they spin like a true Indola: a washing machine from the fifties. 🤣

June 22 was the Surabajah Loop—a few kilometers of car-free Jalan Tunjungan, right outside the hotel where we’re staying.

On the way to breakfast, we heard such a ruckus it felt like a party was underway.
But no—it was a huge crowd of people in sportswear walking, cycling, and running down the center lane. And of course, plenty of photos were being snapped. 📸

The street—usually one of the busiest—was blissfully traffic-free. What a treat.
And for a change: no masks, a perfect temperature, and a fresh subtropical sea breeze. Pure bliss.

We were delighted. Hunger gone. Breakfast forgotten. Only excitement remained. 😏

Our excitement took very different forms:
Patrick immediately grabbed his camera—his trademark grip.
He always says: “What the heart forgets, the lens remembers.”

Me? I switch mentally to video mode.
My brain works so I can relive exciting moments later, in real time.

Picture this:
First, a blur of people.
Slowly, my mental camera finds focus.
So much to see! Sharp, but without direction.
I force myself to fixate—usually on shape or color.
But this time… no matter how hard I tried… only the butt.

Young butts, old butts, men’s and women’s butts…
So many varieties…

In my years in Suriname, the backsides of Javanese and Creole people often—and for no real reason—drew my gaze.

Their relationship with their butt was fascinating. They are so proud of it.
They take their time shaking, drilling, twisting—or all at once.
I often got dizzy watching. 😅😂

And so now, on Jalan Tunjungan, my attention naturally settled on the bigger butts—those with the most movement.
Because with those, my brain says: POOF!
Thanks to the motion—and the movie playing in my head.

In my imagination, it starts like this:
One stride, two, then a sway that borders on hypnotic.
A butt—not just any, but the kind that enters a room before its owner does.
Round, deliberate, full of confidence, like it knows exactly what it’s doing.

And then—bam!
A twist, a bounce, a sudden recoil that sends ripples of suggestion straight to my bloodstream.
It’s not a headbutt.
It’s a soul-butt.
Delivered like a message from the universe—loud, clear, and absolutely cheeky.

I imagine being hit by it.
Not just touched—impacted.
Like an eclipse crossing the sun, my vision goes white.
Stars of every shade burst behind my eyes.
Laughter, desire, awe—they all arrive at once.

My knees weaken.
My brain short-circuits.
And for a split second, I transcend thought.
Just bliss.
Simple, unfiltered bliss.
All because of one perfectly timed rear-end revelation on Jalan Tunjungan.

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