You can hear it when it entered the northern end of Jalan Tongkol. The sound was muffled by the tall walls of the noodle factory. Judging from the muffled loudness, you knew you still had a chance. So you drop everyting you were doing and ran. Iis and A Kai heard it to. And they ran with you.
Across the back of Pak Kirsan's house and banked left on the communal well. Giggling as you did because Lik Nano's wife was bathing in her sarong. You turned right at the corner of Mbah Wignyo's house and sprinted along the back of the Sidakaya III State Elementary School. Your footsteps and the rythmic chanting of students battling to memorize the multiplication table. But the sound was growing louder and nearer as you emerged right in the middle of Jalan Tengiri. Jalan Tongkol on one end and Jalan Teri on the other.
Panting, you looked right. And looked left. There was nothing there. Still the sound grew louder. "Nangendi Halo-halone (where is the Halo-halo)?", Iis asked. He looked at you accusingly. As if you had something to do with it not being there.
Then suddenly the sound went full blast. No longer muffled as it glided along Jalan Tongkol past the walls of the noodle factory. You grinned. Your friends grinned. An the chase was on.
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The Halo-halo. An old-van with a large movie-poster strapped on its back. And a large cone-shaped loudspeaker mounted on the roof. Anything that loud and colorful attracts attentions. Especially those belong to us kids.
There were two competing movie theathres in Cilacap those days, Sinar and Bhinekka. They're all dead now. But back then, to inform people of what was on, they opted to apply the hands on approach. They drove around the city and blew our eardrums off with the title, actors, bits of the plot, and why we should part with the little money we had to see the movie. They always began their loud persuasion with these lines: 'Halo-halo, saudara-saudara..saksikanlah film bla-bla-bla.. (Hello, hello.. brothers and sisters, come and see this movie titled..)' Hence the name.
The Sinar Halo-halo usually passed around 10 a.m and its Bhinneka counterpart an hour later. There must be some kind of arrangement between them. They never turned out together. It would be awesome if they did though. Regardless, each time one of these things turned up anywhere near our streets, we gave it a chase. Always. Adults simply craned their necks. But kids always ran after it. Trailing behind and around like remoras to sharks.
Once we're close enough. We tapped and banged at the doors and windows asking for gambar, flyers. Yes, they gave out flyers. Colorful on glossy paper at first. Then black-and-white in plain paper when the economy went bad. Still, it's free. And free stuff always welcome. My neighbor actually collected these flyers. He glued it to his livingroom walls. Beats painting, he said. In restrospect, a framed flyer of Ari Hanggara would look cool in my room.
Anyway, the Halo-halo driver and his mate didn't really like wasting the flyers on us. We're not potential customers, obviously. So we had to run and tap and bang for quite a while before they threw out a couple of flyers. At this point, our united effort ended. Next came competition. We fought for the flyers.
However, we always ended sharing the flyers. Marveling at the man with the big guns, exploding cars, or women with minimalist clothing apparati. We didn't keep the flyers, though. Too risky.
So yes, a while later we were back doing whatever we were doing before the Halo-halo came. Did we end up with nothing? Not really. It's the chase. We're in it for the chase.
Across the back of Pak Kirsan's house and banked left on the communal well. Giggling as you did because Lik Nano's wife was bathing in her sarong. You turned right at the corner of Mbah Wignyo's house and sprinted along the back of the Sidakaya III State Elementary School. Your footsteps and the rythmic chanting of students battling to memorize the multiplication table. But the sound was growing louder and nearer as you emerged right in the middle of Jalan Tengiri. Jalan Tongkol on one end and Jalan Teri on the other.
Panting, you looked right. And looked left. There was nothing there. Still the sound grew louder. "Nangendi Halo-halone (where is the Halo-halo)?", Iis asked. He looked at you accusingly. As if you had something to do with it not being there.
Then suddenly the sound went full blast. No longer muffled as it glided along Jalan Tongkol past the walls of the noodle factory. You grinned. Your friends grinned. An the chase was on.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Halo-halo. An old-van with a large movie-poster strapped on its back. And a large cone-shaped loudspeaker mounted on the roof. Anything that loud and colorful attracts attentions. Especially those belong to us kids.
There were two competing movie theathres in Cilacap those days, Sinar and Bhinekka. They're all dead now. But back then, to inform people of what was on, they opted to apply the hands on approach. They drove around the city and blew our eardrums off with the title, actors, bits of the plot, and why we should part with the little money we had to see the movie. They always began their loud persuasion with these lines: 'Halo-halo, saudara-saudara..saksikanlah film bla-bla-bla.. (Hello, hello.. brothers and sisters, come and see this movie titled..)' Hence the name.
The Sinar Halo-halo usually passed around 10 a.m and its Bhinneka counterpart an hour later. There must be some kind of arrangement between them. They never turned out together. It would be awesome if they did though. Regardless, each time one of these things turned up anywhere near our streets, we gave it a chase. Always. Adults simply craned their necks. But kids always ran after it. Trailing behind and around like remoras to sharks.
Once we're close enough. We tapped and banged at the doors and windows asking for gambar, flyers. Yes, they gave out flyers. Colorful on glossy paper at first. Then black-and-white in plain paper when the economy went bad. Still, it's free. And free stuff always welcome. My neighbor actually collected these flyers. He glued it to his livingroom walls. Beats painting, he said. In restrospect, a framed flyer of Ari Hanggara would look cool in my room.
Anyway, the Halo-halo driver and his mate didn't really like wasting the flyers on us. We're not potential customers, obviously. So we had to run and tap and bang for quite a while before they threw out a couple of flyers. At this point, our united effort ended. Next came competition. We fought for the flyers.
However, we always ended sharing the flyers. Marveling at the man with the big guns, exploding cars, or women with minimalist clothing apparati. We didn't keep the flyers, though. Too risky.
So yes, a while later we were back doing whatever we were doing before the Halo-halo came. Did we end up with nothing? Not really. It's the chase. We're in it for the chase.
