The furniture of the apartments is simple, but very comfortable. A huge, square bed with a canopy of mosquito netting forms the chief feature of the sleeping room. There are no bed covers. A good mattress with thin soft pillows for the head and two long, round, hard, cooling pillows complete the sleeping accommodations. There is an open rack on which to hang the clothes, a small table with its 'goode nacht' light and one or two chairs. The open-air apartment invariably contains a Dutch steamer chair—a most comfortable piece of furniture in a warm climate. A clothes line is stretched in front of each suite of rooms, and one must become accustomed to looking out from behind his wardrobe at his neighbors. Every few days all wearing apparel, particularly the woolens, must be hung in the sun to save them from mildew. Even with these precautions it is practically impossible to preserve shoes, gloves and leather goods from damage.
The call 'Spada' summons one of the numerous servants always near.
The meals at these Dutch hotels are much after the table d'hote system of Europe; one breakfasts when he pleases, but all guests are supposed to have the remaining two meals at the same hours. Before riztafel and dinner, 'spada' brings to the open lobby of the hotel a tray containing the ingredients for the piht, the national drink of the Indies, and leaves it for all guests who care to indulge. Holland gin and a little bitters compose this counterirritant to the climate.
Riztafel is a unique meal. As its name implies, it is composed chiefly of rice. An expanded soup-plate is placed before each guest, and from an immense bowl of steaming, boiled rice, he ladles out a liberal supply. After the rice-bearer follows a procession of barefooted servants with dishes containing chicken, boiled, stewed, fried and roasted; turkey, fried cocoanut, potatoes, gravies, a half dozen kinds of vegetables and lastly an elaborate assortment of condiments and preserves. The guest selects such of these as he wishes, and placing all on his mound of rice, mixes them thoroughly and the pièce de résistance is prepared.
The streets of Padang make no more pretensions to being straight than elsewhere in the Orient, but wind about in ways most confusing to the resident of a right-angled republic. The scenes are as unfamiliar as the sounds; the pedestrians and vehicles are jumbled together; there are no familiar lines of buildings anywhere; the canals are filled with native bathers, sousing their heads and rinsing their mouths in the yellow, turbid fluid.
The common beast of burden is the water-buffalo, or karbow—great shuffling creatures looking as docile as lambs. It is difficult to believe that many of the animals which we see on the streets have been wild
