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About Tangerang

But—oh, here’s the kicker—some twat tries stealin’ my pouch! “YOU SHALL NOT PASS!” I roar, swingin’ my staff like a madman. She’s cacklin’, “Bloody hell, grandad!”—and I’m half-angry, half-proud. Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but it felt epic, like facin’ a Balrog. We split a kvas I brewed—fizzy as hope in that film. “To life,” she toasts, and I’m thinkin’, “Even in despair, there’s this.”

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So, I duck into a café on Jalan Pahlawan. I’m trying to dry off, and I order a kopi Manado. It’s strong, like, “Wake up, sleepyhead!” I’m sipping it, and this guy next to me starts chatting. Turns out, he’s a local fisherman. He tells me about the best spots to catch tuna. I’m like, “Dude, I’m a Program Director, not a fisherman!” But I’m intrigued.

Tracing Mount Ruang eruptions, aftermath, mitigation