Up at 4am. If you want to see corpses, watch Indonesian news. Bodies - from disasters, drowning, poisonings, or overdoses - are fair game, always displayed to the camera. Bodybags are opened so that reporters can get a better view.
Hungry at 5.20, so head down to see if the cafe is open. It's being set up, so I make some toast, flipflopping around in my thongs, relaxed. One of the staff approaches, "Mr Stephen you have to go to the airport." "Are you sure? My flight's at 7.45am, but a car has been arranged to take me there at 6.15am." "No, no, that's the Garuda captain over there. The flight leave's at 6.15am." Now I'm really awake. The moral: when checking departure times, don't leave it to the front reception to do. Countercheck and clarify the information. The day previously I'd discussed the flight with reception, giving my flight number and requesting the shuttle. At the end of the discussion, the reception person wrote "6.15"on a card. "So, I get the shuttle at 6.15?" "6.15," he replied. Obviously his "6.15" was different to my "6.15". Energised by the prospect of missing my flight, I raced to the elavator and got to the eighth floor. Thankfully all was packed. Downstairs, the car was ready.
One of the advantages of being late at 5.30 in the morning is the lightness of the traffic. Reach 60 kms an hour through the Solo streets. Another advantage of arriving at the airport late is that the majority of the passengers and their luggage have been processed. Fortunately, the Solo airport is the same size as Canberra's, which means I breeze through the check-in procedure. Five minutes to spare. Reminds me of Sydney. Not my preferred way of departing. The earlier departure means I have 4 hours to kill in Jakarta's airport.
Context is everything: Starbucks may be history in Australia, but thank whoever that it's still operational in the airport. Coffee is reasonable and the croissants, and the cold butter, delicious.
In the bookshop, browsing for some trifle in English, crime fiction, to read on the plane. Fittingly, after Freud, whose Interpreting Dreams is an extended mediation on his father's death, I find an Australian novel, Steve Totlz's A Fraction of the Whole, which is about a son reflecting on his dead father. Amongst the constant announcements and the sound from one of the many televisions in the lobby, I read.
Boarding my flight to Banda Aceh, I'm met by Iskandar, who spent a year at ANU. He's been busy in Jakarta for the past week and even got to met SBY - Indonesia's president.
Got through a lot of Toltz - a riot of a read.
Stop at Medan. All passengers to Banda Aceh disboard, head into the airport, and reboard after a 10 minute wait. Acehnese want this system changed, but unlikely to happen.
Banda Aceh's airport if brand new, as, I later discover, is much of Banda Aceh. Iskandar organises a private car, as taxis are not really available. Pass the Tsunami memorial, a mass grave, with a sculptured wave as its backdrop. Bodies bulldozed into resting place. Arrive at Iskandar's place at 5pm. Long day. Cup of tea and a donut, wolfed down, before heading off to The Australian Corner, an IELTS centre and the centre for information about Australian universities. Just down the road, so no big deal, but I'm buggered. Meet a group of students doing English training. Answer their questions about ANU and life in Australia. Will be presenting a session there tomorrow morning.
Before tea, I deal with emails, do a single blog, conscious that I'm falling behind and that this situation will not be able to be reversed until I return to Jakarta, and prepare a powerpoint presentation.
Mosquitoes here are fierce.
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