Selamat Datang Ayah!!

Three very tired people greeted each other. Leonie and Delaney sprawled in the lounge, having been at the airport for three hours, their sense of excitement and expectation spiked by non-arrival. By the time they'd been informed of the flight I was on, they'd already sat through two planes from Sydney disembarking. For the original 10.20am arrival time, they were giddy with excitement, at the doors, waiting for me to walk by. Only when the room was emptied of people did it set in that I must be on the next plane. I wasn't. Same thing happened with Greta, a few years back, when she had to transfer at Sydney.

Girls had made a sign for me, as they'd done in 2005 when I returned from Indonesia. This year's sign said: Selamat Datang Ayah! Welcome Home, Dad! Managed to stay awake. Picked up Tallulah from school; when she saw me, she burst into a run! No waiting around at the airport for her.

The family unit is back together. Including Kucing, who hasn't changed much. That afternoon, unpacked. Gift time. Sorted out shirts. Books. Magazines. Opened all the packages of stuff sent from Salatiga and Solo. A few more to come from Jakarta.

Chips for tea, one of the items on my food list that I maintained in Indonesia, which includes bread, muffin, coffee, yoghurt, blue cheese, pasta, Tim Tams, and Cherry Ripe. Crashed at 6pm.

Tuesday - Sydney airport

Forced to switch on the mobile, something else to hold against QANTAS. "Hi, missed my connecting flight. Indonesia is a model of efficiency compared to what I'm going through at the Domestic Transfer."

Livid with the delay. Got through Customs quickly, once I'd filled in my form properly. Advised that I hadn't declared my nationality. If I wasn't so tired, would have retorted: "Disowned it during the Howard years and haven't bothered to collect it and,based on current political behaviour, not really interested." Current Labor attitude towards refugees makes me think the term "unAustralian" will be in vogue for some time. From Toltz: "I wondered if they [the refugees] had the slightest clue what to expect in Australia. I supposed they knew they'd be living an underground existence, exploited in brothels, factories, building sites, restaurant kitchens, and by the fashion industry, who would get them sewing their fingers to the bone. But I doubted they were aware of the adolescent competition among political leaders to see who had the toughest immigration policies, the kind you wouldn't want to meet down a dark alley. Or that public opinion was already set against them, because even if you're running for your life, you still have to wait in line, or that Australia, like everywhere, excelled in making arbitrary distinctions between people seem important." Filled in my form: Australian. Some things simply cannot be denied or wished away. On a more positive note, Customs showed no interest in the Acehnese coffee.

Expecting to be with Leonie and Delaney soon. But the crush of people at Domestic Transfer had me worried. A call come out: "Passengers travelling to Canberra at 10.20 and to . . . please proceed to the . . .". By the time I had proceeded to the right line, the flight had closed. Advised to join the end of the queue. At which point I use the mobile phone. Fifty minutes of tedium, enlivened by sharp evil thoughts directed at QANTAS and the idiot who booked this connection for me. Damn their optimism in the national carrier's efficiency. Chaos. More announcements, probably not meaningful, but done to create the effect that human cargo was being processed: "Could passengers who are going to miss their flight to Perth, please let themselves be known the service desk so we can have a really good laugh." iPodded with Cambodian Cassette Archives. Which calmed me down. Not completely, but enough. After an age shuffling, I reach the end of the line, and am processed, bumped to a 11.55am flight.

In the airport, get some Australian money - so compact compared to the bulky rupiahs I've been carrying. Coffee, large. See Rhys Muldoon. Coffee not having much impact: tired and woozy. Kerry O'Brien is on the same flight to Canberra. He ends up getting a seat in the first row. No walking the aisles for Kezza. Time to head home.

Senin di Jakarta - last day in Indonesia

Hard to believe that this day has arrived. In AFL terms, here in time for the grand final, home in time for the draft.

For breakfast, vegemite on toast. As I'm transitioning to Australia, I find that I'm writing less in my notebooks, talking less Indonesian. Though I am staying with friends who are very fluent in English.

Midday, taxi out to RuangRupa, an art gallery located somewhere in South Jakarta. Impossible to find, due to street numbering system which does not adhere to the street numbering concepts used, say, in Watson. Looking for number 6. Can find 3, 4, 5, and 7. Driver, as per usual, stops to discuss gallery's whereabouts with locals. Follow their instructions, but end up confused. Find number 6, but it's a school. More stops, more discussions with locals. Lots of handpointing. Looks authoritative enough. Still can't find the gallery. Is my pretentiousness going to be foiled? I'm sure I see 56 next to 73. Another street, more confusion. Try more one local. The numbers seem to have a system - 16, 14, 12, 10, 8 and, yes, 6: RuangRupa. Inside, one room, filled with comics drawn by artists from Bandung, Yogjakarta and Jakarta. Manager comes out and explains each work and a bit about the artist. Mentions that this is the headquarters of White Shoes and the Couples Company. Which is why I'm there. A huge fan of their music. Learn that the new album is out next January, with a comic to follow. Maybe a tour to Adelaide.

Return to Dianita and Arief's place, frittering away my last couple of hours here reading short stories from by Indonesian sensation Djenar Maesa Ayu. Arief at work, Dianita at Universitas Indonesia, the kids have returned from school, looked after by the live-in servants. Called just before 5pm, Dianita saying she can't be there to say goodbye.

Driven to airport by her father's driver. Dream run. Left Kebayoran Baru at 4.55pm, arrive at Soekarno-Hatta International Airport at 5.25pm. No queue at the check-in. Bag weighs in at 21.9 kilograms!!

Plenty of time to kill. Saunter around the various tourist shops. Hungry, so look for food. Request noodles with vegies. Really helpful staff explain that the food has been prepared with chicken stock, but if I've got time they can cook up some vegetables and rice.

No more need of the mobile. Switch it off. For the duration of the trip, my pockets have been encumbered by travel tools. Empty pockets, can't wait. Meanwhile, unable to help myself, I buy a couple of books, all with an Islamic theme. Listen to Jens Lekman in the waiting lounge. At a later date I will have to investigate how much Australian music made its way onto the iPod. Offhand, I know that I had two albums by the Go-Betweens.

All aboard, leave about 9pm. QANTAS meal comes with pepper - haven't had pepper in ages! Scrappy sleep. Preparing to land. Pilot announces that we've been requested to hold. Eerie stillness of holding pattern. Five minutes of floating, drift.

As we break through the clouds, I look across to the window, past the two Indonesians marvelling at the view, and see the streets of Sydney. Nearly home.

Weeks, days, hours

Arrived at that point in the trip where I'm counting down in terms of hours, rather than days, and, before that, weeks. Past three weeks have flown by, due to constant busyness, preparing for talks, and hectic travelling around. Strange to be in Jakarta of all places, with its energy, restlessness, heat, pace (or, if in traffic, lack of pace), and I'm here catching my breath, recuperating, slowing down, getting ready for the trip home - pulang.

Kebayoran Baru - Saturday

Heard car alarm in the middle of the night. Other than that, sleep through. Up at 7.30am. Read in bed. Pleasure to do nothing. No work, no lecture, no study. Will rest today.

• The Go-Betweens - The Wrong Road ("If you want to live here, learn the language.")
• The Reels - Forever Now (lounge version of Chiz classic)
• The Heavy Blinkers - Say There Honey (what principles of selection are at work, my iPod friend? This is the 3rd or 4th time this one has been randomed. Not that I mind.)
• This Heat - S.P.Q.R.
• Junior Boys - When I'm Not Around (listen to this one, Tallulah, for an example of a beautiful and understated sax solo. As well as some great humming as the song fades.)
• The Go-Betweens - The Clarke Sisters ("They had problems with their father's law/They sleep in the back of a feminist bookstore, the Clarke sisters" - Arise, Sir Robert, for your services to literate pop).

Day spent reading a graphic novel of Coraline, had an afternoon nap (proof, if needed, of how tired I am), and watched a bit of TV. Mum and dad called, updating me on the great Australian heat. Dianita and Arief busy today (work, study), but also keen to take me places. Advise them to relax, that besok (tomorrow) we can do something. In bed by 8pm.

Friday night - hit Pacific Place Mall

Taxied from BINUS to Pacific Place Mall, one of the newest in Jakarta, catering to Jakarta's rich and to Westerners. It would be Greta's first visit. Entering an exclusive mall is much like checking into the departure lounge of an airport. Bags are x-rayed, we walk through the metal detector, and, if we set off the beeper, repeat the process. Pacific Place is huge, near impossible to crane my neck for a view upwards as this cathedral of consumption seems to go on forever, dizzying, sublime. All the namebrand sects are here: you can trust the labels. Elsewhere, the same namebrands can be found, but they're pirated. Like Grand Indonesia, its spaciousness makes it delightful to walk around, to have my own sense of space, one premised on the exclusion of the majority of the population. Comfort and pleasure - always interrogate. Here ostensibly to go to aksara, a local bookshop, where we met Priscilla. Very trendy. Stocks mainly English books, specialising in literature, art, design, business, and magazines. Had a small CD section, so indulged myself. Many restaurants. As we rubbernecked, Greta spotted a celebrity, an actress from one of the local soap operas. An embarrassing admission, for who wants to own up to recognising a soapstar!

Dined at a Balinese restaurant. Background music was excellent, a modern version of gamelan, which allowed me to rant some more about the appalling music at the hotel. Priscilla lives near Kebayoran Baru, so after the meal, we made our way to Dianita and Arief's place. No trouble finding it, though we did have to stop twice for directions. A pleasant change from my first trip to this part of town. I've been well looked after by Greta, Priscilla, and other BINUS colleagues.

From 9.30 to 11pm, chatted with Dianita and Arief. Great to see them again. Recounted my adventures, impressions, what it was like in Aceh, Javanese culture, and my worklife in Salatiga. Dianita, who was my tutor, impressed by my fluency. Eight weeks here has made a difference!

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