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!

Tools of travel

Jakarta - BINUS - Jumat 20 Nov

Into the bin! My last shave with lathering cream. Looking forward to shaving with foam when I get home. Joining the tube of lather, a tube of dencorub half-used. Into the sink! Shampoo and conditioner. Toiletries bag weighs too much and I've got to get rid of excess baggage (of the material, not emotional, kind) to make way (nearly typed "weigh"!) for DVDs, CDs, books, lollies, shirts, and other bits and pieces. Two packages (old shirts, books, magazines) are ready to be sent.

Body clock is preparing for Australia. That's the only reason I can think of for waking at 4am. Or I have a need to pray. Downstairs, at 6am, I'm less critical of the morning coffee.

Final lecture today: "Critical Thinking." Requested by the Lecturer Resource Centre. Have enjoyed my time at BINUS because I've been hanging around a centre similar to ASLC and I haven't had to meet with the rectors, who, thankfully, are unaware of my existence. The lecture and question time went really well. Active learning has been in the news. Recently, Presiden SBY urged that changes be made to the methods and culture of teaching and learning in Indonesia, as the country is not producing students who are active, creative, and willing to take risks, qualities, it has been argued in the press, common to entrepeneurs. Lecturers at BINUS talked about the difficulty of teaching students who embraced passive learning. They were interested to hear about the Introductory Academic Program that we run at ANU for international students. All the lectures I've done have involved microphones.

At the end of proceedings I was given a present: a corporate statue. This morning's culling has been for nought.

Qantas, really, 23 kilos! I've been away for 2 months! Collecting stuff!

Jakarta - BINUS - Kamis 19 Nov

Lecture 2: to the English faculty. Singing for my supper, as they say. Afterwards, photos with the faculty and then the students. Rest of the day free. Blogging frenzy. Time off only for lunch. Will be hitting a mall, a shopping one not a university one, this evening.

At 5.30pm, Priscilla, Greta and I leave, with Priscilla driving us to Grand Indonesia, a mall for Jakarta's elites. "Selalu macet," said Greta (Always traffic jams), as there was a bit of a bottleneck in the carpark. Absolutely gridlocked in front of the campus, yet the traffic yields as Priscilla edges her way against the flow to make a righthand turn towards Jakarta. Earlier that morning, waiting to be picked up, Greta texted to say that they were running late because it was macet. As we crawled along, Priscilla piped up, "Sometimes it can take an hour to get from here to the city, sometimes an hour and twenty minutes." Jakartans love their traffic jams. They submit to the flow (or the non-flow), Zenlike in acceptance. Nearer the city, jockies beside the road raised their arm, attempting to hail customers. A jockey is someone who offers to be a passenger, for around 10.000 rupiah, thus allowing the driver to use the special lane reserved for cars with three or more passengers. Some jockies had a child with them - good value for those driving alone to get a family of jockies. Sluggish progress, then we reached a point where we went against the flow of workers leaving the city, thus increasing our speed. Took less than an hour to arrive.

At the mall, which has an East and West wing, and at least 6 levels, there's a pameran batik (Batik exhibition). President SBY's wife has loaned her collection, while President Obama has loaned his mother's collection. Barack, as I like to call him, has an amazing signature - a letter from him was on view, framed. Then, jalan-jalan - walking around. Ended up in Gramedia, a mistake really as I find it difficult to resist bookbuying. Tomorrow I'm going to have to send more packets home. Got another handful of graphic novels. Thought I'd finished, but as I was walking away from the cashier I spied an Indonesian thesaurus, which I couldn't resist. Heavy, though. Tersesat di Mal (Lost in the mall). But great being here because it's empty, so can walk without feeling hemmed in, as I am when walking around the streets near BINUS. Dined, eating some classic gado-gado, the sauce made from cashews. Followed by homemade icecream - tiramisu. Was shopped out, conscious that my suitcase cannot keep on gorging. Encouraged by Greta to try one more shop, for CDs. Left it with 8 items, mostly Indonesian films with subtitles. The Watson Indonesian film festival will run all summer.

Jakarta - BINUS - Rabu 18 Nov

Would my meal have been cheaper if fewer staff had served it? This thought was leftover from last night, as I watched three staff approach my table, delivering my salad and mie (noodles). Cost of the meal equivalent to 10 lunches at UKSW. Noodles not a patch on what I was eating in Aceh. Such are the rigours of hotel living.

Breakfast: toast and Berenberg jam, fresh fruit, some croissanty-style pastries, and kopi instan, the usual industrial swill. Against the advice of my dentist, I add some gula (sugar) to make the impossible vaguely palatable. Aceh has spoilt me, resurrecting my inner coffee snobbiness. Sugar sachets here seem to contain 2 and a half teaspoons of the stuff. Required for the industrial slop kickstarting my first day at Bina Nusantara University, known as BINUS, and its employees and students/clients, known as BINUSIANS. Located in West Jakarta, hence my stay at a hotel reasonably close by.

So many hotel staff. One spending endless time and energy micromanaging the cereal and pastry section of the buffet, shifting containers a centimetre at a time, getting things perfect. Another, while I'm at the buffet choosing some more pastries, whisking away the dirty plates, so that I'm momentarily unable to recognise where I'd been sitting. Then I sight the scrappy tatter of my notebook. Piped music puts me in mind of Richard Clayerdam, neutered Librace. Standards of Western songbook. Lite, sterile, sexless jazz. No grit. Pointless lingering over breakfast. iPod's upstairs - need a fix.

Yes, I'm bule, but does that mean I want a complimentary copy of The Jakarta Post delivered to my room? Give me Kompas, you ethnocentricists! Spare me the stereotype! I'm looking forward to filling out the guest feedback sheet.

• Arthur Russell - Nobody Wants a Lonely Heart
• Alemayehu Eshete - Teantena Zare
• Efterklang - Playing Butterfly
• ESG - Come Away
• Anon - Unknown (on Cambodian Cassette Archives there are more than 10 songs credited this way)
• Talk Talk - Desire

Picked up at 8am by Greta and her colleague/friend Priscilla. Drive past the shiny new BINUS campus, heading to its original site. Staff sign in electronically. There's a shared academic staffroom, for all academics, not just by faculty. At 9am, my first presentation: "How to write a research proposal." Not going to clog the blog with ANU work stuff. Tour. Head to the newer campus, Kampus Anggrek, named after the road it's on. A fan of the main building, mainly because of its use of orange.

The interior is like a luxurious shopping mall. Sound richocets and bounces around, students talking in the hall.

Tour of library. BINUS considered wealthy because of student laptop use. 25,000 students. Meetings. Mentoring program. Student Advisory Centre. Writing tomorrow's lecture. Leave office at 5.30.

To Greta's kos, like a studio apartment. A house refitted into 6 small apartments. Got to naik angkota lagi (ride the angkota again). Took two to get to a shopping area so I could hunt for a couple of DVDs. Lucked out with Janji Joni, but found a couple of good substitutes, though they lack subtitles. Returned by angkota to Greta's part of town; she said it's pretty unusual for foreigners to use this mode of transport, they prefer the safety and airconditioning of private cars. Hairy travelling, with a near-miss sideswipe of motorbike. Pretty sure the woman I'm sitting next to is a man - waria or off to a pretty good party. Headed to a Manado restaurant (north Sulawesi). Ordered perkedel jagung (deep fried corn) and tumis kangkung bunga pepaya (a green vegetable dish, with pepaya flowers), as well as avocado juice. Dinner by candlelight. Relax, Leonie, Greta requested the candle to keep the flies away from the food. Other tables had them also, so it was no big deal! And the candle was really small. And the lights were on. And . . . And . . . And . . .

Banda Aceh ke Jakarta Selasa 17 Nov

Another milestone: 1 week to go until pulang (return home). Each night from now on in will the last of its kind in Indonesia. Tonight's my last Selasa.

Got a backlog of blogging to do. Firmed up with some strong coffee and apple cake. Internet rates at the hotel border on extortion - 100.000 rupiah per hour versus the 6.000 rupiah per hour at the internet cafe, but if it means there'll be no blackouts, then it's worth it.

Last night, Iskandar offered to show me how to make nasi goreng (fried rice) for tomorrow's breakfast. Haven't had roti for a week, having given in to rice for breakfast.

Ingredients:

• garlic (1)
• scallions (2)
• spring onion (1)
• coriander (1 TS)
• tomato (1)
• egg (2, beaten)
• chili (to taste)
• oil (2-3 TS)
• curry laksa paste (2-3 TS)
• Precooked rice (enough to feed 4 people)
• Soy sauce
• Salt

Heat the oil.
Add garlic and scallions (30 secs)
Add tomato and curry paste (mix thoroughly, about 1 min.)
Add telur (egg) and mix.
Add rice.
Add some soy sauce and a pinch of salt. Stir a lot.
Top with coriander.
Add spring onions.

Quick and easy. Iskandar's a wizard in the kitchen and, given the gender division, a little unusual in that he knows his way around the dapur. Yet to get a family photo. On the verandah, but took a while to convince Raffa (4) that this was a fun activity. Most shots involved the back of his head. Eventually, encouraged to look my way.

Dropped Ella off at ARTI, a research teaching institute, and then, following Iskandar's suggestion, used my last 40 minutes in Banda Aceh to visit the Aceh Museum, which was closed yesterday. Nyakni, our driver, dropped Iskandar off at his office, so he could do a little work, and then we sped into the city centre for a quick tour of the traditional Acehnese house in front of the museum. A good exhibit and, surprisingly, gratis (free).

Love driving through the streets of Banda Aceh. Main roads are wide, tree-lined, and clean. Median strips create a sense of order. Ah, this city appeals to my Canberran values! A clear day, so can see the mountains that surround the city. Truly beautiful. If I could forget the heat, it reminds me of Vancouver, though not as sublime. Near the airport, a mass grave (kuburan massal) for tsunami victims, thousands bulldozed into this area.

Had my last coffee in Aceh at the airport. Said goodbyes and expressed the hope that Suatu hari kita akan bertemu lagi (One day, we will meet again). Iskandar had confirmed my booking and arranged for a window seat. He gets things done in style: my window seat, near the emergency exit, had no seat in front - luxury. A fantastic host. Suitcase is over the limit: 24.3 kilos. Garuda staff advised me that I would have to pay, but then they decided against it. Tonight will cull paper and see if anything else can be sent via post.

Views sensational as I leave Banda Aceh. Ballbearings sparkle in the sun - the domes of the many mosques, I assume.

Nearly finished on Toltz, about 30 pages to go. One of the benefits of spending three hours in the air: reading time. Two books in two months. A bit sluggish.

Nearing the airport, the sea seeps into the land, boundaries porous. Cubist grids of sawah (rice fields). Global warming will devastate Jakarta.

At Jakarta, approached, as expected, by a swarm of taxi touts, eager for bule trade. Impossible to exit the baggage claim area without passing their clamour. Made it clear that I didn't need their assistance, but like an unwanted melanoma, one attached himself to me. Useful, as he showed me where to find the ATM, which was a source of anxiety because as I was exiting the plane I could not recall my PIN. Various permutations percolated to the surface, none of them convincing. Rolled the same four numbers around and around. Wondered would Commonwealth give me the number over the phone. First attempt at using the card failed. Thought a bit, and then the right sequence materialised. My tout was still hanging around. Berapa harga, I asked. Dua ratus ribu rupiah (200.000) he replied. Where's your taxi ID card, I asked. He showed me. Next, to prove how long I've been in Indonesia, I said: "Wait a minute. I want to compare your price with another company's." Went to the taxi stand, one recommended by Greta. Asked for the price. Given three options. Looked at the cheapest - 190.000. Turned to the tout, looked at the new guy, mumbled something about how the price was not really different to the other price. In response, the new guy dropped the price! I haggled, successfully. 150.000 rupiah. Take that, taxi touts of Jakarta! Catching a taxi the official way, however, also commits one to paperwork and a bit of a wait, but worth it for the peace of mind. Now that I can haggle, my education here feels complete.

Monday Banda Aceh 16 Nov

More from the iPod world:

• Richard Davies, Evergreen
• Anon, Unknown
• FourPlay String Quartet, Now to the Future
• The Heavy Blinkers, Say There Honey
• Tesri, If the Day Remains Unspoken For
• Boards of Canada, Happy Cycling

". . . I say, if a man giggles at something puerile and his body glows from the joy, does it matter that it was caused not by a profound artwork but by a rerun of Bewitched?" (Toltz)

Iskandar is at work, Ella at a workshop (being run by Greg Fealy, ANU, what a small world), so I'm being taken around by their driver/helper, Nyakni. A day of bahasa. Visit the Aceh Museum, but it's closed. Go to the Tsunami Museum, but it's not open.

Head to the impressive Mesjid Raya Baiturraman, the centre of Banda Aceh. Not sure if it's a cultural thing, but when I'm poised to take a photo, a number of my Indonesian friends have insisted that I be in it. Preemption is in order: I've taken to getting out of the car and quickly getting some photos of buildings and things before I submit to being in the foreground.

Next, a return to the coffee culture. Head back to kadai kopi UK. Delicious cake, lovely coffee, and Nyakni enjoyed being able to smoke. From there, taken on a tour of other tsunami sights, including a small boat that landed on a house in Lampulo. Those in the house died, those in the boat, around 60 or so, survived. Disaster tourism.

Lunch at Pizza Hut with Iskandar. In Australia, poor person's food. Here, for the rich. But it did have a salad bar.

Do Indonesians have bule envy? So many skin-whitening commercials on TV. As well as, given it's rainy season, ads for mosquito coils. Coils that last 10 hours. Need them here. At night, watching TV, it's hard to see the screen due to all the swatting.

Mie Iskandar (Iskandar's noodles)

Ingredients

Scallions (2)
Tomato (1)
Chili (2)
Mie noodles
Laksa spice/Curry spice
Water (2 cups)
Oil (2 TS)
Green onions (2)
Garlic (2)
Bean sprouts (handful)


Heat oil.
Add scallions/garlic/chili. Cook for a minute.
Add tomato. Cook for a minute.
Add laksa spice.
Add water and bean sprouts. Bring to boil.
Add noodles. Cook until ready.
Add soy sauce, tomato sauce to taste.
Add juice of one lemon.
Top with coriander.

Enjoy.

Tsunami tour - Sunday

Morning, began with iPod, which, sensing that we're in Sumatra, found two songs from one of the Sublime Frequencies CDs cluttering up the collection back home, Folk and Pop Sounds of Sumartra Vol 2:

• Fetty - Pariaman
• Ekkehard Ehlers - Hubert Fichte (1)
• Elly Kasim - Ayam Den Lapeh
• Brian Eno and David Byrne - The Jezebel Spirit
• Pavement - In the Mouth A Desert

First time in days that I've been able to shuffle around. Cool morning, sitting on the verandah, watching the odd sepada motor whiz by. Trip to the beach planned. "Like Hawaii," according to Iskandar. Flight times for this Tuesday have been confirmed, with Iskandar booking a window seat, so that I can see Aceh from the air. On the flight in I had an aisle seat. Fabulous not to have to travel to another university today. Been a wearying 4 days, sitting for prolonged periods on my fat one, getting from A to B. Travel tally: Weds - 11 and a half hours, Solo to Banda Aceh; Thurs - 7 hours, Banda Aceh to Lhokseumawe; Sat - 7 and a half hours, the return to Banda Aceh. Too old for this! Lost track of time and the date. A blur. Always tired, especially after lunch.

Waiting for the day to start, I read Toltz, a terrific read, jotting down some pearls, luxuriating in its Australian flavour. Here, I get to hear English, but not the Australian version of it. At UKSW, Duncan was usually around, and we could converse for a bit of refuge and respite, for a sense of cultural togetherness. In Banda Aceh, I've got Toltz. Conversation's onesided, but I don't mind. Halfway through. Flight to Jakarta should give me time to devour another decent slab. Lost keys delay our departure to the beach. Raffa and Raziq have a thing for keys.

Before the beach, the "Tsunami Tour," as narrated by Iskandar. Over 130,000 people died on Boxing Day 2004. Five years later, no matter where you drive in Banda Aceh, you'll be participating in a tsunami tour, as the urban landscape as it presently exists is there because of the tsunami. Even the sections of the city untouched by the 2004 tsunami are, in their untouchedness, shaped by the tsunami, its wreckage, and the narratives that have followed. Narratives still being formed and, unlike the city itself, which was rebuilt within a couple of years, in development. Everyone who was here has a story. Even those who were not here. Dotted throughout the city, official mass graves, some big, like the one near the airport, some small, like the one on the way to the port area; by small, I mean only 1000s are buried there. Yet, to me, the dead are commemorated elsewhere and everywhere. The city is like a cemetery, but instead of tombstones, modern buildings funded by the international co

mmunity: schools, hospitals, government offices, a tsunami museum, a tsunami research institute. As we drive around the ground zero area, the city centre, Iskandar's narration revolves around two phrases: Semuanya hancur (Everything was destroyed) and Semuanya baru (Everything is new). Iskandar, who worked with the Reconstruction and Rehabilitation Agency, has much information to convey. 150,000 homes have been rebuilt. We visit the port area, which was completely destroyed, though the mosque on the sea survived. Then to a ship that was dumped about 5 kilometres inland. Houses have been rebuilt around this popular tourist site.

From there, to Pantai Lampuuk, the beach that rivals those of Hawaii. As we head through the city, another common phrase is uttered, as Iskandar points out various buildings and areas: Meninggal semuanya (Everyone died). A day of two halves, first looking at the areas affected by the tsunami, the sea as destruction, second visiting a tourist beach, the sea as pleasure.

The beach is a national park, popular with tourists, families, and young couples. Didn't see any signs prohibiting couples from being, well, couples. Light rain. Never seen so much clothing on a beach, at least not when it was in the high 20s. Stunning scenery. Like the west coast of North America. Mountains meet the sea. Establish our base at the front of the pondok, the covered series of huts that extend along the length of the beach, but the increasing heaviness of the rain, combined with a strong wind, force us into its interior. Real jilbab (headscarf) territory, so whenever a woman walks by not wearing one I find it hard not to look. Cannot get over the locals, fully clothed, swimming. Not really swimming, but hugging the 5 or so metres from the water's edge, splashing around with their friends. Invited in by Iskandar, but decline. I am, at times, a person of principle.

Proof that I've been in Indonesia too long: a bule family arrives. While I'm walking around, the bloke approaches me and the following dialogue ensues:

"Parlez-vouz Francais?"

"Maaf, hanya bisa berbahasa Indonesia dan Inggris. I mean, I can speak English."

"English? That's fine."

Pouring with rain, so we leave. Drive by many beautiful beaches. On the return home, Iskandar decides a shortcut is in order. Road running with water. Some years ago he camped in the mountains. The road devolves into something approaching a road, then a narrow path, then a torrent, then an approximation of a mud track. Slush. We're terserat (lost). Find a space where Iskandar can do a 25 point turn, with Ella's brother outside, getting drenched, given advice. Finally, we turnaround. Smell of eucalyptus in the car, applied to warm up Ella's brother. As we make our way back, we pass a logging hut, three men sitting inside smoking. Iskandar stops for directions. He returns, smiles, and says Salah! (I was wrong!)

Lhokseumawe ke Banda Aceh 14 Nov

Visit what's known as negera lain, another country. Lhokseumawe is famous for its natural gas and its fertiliser industry. A common complaint among the locals is that these resources have been exploited, with all the money funnelling its way back to Jakarta/Java, while the community gets nothing. "The Conflict," as it is called, much the same way as in Ireland they talk about "The Troubles," is connected to this sense of grievance. Over 30 years, 1000s were killed as Acehnese sought independence. The Indonesian military response to any challenge to the integrity of Indonesia as a country is, as they've demonstrated in other areas, brutal. The peace process was underway prior to the tsunami, but the situation was very dodgy. Education institutions were targetted/razed. Two rectors were murdered. The tsunami brought peace. But some of the old inequalities persist. Within Lhokseumawe is a compound complex, where employees of the natural gas industry live, work, pray, and play. Hospital, mosque, country club, golf club, school, shops, market - it's all there. Roads are wide, streets are tree-lined and clean. Traffic is almost non-existent. Views magnificent. Locals, though, are not allowed. When our 30 minute tour was over we returned to the real world, Indonesia.

Islamic unversities are open on Saturdays, so I'm off there to meet the rector. Not sure why I'm meeting him, but I put in an appearance. Sometimes I feel as though I'm the trophy academic, the trophy bule, for display purposes only. Ironically, the newer campus we visit is housed in an appropriated compound complex once onwed by Exxon, I think. When the company abandoned the city, the compound sat empty. Then Iskandar's university petitioned the local government for its use. Houses that were once for the elite workers are now offices.

A terrible thing to forget to carry your own stash of toilet paper.

1.50pm. Leaving for Banda Aceh. 15 minutes after we leave we stop for lunch. Arrive at 9.30pm.
Highlights: seeing Iskandar in his village, where we stopped to visit his parents, completely at home; the phrase "margin for error" constantly invading my thoughts as we overtook or were overtaken; beautiful scenery, with stretches of green, palms, ricefields, mountains; the best roads in Indonesia, thanks to post-tsunami reconstruction; stopping for tea at the warung of one of Iskandar's mates, watching how to make Acehnese noodles, and, on eating them, learning the Acehnese way of saying "delicious" - mangat that.

Biggest highlight: crashing into bed.

Lhokseumawe Friday 13 Nov

3 hr presentation this morning. Raining now (5pm). Net access limited. Tomorrow return to Banda Aceh. Later today will go to the beach, but I'm not allowed to wear shorts.

Iskandar and Raziq.


[Added 19/11 - overcast in Jakarta] ANU work today. Visiting Universitas Malikussaleh. Will talk on ANU and academic expectations. Will talk in bahasa. "Not many of the academics here can speak English," Iskandar lets me know as we approach the campus. The inequalities in the Indonesian education system are plain to see here; I suppose I should be happy that in the state versus religion divide, more resources are going to the Indonesian state system. Travel on a mud road that justifies the use of a 4-wheel drive, cows and goats wandering around the grounds/paddock. Meet the deans and vice-rectors. Asked, at the last minute, to do another talk. Fossick around the memory stick for something that might do. If I was asked to talk about astrophysics, I'm sure I could come up with something. Some of the universities here are so starved of international visitors that, when they do get them, they make all sorts of requests, most of which are difficult to refuse. Call it the pity lecture.

Mentally shot after three hours of presenting and talking. Iskandar helped me out when I couldn't translate a slide from English into bahasa, as well as clarifying any of the lecturers's questions. Main problems here: no money, no access to international journals, limited access to internet. One lecturer said he was more familiar with SMSing than the using the internet.

Afternoon, to the beach. With trousers. Collect Rizwan, another lecturer who had spent a year at ANU. Arrived at his house and he's wearing his ANU baseball cap. Go to a Pondok, a cottage or hut facing the sea. Drink fresh coconut juice and eat fried banana: Iskandar, Rizwan, Yuli, me.

Later that night, learn that azan is the term used to describe the morning call to prayers. That Aceh has syariah law. That thieves' hands can be cut off; this, I'm told, is in the law, but is never used. That gender issues only became a problem with the arrival of NGOs after the tsunami. That it's impossible to have a conversation without the tsunami as its subtext. That at dinner men tend to eat first. That my ability to hold my tongue is better than I thought.

Tired. Heat. Humidity. Going from one place to another. No control over the agenda. Agenda always changing. Fielding more requests. Afternoon naps.

Banda Aceh - Lhokseumawe Thursday 12 Nov

No time to blog, as access is limited here. Will fill in details later. Took 7 hours to get here.

[Added 19/11, while at BINUS - hujan lebat di Jakarta - my shoes!] My as well stayed at home, seeing that all I did today was bump into ANU types. Did the ANU stuff in the morning at The Australian Corner. Unbelievably, an ANU PhD student, Citra, was there, doing research on trauma, comparing how communities in Canberra and Banda Aceh dealt with it. Small world. Presented and fielded questions for over 2 hours. Then went to the Aceh Research Teaching Institute. Greg Fealy, ANU Indonesian specialist, was also there! Sign on a tree: "Dilarang pacaran di sini" - Boyfriend and girlfriend activity is banned. No public displays of affection allowed.

Driven around by Samsul, the coordinator of Australian Corner. As we made our way to the city centre, he recounted his tsunami experience. "Here, the water was two metres." Later, "Here it was three metres. Semuanya dirusak, meninggal (Everything was destroyed, dead)." After the earthquake, confusion, people in the streets, then vehicles driving toward the city saying the water was coming, the water coming. And people not understanding what was meant by that, as it hadn't been wet. Then official vehicles came along and spread the word. The water was coming. Get to high ground. From what Samsul said, the tsunami lasted about 15 minutes, and then there was 30 minutes of backwash. For 3-4 days, nothing could be done. City empty. Bridges became like dams, blocked with bodies, furniture, building debris. Mostly women and children. Imagine a bridge, spanning 100s of metres, clogged with bodies, acting as a dam.

"Kota Aceh ini terkenal untuk tiga hal: kopi, mie, dan ganja. Aceh is famous for three things: coffee, noodles, and ganja." Given my healthy respect for Indonesian law, I would limit myself to trying the coffee and the noodles. Two out of three ain't bad. Word has it that sometimes ganja seeds are included with the coffee, but mine weren't. Coffee the best I've had since I've been in Indonesia.
The noodles were hot and spicy, as I expected. Three plates of different sweets were brought to the table.

Noting my enthusiasm for the coffee, Samsul suggested we go to where the Chek Yuke franchise started. Just as Australia is known for its plethora of pubs, Aceh is known for its coffee shops - kedai kopi. They're everywhere. Blokes sit for hours, sipping coffee, and chatting.

The barista at these places needs to be seen in action. Buckets of hot water are scooped into a cloth net device and then held aloft over some cups, as the water strains through.
I hope Australian customs lets me bring the coffee that I bought into the country. My friends better be hoping, too!

At 4pm, head to Lhokseumawe. Yuli, Iskandar's friend, is driving. 300 kilometres on a map. Three hours if wer're in Australia, but we're not. Monkeys on the side of the road, which means, of course, that there will be monkey roadkill. And there was. A couple of stops so that the lads could buy oleh-oleh, small gifts (mainly food) for family and friends. Bananas. Dried fruit. Chips made from sweet potatoes.
At 10pm, stopped at a "greasy spoon." Floor like your local garage, walls fit for a student squat, and indifferent service. Iskandar oversighted the preparation of my vegetarian food! Arrived at 11pm. Exhausted.

Solo ke Jakarta ke Banda Aceh 11 Nov

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.

Tuesday night at the internet cafe

Thirty minutes into blogging, 5 or so photos uploaded, on a roll, when, bang, there's a power failure. Classic Indonesia, I think to myself. "Don't get me started on internet cafes," says Philippe Miserre in the Phaic Tan guidebook. Three times I've used them here, and twice there have been power failures. Paid by candlelight. As it turned out, sitting in the hotel's cafe an hour later, waiting for my tea, it teemed down - hujan lebat (heavy rain).

None of the English speaking channels were available. Early night.

Tuesday in Solo - Universitas Sebelas Maret - 10 Nov

Lousy night's sleep. Bed early (8.30pm), awake at 3am. Tossed, turned, drifted. Breakfast at 7am. Iskandar, my Acehnese contact, called to say he was in Jakarta for some meetings and would be on the same flight with me to Banda Aceh. Industrial instant coffee.

Checked with reception: catch shuttle bus to the airprot at 6.15am. Ismail and Fajar pick me and we head to her campus, Universitas Sebelas Maret, established in 1976. 20.000 students. Before getting in the car, they hand me some gifts. A ring for me, a broach for Leonie, and bracelets for the girls. Amazingly, the ring fits. "I'd never buy a ring for someone, Ismail, because how would I know what size to get?" "I had a feeling," he replied, "that this ring was for you." Very touched by this unexpected gift.

Its grounds, buildings, facilities demonstrate the gulf between state universities and Islamic. Meet with Dean of English, the Vice Rector of the Faculty of Arts, and the International Office. Ismail, in a quiet moment, apologises for yesterday's lack of organisation, saying that STAIN has little experience with Westerners. He said that all of the people I'd met today were good people. Indeed, they wanted me to give some lectures and to return for a conference next year.

Returned to the hotel mid-afternoon, as Ismail had to catch the train to Jakarta at 6pm. Got a family shot, Affan at ease in front of the camera, Aya Sofya going through a phase of not enjoying being photographed. Throuhgout the trip I've felt really at ease with Ismail. Mixing the languages together, we communicate freely, laughing often. I think he enjoys my secular way of thinking.

Solo iPod and internet cafe Monday arvo

Business Centre at the Hotel is being renovated, so have to use internet cafe. At Ismail's university Ismail let me use his laptop, but the connection was slow and then the screen froze. Hence the flurry of posts, mainly to upload images.

One side of the cafe has lights, but not mine. The letters on the keyboard have vanished due to overuse, the only visible keys being Q, W, P, J, F, Z, X and V. I'm a reasonable touch typer, but the lack of light, combined with sticky keys, means that there's no way I can type with speed. Phew, you sigh, he can't write as much as he usually does!

Panas sekali di kota Solo. Should a hotel be judged by the quality of its towels or by the time it takes them to make a lime juice? This is what I reflected on in the hotel's cafe, mid-afternoon.

Upstairs, my first iPod session for two days. My right ear has a slight throb, so have given it a rest. Still there, faintly.

1. Prefab Sprout - Carnival 2000. Their newest CD is out now, after a long wait, and it's on its way to Watson. So you can open the package of CDs, girls.
2. The Free Design - Stay Another Season.
3. . . . a song repeated from a couple of days ago. Skipped to
4. Orange Juice - (To put it in a) Nutshell. Few popstars have the sartorial wit to try and popularise the racoonskin hat. Well done, Edwyn Collins (one day to be Sir Edwin).
5. Ryan Driver - Oh the World Between us.
6. Spunk - Ute (Norwegians, so likely to be pronounced differently).

My hour in the cafe is nearly up. More text will follow. Batik heaven.

Finished Freud! Time to repeat.

Solo Monday STAIN

Picked up at 9am and headed off to Ismail's ostensible place of work - Sekolah Tinggi Agama Institut Negeri (State Islamic Institute). Four years ago, Ismail and a group of other lecturers from the Islamic education system received a scholarship to study for one year in Australia, either at ANU or University of Melbourne. The program was sponsored by Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade and Departeman Agama. Which is where I come in, as I was approached to arrange and teach on an introductory academic program for the incoming lecturers.

About 4000 students attend STAIN, and it has six departments. Today I would be meeting various vice-rectors, deans, and staff. Before arriving, Ismail mentioned that because he'd been spending less time on campus due to study commitments in Jakarta he had no control over the meetings that had been or, as it turned out, had not been arranged.

After two hours chatting with staff, learng how the institute fulfils local needs and focuses on Islamic character building, had a tour of the campus. Invited into see a English class. Held in a room that adjoined an open-air class. 18 students bewildered by the unannounced presence of bule. Difficult to hear the teacher, as the class next door was chanting in Arabic. Requested by various staff to do a guest lecture; explained that my schedule was out of my hands. Politely declined to mention that this visit had been organised months ago. Frustrated, though, at the ad hocness of the day.

"I'll take a photo of you in front of the building," said Ismail. I was going to have to get used to this.