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!)