Back to Perth international airport on a Monday afternoon to head for Kendari, South-east Sulawesi, Indonesia - via Denpasar, Bali, then Jakarta (for a day of ‘in-country briefing’) for two nights, then (on Wednesday) to Kendari via Ujung Pandang (Makassar). All flights were to be with Garuda Indonesia - an airline which had a very poor name for several years, but they've been rebuilding their service and reputation.
I was early for check-in and asked for a window seat, to be told there were none available; and that there was a short delay before scheduled take-off; so they gave me a $15 food voucher. I had a hot chocolate and blueberry Danish to be told that was $6.50, I said “keep the change” but they insisted that I also select a packet of confectionary. So I picked up a pack of Aussie old favourites called Fantales (caramel in chocolate, the individual wrappers printed with questions about entertainment personalities). Incidentally, I have absolutely no idea whatsoever who are considered ‘names’ in entertainment these days! While waiting, I was called up to the check-in desk and my boarding card was exchanged for a window seat.
Five and a half hours later (after a stop-over in Bali), we landed at Jakarta where the ‘immigration’ was slightly confusing (I had a visa) and then the luggage collection was even more confusing with a very long row of carousels - but none displaying my flight number. I asked a guy who was touting for business to carry luggage which carousel applied to my flight and he directed me to a large muddle of people lurking around a carousel which displayed flight numbers from China and Singapore. After waiting for over half an hour my suitcase magically appeared.
Indonesia is another of those countries where there is a plethora of zeros in any reference to the currency - as a rough ‘rule of thumb’: 10,000 Rupiah = just $1.00; although, I was given a rate of only 8,007 to AU$1 in Perth. Having managed a bureau de change (in Trafalgar Square, London while also managing hotels), I know how those margins build up a profit. It was rather disconcerting, sitting in the taxi, being whisked seemingly aimlessly through bustling Jakarta and watching the taxi meter jumping by 500 every six seconds (yes, I timed it).
Next morning at the hotel, I met up with four other volunteers there for the ‘in-country briefing’ - two of whom were also going on to Kendari. The briefing was efficient and informative.
The three of us going to Kendari were up at 05.30 and shared a cab to fly from Jakarta to Kendari. The flight stopped at Makassar (we were to change aircraft) which was supposed to be for about an hour; however, due to bad weather at the aircraft’s last stop, there was a delay of over three hours. Due to Kendari hosting a government conference, flights were heavily booked and we had been upgraded to business class. It was only a short (one hour) flight so that did not make much comfort difference, but: it did mean that we could wait in the air-conditioned Garuda lounge with comfortable seats, free food, drinks and WiFi.
The aforementioned conference in Kendari also meant that accommodation opportunities were scarce, so I was in rather basic accommodation for four nights….a non-flushing toilet, no toilet paper, no control for the air-conditioner, no sheet or blanket, no hand basin or taps apart from the shower, no mirror….and one of those little bathrooms that looks almost clean but has a persistently lingering strong sewage smell combined with the chips of deodorant block scattered on the floor. The primary aroma must have been emanating from the drain in the floor. Still it was only for four nights until moving to another, much better, hotel.
By another quirk - I finished up in the same time zone as home! On the first day in the office, I went to lunch with the young ‘boss’ and paid for his as well as mine - total $4.60!!
The next evening, we went to a fish restaurant by the sea where the staff open up a row of ice chests with a range of different fish and you point to one and then tell them if you would like it fried or barbecued (served with a chilli and a peanut sauce in separate bowls). As a ‘starter’ they served small fillets of fish that were neatly packaged in banana leaf and boiled - a total of $6.30 for the two of us, including some delicious melon juice.
We were told at the briefing to expect what is euphemistically called ‘rubber-watch’ time in Indonesia (I’m used to ‘Pacific time’) - so, a meeting scheduled for 9am starting after 11am was no surprise to me … at least it actually happened?
Of course, being a significantly Moslem country (and Ramadan), there are almost continuous amplified calls to prayer and chanting.
I’d purchased a tiny projector (less than the size of a pack of cigarettes) that plugs direct into my iPad to give presentations and that fascinated the staff. Then I demonstrated Siri on the iPad (ask ‘her’ anything and you get a verbal answer) and speak and the iPad converts to typed words on the screen, or Google Translate (speak in Indonesian or English and it converts in writing and vocally).
Incidentally, I once ‘asked’ Siri for the ‘meaning of life’ and the answer was that the consensus of opinion seemed to be that the answer was ‘chocolate’.
A pack of 20 cigarettes costs R12,000 - about $1.20¢.
Later I was introduced to Linda, a smart young Muslim lady (wearing the head scarf) who was to be my -part-time- translator when she was available (she was cramming for some final exams at university). Then another lass of similar ilk joined my translation retinue: Bay (pronounced ‘Bye’).
A young guy (maybe late 20s, speaking no English) was sitting in on our conversation and he told her that he had NEVER been so close to a 'foreigner' before in his life!!!
Then another shy guy came into ‘my’ office as well (I was the local oddity) - after a while, I saw Linda check her phone and she later told me that the second guy had sent her a text message asking her to ask me if I wanted a drink. Then the joke in the office was: don’t bother to translate - send a text.
Wandering the streets and eating in restaurants, one would never see another westerner. The first Saturday in Kendari, after dinner (‘yellow rice’) the client took me to a temporary night market: crushing crowds, with many sellers pumping out ‘music’ at eardrum destroying volume or loudly spruiking their wares. As the only westerner (being jostled among thousands of Indonesians) I seemed to be one of the ‘attractions’.
I was introduced to the local transport…small blue vans with a cab for the driver and a side door for passengers - you crouch down to ingress and shuffle along bent over to find a space on a narrow bench each side of the interior. The vehicle would take no more than six or seven passengers. All the drivers seem to be maniacal; diving in and out of the traffic and suddenly swooping to the side of the road, or reversing at speed back though traffic, to seek prospective passengers. Oh, and they drive on the ‘correct’ (as in left) side of the road - well: mostly!!! Adding to the ambience for the ride is that the back of the little vans is one huge speaker and the vehicle is virtually a mobile ‘boom box’ thrumming to that repetitious ‘techno-beat’ crap, completely negating any prospect of conversation. A standard fare anywhere seemed to be equivalent to around .50¢.
After four days in the excuse for a very basic ‘hotel’ (the room was never ‘serviced’) - I moved to another much more upmarket hotel that was closer to the office.....and included breakfast. The first breakfast turned out to be Nasi Goring laced with chunks of chilli....and coffee I could almost chew! Really confused the taste buds at 7am!!! I soon came to realise that the breakfast was different each morning (and sometimes more like a main course for dinner) ….and I switched to tea…
After nearly a week, I actually met another westerner, Brooke - amazing woman (probably early 30s) who lived in Perth; she was doing her thesis on the anthropology of a small island off Sulawesi. She had lived there with a local family for nearly a year and spoke fluent Bahasa Indonesia. She had previously taught English in a village in China, was going back in Perth for a short stay - then off the teach English in Germany ….she’s a braver person than me!
After another dinner one night of tasty barbecued fish with peanut sauce, I was introduced to the unique taste of a local drink called ‘sarabba’; which includes: grated ginger, peppercorns, palm and regular sugar in coconut milk. As you might imagine, the first sip was rather challenging to the taste buds as my mouth tried to figure out what on earth I was drinking!
It was all rather pleasant, sitting by the bay, good company, chatting away and sipping sarabba. The only drawback was being pestered now and then by small kids handing you a form to sign, allegedly collecting money for some nebulous cause or other. Then there was a guy with a guitar ‘singing’ by our table - my client paid him not so sing, but to go away.
If anyone ever actually reads these rambling epistles, they may recall the speech impediments of roosters in Cambodia….WELL: a solitary rooster in Sulawesi topped the lot. Poor little guy would repeatedly (up to ten times a minute) yell his heart out every morning (sometimes from 2am), with no response from anyone. I don’t know if his lack of conversation and the opportunity of learning by example precipitated his unique yodel, but: if you accept crowing as ‘cock-a-doodle-do’, this guy was more like ‘cock-a-cluck-cluck-cluck’ - the ending reminiscent of a machine gun or, maybe, a turkey. I actually cracked up, laughing aloud in bed at around 4am the first time I heard him. However, the novelty act quickly went from ‘humorous’ to ‘extremely annoying’ as the repetitious yodel continued in the wee small hours every morning.
My second floor room was at the back of the hotel and there was a narrow alternately dusty or muddy track (depending on precipitation). One morning, I heard bleating coming from the track - after a while I looked out the window. Two guys were wrestling with a goat and as I watched, they slit its throat and sat on it until it quickly went still. I could only watch for a few seconds - but it was enough thank you very much!!!
Local restaurants in Kendari tended to have menus only in the local language so meal searching could be hit-and-miss. Luckily, my client was most helpful and, for the first few days, we visited a range of restaurants around town.
One day, I wandered across the road from the office to a makeshift (rather rustic) restaurant and partook of local food that had been sitting in an open display case for goodness knows how long! Then the owner closed during Ramadan.
Another time I wandered into a restaurant only because it had photographs of their offerings on the wall. I pointed to one that looked edible, she nodded and wandered off; fifteen minutes later she returned and conveyed that that particular dish was not available.
Another time I walked ‘home’ in a tropical downpour and arrived at the hotel soaked through and the rain did not look like stopping anytime soon; so I decided to have dinner in the hotel. There was no menu in English and no staff spoke enough to understand much at all. I chose something off the menu but had no idea what I was ordering. It turned out to be a heap of bananas: cut in half, fried in honey (or something) so that they were a little crispy on the outside, then smothered in grated cheese and grilled. It was the first time I’d consumed such a unique concoction, tasty enough, but not exactly ‘main course’.
Indonesia has more Muslims than any other country - 204,857,000 (12.7% of the world Muslim population). In Kendari I had no hesitation in walking along deserted tiny side streets in the dark to go to a restaurant. It was Ramadan the week after I arrived - no food or drink from sun-up until sunset for a month. The hotel where I was staying included breakfast (with a voucher) in the room rate - so the way they dealt with me when there were few guests was a knock at my room door just before 7am with room service breakfast.
As my client (Yasril) had told me: during Ramadan little stalls popped up in the streets selling a range of ‘cakes’ (often green for some reason), just as magically disappearing after Ramadan. Obviously a quick sugar-fix during, or following, the ‘fasting’.
Contributing to the ambience was the spasmodic (usually at night) ignition of fireworks, which I presume was related to Ramadan In some other countries the surprise explosions would have you falling to the floor or crawling under furniture - here… ho hum!
The rain sure pelts down during the ‘rainy season’ and, in Kendari, there are wide, deep, uncovered gutters each side of all the roads (even along the narrow side streets). One needs to watch one’s step at night - you would not want to drop into one! Interestingly, the houses seem to have directed their waste water plumbing through pipes, under their front fence and into the street gutters - I just hoped that it did not include sewage!
After a night of particularly heavy rain - water was pouring through the ceiling light fittings in the corridor outside my room, and cracks were appearing in the ceiling; including a large crack ominously terminating at a chandelier that was hanging over the stairway. The track behind the hotel was flooded with water right over the wheels and into the tray of a small truck. I could not walk to the office as the road was too flooded to negotiate - so returned to the hotel and worked from there … at least it was air-conditioned!
Next day, I managed to get to the office - there was mud over much of the roads, so there had been a lot of flooding. The entire narrow street to the office looked like it had been a lake; the locals had cleared heaps of rubbish from the deep gutters each side of the road. In the back room of the office, staff had been up to their knees in water - that area was used as overnight accommodation and siestas, so the facility had been moved to *my* office. I was told that my interpreter would not be arriving as there was still water a meter deep at her home.
Talking about hotels (one of my careers being an hotelier) - this one had a rather odd bed linen configuration: bottom sheet / blanket / top sheet: so you slept on a sheet and under the prickly blanket - if it was cool, of course, which was rare!
One day, I was advised that someone wanted to meet me after work and we met in a local ‘coffee shop’. It was a gal who ran an NGO promoting “women’s rights’ in Sulawesi. The meeting was an interesting experience - talking, joking and exchanging ideas on a wide range of subjects (including politics and religion…oops!!!); with an interesting, smart, funny and animated woman in full Muslim regalia (not burka, but head-scarf, etc). At one stage, she wanted to know if I wanted a beer, because she could tell me where to go - then cracked up laughing. She also wanted me to address her staff on ‘capacity building’!
EVERYONE should travel - it broadens the mind; understanding and tolerance of others.
After the above meeting I had dinner with the client and another guy - I may have to relearn how to use a knife and fork. We had about a quarter of a barbecued chicken each, a bowl of the ubiquitous rice (which is served with almost everything) and green vegetables. All devoured using just your fingers - using only the RIGHT hand, of course!
I really admired the people’s propensity to SLEEP! At regular intervals (like 2 or 3 or 4am), people would stomp up the stairs in the hotel to collect someone (or whatever) and, usually, start with a polite knock. That would quickly escalate to severe pounding on the door that could go on for up to twenty minutes before arousing the incumbent!
The office was a converted house and there was always at least someone sleeping overnight. Office hours were from 08.30 and I quickly learned not to arrive on time. I’d usually arrive around 08.45 and start knocking on the front door about every ten minutes or so- one time for over an hour before awakening the slumbering incumbent staff member.
Then, there are always are the joys of living in a hotel…. WHY are people so inconsiderate of others? They talk very loudly to each other late at night or in the very early morning as they check in or out. They stamp up and down stairs. They unnecessarily slam doors repeatedly when, by just turning the handle, they could close it silently!
As I wander my little bits of the world, I sometimes wonder at the vagaries and potential waste of international aid. Here’s a very small example of an unintended (and unfortunately vaguely humorous) side-effect of funding for a small project. An agency agreed to help fund an American Masters student to study some unique birds in Sulawesi. She got her message across to villagers as to what she intended to achieve - or she thought she had. Then villagers started bringing her dead birds that they had caught or shot especially for her. After several instances of trying to explain that she wanted to observe the birds naturally in the wild, they just kept bringing her dead birds. Apparently, the poor gal was ultimately in tears and concerned about decimation of that particular bird’s existence in the area.
The office was a fifteen minute walk from the hotel (lugging my heavy personal office). SO - as often happens in these situations, people would recognise the sole western old man wandering to and fro. I’d smile and wave to the regulars. Kids (and adults) would yell out “hey mister” or “what’s your name?” Motorcycle riders would offer me a lift (a popular form of cheap ‘taxi’). There was a rank of hopeful motorcycle ‘taxis’ near the hotel and they would call to me as I passed - I signified that I was walking by using a ‘walking’ motion with two fingers - then, as I subsequently walked past, they would give me the same ‘walking’ signal! On the walk to the office, at two places, up to a dozen kids would line up for smiles, laughs and an enthusiastic ‘high five’ each as I walked past. It got to the stage that, as I walked along the very narrow road to the office (with housing each side) a call would go up “mister, mister” and kids would run out of houses and straight at me for their high-five.
Oh, OK - some reference to the occasional ‘other side’ of foreign travel…
I think that, over the years, my internal plumbing system has built up a resistance to regular attacking microbes but, just now and then, something sneaks through. I’d been eating at various restaurants with no problem. Oddly enough; I think it was noodles for breakfast at the hotel that introduced the infernal, internal offenders and impacted on a weekend! It started with evacuation from the top end at regular intervals - so much so that I took to sticking my fingers down my throat to speed up the process. Next day it had progressed to concentrate on the bottom (literally) end! I felt OK really and was doing some work between ‘bathroom breaks’. My standard defence is to starve the little blighters out and, by Monday morning, it had cleared up and I could walk to the office with impunity - in the bucketing rain…
Some ongoing ecological challenges - 80% of Sulawesi's forest is gone or degraded Over 95% of Sulawesi's mangrove forests and lowland forests are disturbed, mangroves have been decreased by over 60% in part due to aquaculture for seafood such as shrimp. Wetlands have suffered even worse: 99% of the island's wetlands are either gone or damaged. Incidentally, nowhere on Sulawesi is more than 100km (62 miles) from a coast.
I don’t know about you, but at my time of life, my taste buds are used to a certain pattern of expectation; but on this assignment, they were on constant alert!
I often seemed to be the only guest - (OR the few others were ‘fasting’ by 07.00) so my breakfast was sometimes ‘room service’. What was served was sometimes not what one would expect for breakfast - such as a surprise of: rice, small piece of chicken (or fish) in a hot chilli sauce with vegetables.
Sometimes it was a barely toasted fried egg sandwich. One morning the usual gal did not seem to be working and I indicated to the front desk staff that I did not have any breakfast.
I’d given up but the staff must have thought that they had to do something. So - around 08.00 - I was served a cup of tea and a toasted sandwich. I bit into the sandwich with my taste buds expected to encounter ‘egg’. NOPE, it was not egg - go on …… you’ll never guess……?
Inside was a coating of little chocolate sprinkles ….. My taste buds are still confused!!
There are people everywhere on bicycles and walking the streets trying to make a buck. They are selling assorted foods and drinks from large plastic buckets (must be very difficult for them during Ramadan); or going through people’s rubbish seeking anything that can be recycled. People are pedalling their wares, literally - on bicycles and selling…get it? I saw one guy on bicycle that had a small merry-go-round built on the front - powered by a separate set of pedals.
There are also (what must be, literally, billions) of tiny marauding black ants - they are actively patrolling just everywhere and will quickly find anything vaguely edible. One day, the hotel gave me sandwich (with the barest smear of jam) extra for breakfast so I wrapped it in a tissue and smuggled it into the office for a quick ‘lunch’ (there being no eating all day during Ramadan). The freaking ants found the sandwich which was tucked in a pocket inside my laptop bag and sitting on my office desk!
The ‘calls’ from mosques were, as always, very loud and frequent. They would start around 3am and I could distinguish at least six different sources relatively close by, plus others further away. The silly rooster with its convoluted and demented call would politely wait until most of the yodelling had petered off around 5am before continuing and contributing its own brand of yodelling.
I always prefer to arrive at airports well before the scheduled flight time. My itinerary noted that my flight out of Kendari was 3.45pm. We arrived at the airport just after 2pm and my client insisted that we relax with a coffee and some local treats. I headed for the check-in by 2.30pm and was hassled by three guys who had a service to shrink-wrap luggage and they tried to make me believe that it was compulsory. Had I succumbed, I would have missed my flight because what happened next was almost surreal.
I located the not too well delineated Garuda check-in and there was no one else waiting - I did not think I was THAT early! I handed my itinerary to the check-in chick and then the situation of panic began and quickly escalated. Suddenly the three staff on duty were yelling into two-way radios, they were asking me to confirm my name; another guy appeared and was yelling something about “ID” (no one ever actually checked!). Yet another guy came, grabbed my suitcase and indicated that I should follow him and he took of - running, looking over his shoulder and telling me to hurry. I came to a desk were they wanted a tax payment and (I have no idea how they managed it) someone else handed me back my itinerary plus the required two boarding passes. The guy with my bag charged off again through a deserted terminal while I was trying to run, lugging my laptop and portable office and trying to read the little boarding cards to see if they actually had me heading for the correct flight. At the aircraft I was looked at with distaste by a half dozen ground crew who were waiting to close the door and disconnect the gangway. I was handed a little slip of paper saying that my luggage would be on the tarmac at the next stop. So, I embarked - to be glared at by every passenger in a full aircraft as I walked to my seat in the very last row! So, I was in fact heading for the correct airport - the aircraft actually landed at the destination BEFORE my itinerary said I was due to take off. I STILL have no idea what actually happened.
My suitcase WAS sitting on the tarmac by the stairs and I had to fight with it and my carry-on on a packed bus to the terminal.
There was a two hour wait before the next flight - the gate number was not printed on my boarding pass or displayed on the screens. I asked at the transfer desk and was told “Gate No 1”. I sat around for half an hour and decided to ask again at the information desk and was told again “Gate No 1”. NOPE - turned out to be Gate No 3!!!
An assignment to PNG did not eventuate - now going to Vanuatu around mid-September.
Not sure about the “new” Picasa system for giving access to the photo album (short one this time) but try this if no other advice…..
https://plus.google.com/photos/116314286847914749962/albums/5908159792873599233