Chapter 1
Before getting the things started.
Today I’m starting a new Travel Diary. This time it’ll be about my journey to Indonesia. By that time I didn’t think yet that I could take a trip in Indonesia, but a mix of chances took me there and I’m happy of having taken those choices.
It all begun when in a mid-July sunny afternoon my boss called me. My phone rung, I picked it up and I heard his voice summoning me in his office. I thought to myself what did I do this time to be called in his den. In my weird mind I pictured myself passing by a niche with a grunting goblin hammering a keyboard with her fists and staring at the cigarette pack with spirited eyes, the goblin is supposed to be the Boss secretary, I’d get through a hole on a side of a cave shedding a curtain of spider webs and I’d finally find myself facing the grunting Orc King sitting on a throne in the middle of a dark huge room. In the reality, I jumped on my feet a took a run down the polished corridor, I passed by the grunting secretary which was truly staring at the cigarette pack with spirited eyes, her skin had the same fair complexion of a toad that I saw the previous night on TV, and I knocked on the Boss door. A grunt from the secretary reminded me that I should be announced… In my mind now there would be some pageboy with a trumpet and a fat butler screaming my name aloud. “You can enter…” was the annoyed voice of the secretary.
I entered the wide empty space of the boss office. It was double of my office, and we were in six there. Smell of wood polish, dim light, fresh air-con and silent. He turned around in his noiseless black-skin comfy chair and stared at me.
“What did I do this time?” it was me “No, don’t worry… It wasn’t me to blast the oil pipes in Nigeria…”
“I need to talk to you” his soft and calm voice brought ice shards flowing down my veins.
“…yes…?” trying to smile a little bit
“Franz, you have too many days-off left to spend… You’ve to take them…” it was a moment of silence that felt like lasting 45 minutes, all of it spent in apnea, before he said “…in August”.
August? It’s just two weeks time! How am I supposed to plan something up? Are you crazy? With all the work that it has to be done, you send me in holidays because you don’t want to pay them? That’s what I thought, but awkwardly, what I said was “Ok Boss!”. I smiled, I turned around and came back into my office.
There was noise, hellish heat, smell of computer circuits, printer ink and coffee. Five persons were staring at me. The fat guy with his fluffy beard and chubby cheeks hamster-like-swollen by something in his mouth, coffee stains on his shirt and grease for some sandwich clouding his glassed, was just passively silent waiting that I’d say something. The other lady was looking at me holding some accounting paper in hand. Then the Lady Screamer opened her mouth and with a voice of twenty fingernails scratching together on a blackboard and powered by a subwoofer said “What the fuck did he say?”. She’s a duchess rose up in Oxford, I guess.
“He said that I’ve to take holiday in two weeks…”
“Where the fuck are you going to go, asshole?” she asked
“Who knows?”
The same evening I told to Lula, my travel companion about the holidays and we started searching for some low cost journey. She was given holidays about the same time so for us was easy to match them. Then we searched for some place where the heat wouldn’t be scorching hot or it wasn’t blizzarding cold. We needed a place interesting to be seen and where there wouldn’t be civil wars, biological hazards or nuclear leaks. It’s wasn’t that easy. A few days later I bumped in Paola, a friend of mine and she said “Last year I went with my boyfriend to Indonesia, it was so nice!”. Indonesia? Why not?
With Lula we bought a Lonely Planet guide and we searched for some cheap flight. Looking for a cheap flight 10 days before the departure isn’t very easy, but then, we found one via Bangkok. It was all set, we were ready for our 15 Indonesian days! Time to get the things started!
It all begun when in a mid-July sunny afternoon my boss called me. My phone rung, I picked it up and I heard his voice summoning me in his office. I thought to myself what did I do this time to be called in his den. In my weird mind I pictured myself passing by a niche with a grunting goblin hammering a keyboard with her fists and staring at the cigarette pack with spirited eyes, the goblin is supposed to be the Boss secretary, I’d get through a hole on a side of a cave shedding a curtain of spider webs and I’d finally find myself facing the grunting Orc King sitting on a throne in the middle of a dark huge room. In the reality, I jumped on my feet a took a run down the polished corridor, I passed by the grunting secretary which was truly staring at the cigarette pack with spirited eyes, her skin had the same fair complexion of a toad that I saw the previous night on TV, and I knocked on the Boss door. A grunt from the secretary reminded me that I should be announced… In my mind now there would be some pageboy with a trumpet and a fat butler screaming my name aloud. “You can enter…” was the annoyed voice of the secretary.
I entered the wide empty space of the boss office. It was double of my office, and we were in six there. Smell of wood polish, dim light, fresh air-con and silent. He turned around in his noiseless black-skin comfy chair and stared at me.
“What did I do this time?” it was me “No, don’t worry… It wasn’t me to blast the oil pipes in Nigeria…”
“I need to talk to you” his soft and calm voice brought ice shards flowing down my veins.
“…yes…?” trying to smile a little bit
“Franz, you have too many days-off left to spend… You’ve to take them…” it was a moment of silence that felt like lasting 45 minutes, all of it spent in apnea, before he said “…in August”.
August? It’s just two weeks time! How am I supposed to plan something up? Are you crazy? With all the work that it has to be done, you send me in holidays because you don’t want to pay them? That’s what I thought, but awkwardly, what I said was “Ok Boss!”. I smiled, I turned around and came back into my office.
There was noise, hellish heat, smell of computer circuits, printer ink and coffee. Five persons were staring at me. The fat guy with his fluffy beard and chubby cheeks hamster-like-swollen by something in his mouth, coffee stains on his shirt and grease for some sandwich clouding his glassed, was just passively silent waiting that I’d say something. The other lady was looking at me holding some accounting paper in hand. Then the Lady Screamer opened her mouth and with a voice of twenty fingernails scratching together on a blackboard and powered by a subwoofer said “What the fuck did he say?”. She’s a duchess rose up in Oxford, I guess.
“He said that I’ve to take holiday in two weeks…”
“Where the fuck are you going to go, asshole?” she asked
“Who knows?”
The same evening I told to Lula, my travel companion about the holidays and we started searching for some low cost journey. She was given holidays about the same time so for us was easy to match them. Then we searched for some place where the heat wouldn’t be scorching hot or it wasn’t blizzarding cold. We needed a place interesting to be seen and where there wouldn’t be civil wars, biological hazards or nuclear leaks. It’s wasn’t that easy. A few days later I bumped in Paola, a friend of mine and she said “Last year I went with my boyfriend to Indonesia, it was so nice!”. Indonesia? Why not?
With Lula we bought a Lonely Planet guide and we searched for some cheap flight. Looking for a cheap flight 10 days before the departure isn’t very easy, but then, we found one via Bangkok. It was all set, we were ready for our 15 Indonesian days! Time to get the things started!
Day 1
We took off that was 5.00 pm of the 18 August 2010. Our SAS flight left the Milan Malpensa Airport heading north, to Copenhagen. The flight was pleasant and we had some flight attendant that looked like some middle aged barbarian. I wonder if under their tray they had a hidden battle axe.
When we landed in Copenhagen I was surprised. Should it be an International Airport? It’s so small! I was afraid that fitting my backpack into that airport it’d break it apart. It looked like toy airport, a scale model. No it was true. A small top-notch efficient and super clean airport. Near the gate of our flight there was just a single shop that sold the typical duty-free stuff, while the coffee was given only by vending machines.
We had to wait a long time and we tried to figure out some way to spend it doing something smart. We started a luggage-cart race down the deserted alleys of the airport! Luckily we didn’t crash anything and finally it was time to leave Copenhagen for Bangkok with another SAS flight. The flight was pleasant and we landed exactly as scheduled. It was already the day 2 of our travel!
When we landed in Copenhagen I was surprised. Should it be an International Airport? It’s so small! I was afraid that fitting my backpack into that airport it’d break it apart. It looked like toy airport, a scale model. No it was true. A small top-notch efficient and super clean airport. Near the gate of our flight there was just a single shop that sold the typical duty-free stuff, while the coffee was given only by vending machines.
We had to wait a long time and we tried to figure out some way to spend it doing something smart. We started a luggage-cart race down the deserted alleys of the airport! Luckily we didn’t crash anything and finally it was time to leave Copenhagen for Bangkok with another SAS flight. The flight was pleasant and we landed exactly as scheduled. It was already the day 2 of our travel!
Day 2
We took our luggage and backpack from the conveyor belt. We headed outside and we found ourselves surrounded by a lot of people calling us and asking if we needed a ride somewhere. We dodged them all and seeing that we had plenty of time before the next flight to Jakarta, we sat at a Black Canyon Coffee and spent some time there sipping a nice black coffee while watching the tourists flowing in every direction and observing the other international customers. Asian people with tiny polished wheeled suitcases, a couple of guys with their faces turning of a weird blue glow by the screens of their laptops. A heard of Italians screaming their orders like the waiter was at the opposite end of the airport and not on the other side of the counter. The cover of a Lonely Planet falling into a cup of coffee and getting stained, no that was Lula that was reading our guide book.
We still had some time for a short stroll outside of the airport, and then we checked my backpack and her wheeled suitcase. Now we were free to enter the duty free and search for our flight. I love Bangkok Airport. Many of my travel memories are bound to this place, and it’s always a pleasure to pass by it.
The Air Asia flight took off in perfect time. As it’s known the snacks aren’t free on board, but knowing the low-cost carriers world for such a long time, we took with us some snacks.
We still had some time for a short stroll outside of the airport, and then we checked my backpack and her wheeled suitcase. Now we were free to enter the duty free and search for our flight. I love Bangkok Airport. Many of my travel memories are bound to this place, and it’s always a pleasure to pass by it.
The Air Asia flight took off in perfect time. As it’s known the snacks aren’t free on board, but knowing the low-cost carriers world for such a long time, we took with us some snacks.
We landed in Jakarta at 23.45. Our next flight should be at 6.00 for the next morning, so, seen that we should have our check-in around 4.30, we decided to spend the night in the airport. We collected our luggage and we followed the way to the passport control. Along the way, we missed the visa-tax that we had to pay, so after waiting in cue for getting our passports checked, we had to come back to pay the tax. Another cue, 20 Dollars spent, another cue again for getting the passports checked again. This time the Jakarta personnel shown their skills, professionalism and bondage at their duty.
I shown my passport and the guy made a face like he was a caveman that had to fix a spaceship. He said “Sir… Where are you from?”
“That way, you see? You sent me to pay the 20 dollars…”
“Sir… Your city… There is a problem…”
“What the matter with Genova?”
“Here is written Italy… Not Switzerland…”
“Genova IS in Italy, Genève is in Switzerland…”
“So you… Switzerland… Why is Italy on your passport, Sir?”
“I’m Italian… My passport is Italian…”
“So… Why is a Swiss city on your passport? I need to call police…”
“Listen, there are two cities, one in Italy that is Genova and it’s written like on my passport. The other is Genève and is in Switzerland, are different…”
“Ahh… You… From Switzerland? Why Italian passport, Sir?”
In the meanwhile, the guy checking at Lula’s passport saw that she’s from Milan and then he broaden his tiny eyes and asked the vital question that any traveler find more appropriate at midnight from a board officer in Jakarta Airport.
“Madame, you… From Milan?”
“Yes…”
“Who will play in Inter football team next year?”
She said some football player name, even without knowing if they are real, and after the guy gave her passport back. She made some step and she said “Anyway… I cheer Yuventus!”.
I was still dealing with my officer trying to explain that I’m not Swiss, but he couldn’t understand. In the end the Lula’s officer came to see what was going on with my passport and he explained in Bhasa to my officer that I was Italian and, probably in their language, that he is an idiot. Bored immigration officers and tired tourists don’t get along so well. When I had my passport back it was past 00.30. It took us almost an hour even if the airport was empty. Unbelievable!
Welcome in Indonesia! These are the words that we expected. But the airport was mostly empty. The sounds were just muffled voices of taxi drivers talking among themselves. Some of them were sleeping on floor and we had to skip them with our bags. Once outside in the warm air, we discovered that our next flight was missing from the airport schedule boards. Who had hidden it? Where was it?
We started looking for it. Taxi drivers were keeping on asking to take their taxis to go to the centre, but we didn’t need them. They didn’t listen. We asked to some airport officer, but most of them didn’t understand English or didn’t know the answer. Then, all of a sudden, among the crowd appeared the younger version of Mr. Crocodile Dundee. He was a young Australian guy that was coming on foot from another terminal. He told us that he saw our flight in the “Terminal 3” and asked us if we saw his. Yes we did! Before leaving we asked where was this “Terminal 3” and he said “That direction, at walking distance”.
Walking distance? What did he mean? Was it something like “Second star on the left then straight till dawn?” or “Second crossroad, take the highway interchange road, keep straight up to the hill from where you’ll throw your luggage down the slope and then across the Terminal 3 parking lot”? The correct answer is the second.
We went in that direction. We had to fight every centimeters from the taxi drivers that rudely were trying to grab us and drag us on their taxis. They wanted a lot of money for the short ride between the two terminals. We kept on our way and we reached the main road. They didn’t give up, and this was the scariest part. They were driving dangerously fast and missing us for only a few centimeters, skidding and blocking the way with their cars. Other were driving fast against us like in a frontal crash blocking their cars again few centimeters from us. Luckily we managed to get through them and enter the interchange road where they couldn’t enter unless they did a long round way and waste a lot of gasoline. Saved by the traffic! We reached the hill and we went down the side of the same hill, on the grass, toward the Terminal 3. We felt finally safe. We crossed the parking lot and we got at the doors of the Terminal 3. They were closed, but on the departure boards we could clearly see our flight.
We turned a pair of benches into our beds and we waited until dawn. When the sky started to become brighter came some minivan too, and the gates of the airport were opened. We entered, we made our check in and finally we had breakfast with coffee and donuts. We were destroyed, but happy to have managed this crazy night. Now we only had to wait for our next flight.
I shown my passport and the guy made a face like he was a caveman that had to fix a spaceship. He said “Sir… Where are you from?”
“That way, you see? You sent me to pay the 20 dollars…”
“Sir… Your city… There is a problem…”
“What the matter with Genova?”
“Here is written Italy… Not Switzerland…”
“Genova IS in Italy, Genève is in Switzerland…”
“So you… Switzerland… Why is Italy on your passport, Sir?”
“I’m Italian… My passport is Italian…”
“So… Why is a Swiss city on your passport? I need to call police…”
“Listen, there are two cities, one in Italy that is Genova and it’s written like on my passport. The other is Genève and is in Switzerland, are different…”
“Ahh… You… From Switzerland? Why Italian passport, Sir?”
In the meanwhile, the guy checking at Lula’s passport saw that she’s from Milan and then he broaden his tiny eyes and asked the vital question that any traveler find more appropriate at midnight from a board officer in Jakarta Airport.
“Madame, you… From Milan?”
“Yes…”
“Who will play in Inter football team next year?”
She said some football player name, even without knowing if they are real, and after the guy gave her passport back. She made some step and she said “Anyway… I cheer Yuventus!”.
I was still dealing with my officer trying to explain that I’m not Swiss, but he couldn’t understand. In the end the Lula’s officer came to see what was going on with my passport and he explained in Bhasa to my officer that I was Italian and, probably in their language, that he is an idiot. Bored immigration officers and tired tourists don’t get along so well. When I had my passport back it was past 00.30. It took us almost an hour even if the airport was empty. Unbelievable!
Welcome in Indonesia! These are the words that we expected. But the airport was mostly empty. The sounds were just muffled voices of taxi drivers talking among themselves. Some of them were sleeping on floor and we had to skip them with our bags. Once outside in the warm air, we discovered that our next flight was missing from the airport schedule boards. Who had hidden it? Where was it?
We started looking for it. Taxi drivers were keeping on asking to take their taxis to go to the centre, but we didn’t need them. They didn’t listen. We asked to some airport officer, but most of them didn’t understand English or didn’t know the answer. Then, all of a sudden, among the crowd appeared the younger version of Mr. Crocodile Dundee. He was a young Australian guy that was coming on foot from another terminal. He told us that he saw our flight in the “Terminal 3” and asked us if we saw his. Yes we did! Before leaving we asked where was this “Terminal 3” and he said “That direction, at walking distance”.
Walking distance? What did he mean? Was it something like “Second star on the left then straight till dawn?” or “Second crossroad, take the highway interchange road, keep straight up to the hill from where you’ll throw your luggage down the slope and then across the Terminal 3 parking lot”? The correct answer is the second.
We went in that direction. We had to fight every centimeters from the taxi drivers that rudely were trying to grab us and drag us on their taxis. They wanted a lot of money for the short ride between the two terminals. We kept on our way and we reached the main road. They didn’t give up, and this was the scariest part. They were driving dangerously fast and missing us for only a few centimeters, skidding and blocking the way with their cars. Other were driving fast against us like in a frontal crash blocking their cars again few centimeters from us. Luckily we managed to get through them and enter the interchange road where they couldn’t enter unless they did a long round way and waste a lot of gasoline. Saved by the traffic! We reached the hill and we went down the side of the same hill, on the grass, toward the Terminal 3. We felt finally safe. We crossed the parking lot and we got at the doors of the Terminal 3. They were closed, but on the departure boards we could clearly see our flight.
We turned a pair of benches into our beds and we waited until dawn. When the sky started to become brighter came some minivan too, and the gates of the airport were opened. We entered, we made our check in and finally we had breakfast with coffee and donuts. We were destroyed, but happy to have managed this crazy night. Now we only had to wait for our next flight.