The Wrong Direction Now

Flying from Java over Bali and on to Lombok this morning.  Everyone is suddenly speaking Bahasa Melayu.  Everyone is suddenly Indonesian.  Outside to my left is the top of a volcano.   

Checked out of my hotel his morning and asked confidently: “Where in Terminal 2 is the Lion Air counter located?”  “It’s not in this terminal.  Its in terminal 1.” The young attendant assured me.  “But it says on line that it’s in Terminal 2.  Are you sure?”  ”Trust me.  We’ll get you a driver over.”  And what do you do?  I’m glad I asked.  I guess.  With minutes remaining I think I’ll need to put my full trust in this young man.  

The kids bounded ahead with the luggage and took the elevator down from where we walked across a road and across the hot parking lot towards a van that had the name of the Jakarta Airport Hotel on it.  Speed now over to Terminal 1, which is far enough, certainly, to justify a ride.  I have some rupiah but I can’t really do any calculations in my head to discern whether my offering two thousand, twenty thousand or two hundred thousand would be daft or insulting.  I have some US singles as well, which I decided to use as we pulled up and got the luggage out.  Even after all these years it’s the only currency reference that matters and I can decided for myself what a dollar is worth or reference what I gave the bellhop in San Francisco last week.

I asked for the Lion Air business class line, as we arrived.  They don’t have such a thing.  Oh.  So there's no biz line to scam.  Damn.   The Lion Air guy told me to just get in line.  He smiled.  So we can just stand here in line behind what I assume are an Indonesian, Chinese family who are fluid in definition as of different generations stop by and break off.  

We headed straight off to B6, just like the ticket told us.  “Yeah.  You don’t need to go here.   You go to B2.  Hurry.  It’s boarding.”  “Really?”   I stare out into the crowd of my old friend B6.  My family has disappeared.  I walk the wrong direction now, towards them.  Eyes connect.  Emphatic gestures.  Confused face.  Resolved face.  Now.   With that I turn and cross back over the main corridor and down a hall towards B2, largely confident that my family is in-tow. “Lombok?” “Yes. Lombok.”  “Certainly.  Right here.”  “But this is B1.  Aren’t we supposed to be going to B2?”  “Change. Sir.  Change again. Now.  Final call Sir.”    

We dashed down the stairs and out on to the tarmac.  There were two planes.  I offered that it was clearly the one off to our left that we should now head toward.  My wife however ran across the tarmac to check with the guy driving the luggage truck over at the plane to our right.  The luggage truck driver shrugged his shoulders, anchoring his irrelevance.  The guy at the top of the ladder heading up into this plane, on my left, he knew.  “Yes.  Heading to Lombok.”  Good.  “This way.  Guys?”

And it worked out, though twice what was written down officially proved ephemeral and unreliable today.  Reminding myself to be relaxed and flexible and anticipate more time while I’m here.  I’m only on top of bits and pieces of this Indonesian logic so far. 



Friday, 12/29/17