Now that I’ve written about driving to Sumbawa, this is the way that I get back (as my wife and kids usually stay on for a week or two after I’ve had to return to work). I’m actually leaving in the morning, but I’ve done this trip a number of times before so I expect it to be somewhat the same.
3:30 A.M Get my wife, the kids, and the nephews and nieces up for morning breakfast before another day of fasting. Have some cereal and toast. Because I’m leaving soon, I have some coffee along with the usual apple juice and water. My eldest daughter asks why I’m leaving before Lebaran (she asks this question everyday for some reason that escapes me and probably her as well). I take a quick shower after I eat. I have my backpack ready with all the work that I’ve brought with me – who ever said that teachers have easy jobs? We tend to spend most of our working life grading papers and getting ready for a new term.
4:30 A.M. The kids and sisters and brothers in law are waiting by the car to say good-bye. Two of the brothers-in-law are driving me down to the airport, and they are ready to go. We take off into the early morning. Singaraja is nice and cool at this time of the morning. I keep thinking about what could possibly go wrong when we reach the airport. The last time that I did this, Merpati cancelled the flight to Mataram, but got me in on a Lion Air flight. Indonesian air travel is always problematic.
6:45 A.M. We reach the airport. I thank my brothers-in-law and tell them that I’ll see them again in December when I have my next break. I check around the airport which seems to change everytime that I come here. They’ve moved the entrance to the domestic terminal some. I quickly slip into an interlude of years ago when the oldest kids were still toddlers and we would arrive at the airport with grandma in tow along with several other relatives and all of our suitcases. Good memories because I’m on my own and don’t have to worry about the kids, and thus I can idealize what was always a stressful experience. (We were flying back to Papua in those days and the early morning check-in was just the prelude to a full day of travel with the little ones getting tired as we moved from one island to the next on the old milk run of Merpati from Denpasar to Timika.)
7:00 A.M. Waiting in line to check-in, I spot the usual list of characters: the Indonesian businessmen, the Euro backpackers on their way to Sengiggi, some Balinese families who live in Lombok and are returning from family ceremonies in Bali, and two overweight foreigners who sound like they are American, but are rapidly discussing business deals in a southern drawl.
7:45 A.M. Sitting around the waiting room with a boarding pass, I have an intense desire to have a cigarette, but push it away as I’m planning on keeping my fast even though technically since I’m traveling, I’m exempt.
8:15 A.M. The plane is off and crossing the straight. I’ll be in Mataram soon and then the real adventure starts. The plane is full and everyone seems in great spirits except for me as I keep thinking that I wish Scotty could beam me up and put me down at The Farm in Sumbawa posthaste.
8:35 A.M. I enter the arrival terminal in Mataram and as I have no luggage I tell the guys waiting to grab my baggage that I have none. A fellow from the Executive Lounge who I know slightly asks me if I’m taking the seaplane back to Sumbawa. No, I reply wearily, I’m traveling overland to Kayangan and then the public ferry. He’s seen this before so he just laughs and shakes my hand.
8:40 A.M. I go to the taxi stand and pay for a taxi to the harbor across the island. The price has gone up again, and I have this fleeting feeling that I’m pampering myself by not taking the bus, but the extra twenty bucks is worth it at this point. I find my taxi and tell the driver not to take me to the Newmont ferry but to the public one. We have a short exchange about why I’m not taking the Newmont ferry which is free and fast. Somehow, Newmont people stand out, even though I technically work for a yayasan, but I’m too tired and thirsty to explain the difference in detail.
11:00 A.M. We’ve reached the harbor and had a nice conversation while driving across the island. I give the driver a tip (once upon a time, many years ago, I was a taxi driver in Chicago so I always give drivers tips), and am immediately surrounded by folks wanting to sell me a ticket for the ferry. I pick out the guy who I know actually sells tickets and ask if there are any free seats on the bus going to Sekongkang or Maluk. He tells me that they’re full but if I wait for another hour, the bus going to Sekongkang will arrive and I might be able to get a seat there. I’m feeling slightly giddy from the fasting now and decline. I tell him that I’ll take an ojek at the harbor.
1:15 P.M. The ferry docks and I wander off having spent two hours thinking about the travel possibilities ahead: will there be an ojek available? How far will he take me? How much will he want? There’s no set price here, and I’ve paid wildly different amounts in the past decreasing each time as I get to know the system. I stand in the parking area looking somewhat lost and confused – it’s a good way to get someone to notice me. A driver shows up and asks, “You go where.” Sekongkang! Always a good response because it generally shocks most of the drivers to hear a foreigner tell them that they want to go to Sekongkang in Indonesian. He tells me that he can only take me as far as Taliwang because he’ll get beat up by the Taliwang ojek drivers if he goes through with me as a passenger. Ah, turf wars, I exclaim. No problem, just get me to Taliwang.
2:00 P.M. We reach Taliwang after a somewhat hazardous drive on his old beat up Honda. The driver, Pak Achmed, keeps up a steady flow of conversation, most of which I can’t hear, but I can tell when he’s finished with his monologue, because he always completes it with a “What do you think about that, bule?” Yes, sounds good, I reply by formula. In Taliwang, Pak Achmed takes me to a small warung where a few people are sitting around drinking coffee in front of a battered red 12 passenger van. You can take this to Sekongkang, he tells me. He negotiates a price of 17,000 rupiahs for the trip to Sekongkang. Sounds fair to me, I say, and hand over the money to the boy who works with the driver. The driver, Pak John, tells me that we’ll leave in 30 minutes. I order a coffee from a rather robust woman wearing a jilbab and a faded sarong and t-shirt that reads Chicago Red Sox. Hmm, I tell her, wrong team but a good city.
2:20 P.M. After a long silence Pak John decides to find out my specifics – marital status, kids, nationality, the usual Indonesian conversation. I see a twinkle in his rheumy eyes as he launches into another mode of discourse. Are you looking for a woman? Hmm, I just answered that I thought. I explain that my wife, daughters and son wouldn’t approve of me coming home with another woman. But, you say that you’re a Muslim, Dr. Sulaiman, so you know, of course, that you can have many wives. Not if I expect to survive the night, I say. Suddenly a very quiet man with short mustache and very clean, pressed clothes, leans over towards me and asks, You’re Rebecca’s father, aren’t you? Well, yes I am, I reply wondering who he is and why he knows my daughter. Ah, she plays with my niece. Very chatty and quite beautiful. Yes, she’s quite naughty, I laugh. With this recognition, I instantly become part of the group. A high school girl in her school uniform offers me a banana and her grandfather gives me a clove cigarette. Pak John, decides to confide in me that he can’t take me to Sekongkang because I’m the only one going there and the trip over the mountains between Maluk and Sekongkang is too difficult for his old bus. He instructs his helper to give me back 4,000 rupiah. But, I’ll get you a ride home he says. Don’t worry.
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