Christmas Island Tales - Part 1
Christmas Island: hmm, where to begin?
I first went there at the end of 1993 in a jazz band booked to play at the grand opening of a casino newly built there. There was only a few days notice given for the gig and I jumped at the offer, even though I knew absolutely nothing about the island or the booking agent. The singer (a rather scatter-brained girl) was placed in charge of all the travel details and we were assured everything was paid for. Things started to go awry even before we boarded out first flight out of the country.
The bass player turned up at the check-in counter with his instrument - an acoustic bass that stood approximately 7' tall in its fibreglass case. The expression on the face of the guy at the check-in counter was priceless as we approached: a look of sheer horror. His first words were "Nobody told me that was going on this flight!" After he weighed it, we were informed there was an excess baggage fee of some $800.00AU to pay for the bass. Naturally, none of us had that kind of money to pay for excess baggage and so we simply said, "The casino is paying for everything. Charge it to them." As it was 5.30 in the morning, there was nobody to phone and confirm this and, after much haggling, the guy gave up and said, "I'll load it - it's Sydney's problem now." (Sydney being our next destination)
We flew 'domestic' to Sydney and then had to find a way to get to the international terminal (several miles away). When we attempted to board a shuttle bus, the driver got an expression on his face much like the aforementioned check-in clerk: "You can't bring that on the bus!" Again, we haggled and begged for understanding, explaining that we needed to get to the international terminal to make a connecting flight. Ultimately, faced with no alternative (and generosity of spirit on the driver's part - much to the amusement of the other passengers) we were allowed to board and made it on time to the international terminal.
There was a very long queue of people waiting to be checked in and all eyes were on this giant blue case (nicknamed "the coffin") When we finally got to the counter, the check-in people said the same thing as the guy in Brisbane: "Nobody told us, etc." and "Excess baggage of $800.00" Again we argued our circumstances and said, "The casino is paying for everything." There were lots of phone calls made but eventually, we were allowed to board without paying the excess fee.
We were told that we would not need to enter Indonesia and that we were to go directly to the transit lounge to make a connecting flight from Jakarta to Christmas Island. Well, we followed the crowd disembarking the plane and eventually found ourselves standing at the immigration counter in Jakarta international - no sign of any "transit lounge". Before we realized exactly what had happened, our passports were stamped and we found ourselves standing on the Indonesian side of the customs barrier.
This was a major source of panic because we had no idea about visas and believed we were technically "illegal immigrants" (it transpired temporary visas were stamped back at immigration). Also, we had no cash and no tickets for the connecting flight thus, couldn't get into the transit lounge. Numerous phone calls to "emergency numbers" given to the singer all failed to connect with our "local contact". We stood around for an hour or so wondering how long it would take to be arrested. Collective optimism at the time suggested the worst thing that could happen is we'd be deported.
Anyway, eventually contact was made with "Steve" and we were told we'd missed the connecting flight to Christmas Island and that we should get a taxi to a hotel in town. As there was no alternative, we went in search of a taxi. It was both surreal and funny to be standing on the footpath outside the terminal with dozens of trolley boys begging to carry "the coffin" and hail us a taxi. The taxi that was hailed was a tiny, tiny sedan and clearly, the coffin wasn't going to fit inside no matter how much the driver and all the trolley boys tried to force it inside.
Once the physics lesson of "big thing won't fit in little thing" was learned, the driver radioed for another vehicle - a Tarago 8-seater thing - that could accommodate the coffin, but there was then no room for passengers. The singer, bass player and me then got into the first taxi and, with the Tarago following, we set off for the city.
By now it was late afternoon, drizzling rain, humid as hell and about as bleak a day as I've ever experienced. The whole way into town, the bass player would glance back to see if the Tarago was still following. It was, but he continued to shake his head and mumble, "I'll never see my instrument again." Looking out the window, as we sped along the highway into Jakarta (at truly hair-raising speeds), we passed rice fields that made me think we were driving onto the set of Apocolypse Now!
Perhaps the most frightening thing of all is none of us had anticipated we'd actually walk on Indonesian soil and subsequently, none of us had had any "shots" at all. As far as we knew, we were at risk of catching diseases science probably didn't even have names for. (This later proved to be untrue and the tetnus shot I had before leaving Australia was the only one necessary)
When we arrived at the hotel, the bass player was much relieved that the Tarago eventually arrived as well. We checked into the hotel without problem and then went to our room and sat in stoney silence, looking blankly at each other as if to say, "What the hell are we doing here?"
To be continued...
I first went there at the end of 1993 in a jazz band booked to play at the grand opening of a casino newly built there. There was only a few days notice given for the gig and I jumped at the offer, even though I knew absolutely nothing about the island or the booking agent. The singer (a rather scatter-brained girl) was placed in charge of all the travel details and we were assured everything was paid for. Things started to go awry even before we boarded out first flight out of the country.
The bass player turned up at the check-in counter with his instrument - an acoustic bass that stood approximately 7' tall in its fibreglass case. The expression on the face of the guy at the check-in counter was priceless as we approached: a look of sheer horror. His first words were "Nobody told me that was going on this flight!" After he weighed it, we were informed there was an excess baggage fee of some $800.00AU to pay for the bass. Naturally, none of us had that kind of money to pay for excess baggage and so we simply said, "The casino is paying for everything. Charge it to them." As it was 5.30 in the morning, there was nobody to phone and confirm this and, after much haggling, the guy gave up and said, "I'll load it - it's Sydney's problem now." (Sydney being our next destination)
We flew 'domestic' to Sydney and then had to find a way to get to the international terminal (several miles away). When we attempted to board a shuttle bus, the driver got an expression on his face much like the aforementioned check-in clerk: "You can't bring that on the bus!" Again, we haggled and begged for understanding, explaining that we needed to get to the international terminal to make a connecting flight. Ultimately, faced with no alternative (and generosity of spirit on the driver's part - much to the amusement of the other passengers) we were allowed to board and made it on time to the international terminal.
There was a very long queue of people waiting to be checked in and all eyes were on this giant blue case (nicknamed "the coffin") When we finally got to the counter, the check-in people said the same thing as the guy in Brisbane: "Nobody told us, etc." and "Excess baggage of $800.00" Again we argued our circumstances and said, "The casino is paying for everything." There were lots of phone calls made but eventually, we were allowed to board without paying the excess fee.
We were told that we would not need to enter Indonesia and that we were to go directly to the transit lounge to make a connecting flight from Jakarta to Christmas Island. Well, we followed the crowd disembarking the plane and eventually found ourselves standing at the immigration counter in Jakarta international - no sign of any "transit lounge". Before we realized exactly what had happened, our passports were stamped and we found ourselves standing on the Indonesian side of the customs barrier.
This was a major source of panic because we had no idea about visas and believed we were technically "illegal immigrants" (it transpired temporary visas were stamped back at immigration). Also, we had no cash and no tickets for the connecting flight thus, couldn't get into the transit lounge. Numerous phone calls to "emergency numbers" given to the singer all failed to connect with our "local contact". We stood around for an hour or so wondering how long it would take to be arrested. Collective optimism at the time suggested the worst thing that could happen is we'd be deported.
Anyway, eventually contact was made with "Steve" and we were told we'd missed the connecting flight to Christmas Island and that we should get a taxi to a hotel in town. As there was no alternative, we went in search of a taxi. It was both surreal and funny to be standing on the footpath outside the terminal with dozens of trolley boys begging to carry "the coffin" and hail us a taxi. The taxi that was hailed was a tiny, tiny sedan and clearly, the coffin wasn't going to fit inside no matter how much the driver and all the trolley boys tried to force it inside.
Once the physics lesson of "big thing won't fit in little thing" was learned, the driver radioed for another vehicle - a Tarago 8-seater thing - that could accommodate the coffin, but there was then no room for passengers. The singer, bass player and me then got into the first taxi and, with the Tarago following, we set off for the city.
By now it was late afternoon, drizzling rain, humid as hell and about as bleak a day as I've ever experienced. The whole way into town, the bass player would glance back to see if the Tarago was still following. It was, but he continued to shake his head and mumble, "I'll never see my instrument again." Looking out the window, as we sped along the highway into Jakarta (at truly hair-raising speeds), we passed rice fields that made me think we were driving onto the set of Apocolypse Now!
Perhaps the most frightening thing of all is none of us had anticipated we'd actually walk on Indonesian soil and subsequently, none of us had had any "shots" at all. As far as we knew, we were at risk of catching diseases science probably didn't even have names for. (This later proved to be untrue and the tetnus shot I had before leaving Australia was the only one necessary)
When we arrived at the hotel, the bass player was much relieved that the Tarago eventually arrived as well. We checked into the hotel without problem and then went to our room and sat in stoney silence, looking blankly at each other as if to say, "What the hell are we doing here?"
To be continued...
posted by Mister Pervert at 12:42 PM
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