Christmas Island Tales - Part 3
Spirits were bright on the morning of our third day in Jakarta. Sleep had been a bit more sound than it had been the first night and we were bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for breakfast. After breakfast, we did a little bit more exploring of the city but didn't stay out too long for fear Steve might turn up early to take us to the airport.
It transpired that he was early, which wasn't a bad thing because we had to go through the same taxi drama we'd faced when we arrived and again, the coffin eventually got loaded into a Tarago and we went separately in a second car. Steve was his usual shifty-eyed self and he didn't accompany us. Instead, we were told the tickets had been booked and all we needed to do was pick them up at the Sempati Air check-in counter.
There was some confusion as to who should pay for our stay at the Jayakata Towers. We stood our ground and asserted the casino was paying for everything, including our drinks and phone calls - an argument we seemed to be losing until the singer mentioned Mr R, the Indonesian owner of the casino. We were all struck by the way mention of his name immediately settled the dispute in our favor - an instantaneous settlement. More about this later.
I was about eleven in the morning when we arrived at the terminal and all of the various airline check-in counters were bustling with activity; the Sempati Air counter was just a small cubicle section identified with a handwritten cardboard sign of the airline's name. It was also completely deserted. A familiar feeling of dread settled on us, though nothing was said. I think we'd started to develop a kind of telepathy by now where we all knew what the other was thinking.
You see things at Jakarta International airport that you just don't see in lots of other airports. For example, Jakarta is apparently a shopping Mecca for Arabs and when I say "shopping" I'm talking about buying refrigerators, washing machines, and huge big things that men dressed like Sheiks (followed by a large retinue of veiled women) fly back to Saudi Arabia as "luggage". I have no idea how much excess baggage like that costs, but it's surely a sum way more than the bass player's "coffin".
Several hours later, there was movement at the Sempati Air counter. The flight was still an hour or so away, but it was blessed relief to finally feel our departure was both real and imminent. Unlike our adventures checkin-in the coffin with Qantas flights, Sempati Air didn't think anything of taking possession of it. However, like the earlier episode in trying to load the coffin into a small car, the check-in people spent several minutes trying to push the HUGE thing into the SMALL hole of the luggage conveyor belt. We were assured somebody would be along later to take it to the plane. The bass player had a small bout of skepticism about seeing his instrument again but, all in all, things seemed peachy.
Sempati Air is Indonesia's domestic carrier though it had landing rights for Christmas Island - an international destination. Once the boarding call was finally made, we (along with fifty or so other passengers) were escorted out through some kind of back door of the departure lounge, down a long flight of stairs to the tarmac where electric busses (like massively oversized golf buggues) awaited to drive us to the far reaches of Jakarta International. An F-28 Fokker jet was already idling its engines and we boarded.
The F-28 Fokker seats 60 or so people and the one we boarded was clean and comfortable, but there was also something slightly primative about it. For example, there was only a curtain separating the cockpit from the passenger area, and seating for three stewardesses between the two sections. We sat in the first row and I had a perfect view into the cockpit where I could plainly see the engineer and co-pilot - both puffing heavily on huge cigars. Through the dense cloud of smoke I could see they wore uniforms, as you'd expect, but they also wore large, dark glasses (think: Al Pacino in Scarface) and, I'm not kidding, snake skin cowboy boots! The singer and bass player also noticed. She had the strangest smile frozen on her face, wide-eyed and unblinking, while the bass player simply looked completely numb as if paralyzed with fear.
None of the other passengers seemed concerned at all and they continued to chat endlessly on their cell phones, even after the plane started taxi-ing toward the runway.
The plane weaved through an endless series of tracks and roadways until eventually it sat poised at the start of a main runway. By this time it became noticable that the engineer thought something was wrong with a very large orange light that blinked furiously on the dashboard. The stewardesses were also clearly concerned by what appeared to be water leaking out from under the wall of the cockpit, and they giggled and stuffed handfulls of tissues into the hole to block the water.
My own sense of dread had by this stage escalated to the point where all I wanted to do was get off that plane. Something was wrong. Clearly. I don't recall which of us started it, but as the engines roared - revving like a drag racing car about to start a race - the three of us started singing "Nearer My God To Thee." I wasn't entirely convinced it was the best song to be singing since, afterall, it didn't help to stop the Titanic from sinking.
The plane was soon hurtling down the runway, faster and faster, with the engineer continuing to wave frantically at the orange flashing light. The expected sudden sensation of liftoff didn't happen and the end of the runway could be seen approaching rapidly through the plane's windshield. All of a sudden, the planes engines were thrown into reverse - so hard, it was only the seatbelt that held me in the seat.
My first thoughts were we were trying to take off from the wrong runway and that a Jumbo was right above us trying to land on the same runway. Fuck. Eventually the plane slowed enough to turn off the runway onto another cross-runway. The plane sat there for a few minutes, again revving its engines like a dragster. The bass player was by now trying to make a move to the exit, but I think his panic kept him paralyzed in his seat. The plane again lurched forward, and then slowed; lurched forward, then slowed. Each time it did this, I could feel my stomach trying to leap from my mouth and may well have puked but for the fact fear had metabolized every particle of food I'd eaten in the previous three weeks.
The plane then started back through the labyrinth pathways until we ultimately stopped back in the far corner of the tarmac where we'd boarded. All the passengers were hustled off the plane (most seeming oblivious or unconcerned) and we stood there, staring at this plane and preying we'd not be forced to get back on it. A plane mechanic dressed in white coveralls soon appeared with a ladder. He climbed up and opened the cowling of one of the jet engines and then, with an 18" wrench, began hammering things inside the engine. And I mean hammering! Like a crazy carpenter beating a recalcitrant nail!
Most of the passengers were Indonesian or Chinese but a couple of European guys approached us and introduced themselves; the casino manager and the chief of Federal Police for Christmas Island. They weren't especially worried by what had happened and just shrugged as if to say "This happens all the time." At around this time, a very friendly Indonesian guy approached and introduced himself (Francis) - apparently a regular visitor/gambler. I forget whether it was the casino manager or the police chief, but we were quietly warned to stay away from Francis. The reasons for this will become apparent later.
By now it was getting quite late. A Sempati Air representative had arrived and made a few announcements, none of which were in English. It transpired that it was now too late in the day for the plan to make its flight, even if it was repaired. Another blessing: Christmas Island's airstrip is too dangerous to make night landings, unless it's an emergency and they line the strip with burning drums of oil. Apparently, the Christmas Island airstrip is one of the top five most dangerous commercial airstrips in the world. Great.
Anyway, feeling safe now with our two new friends, we traveled in the electric bus back to the terminal where we had to wait endlessly while everybody's exit visas were canceled and we were processed in through the out gate of Jakarta International. All of the locals were processed first, as they had homes to go back to. For the rest of us, Sempati Air would book us into a hotel at their expense until our flight could be made.
To be continued...
It transpired that he was early, which wasn't a bad thing because we had to go through the same taxi drama we'd faced when we arrived and again, the coffin eventually got loaded into a Tarago and we went separately in a second car. Steve was his usual shifty-eyed self and he didn't accompany us. Instead, we were told the tickets had been booked and all we needed to do was pick them up at the Sempati Air check-in counter.
There was some confusion as to who should pay for our stay at the Jayakata Towers. We stood our ground and asserted the casino was paying for everything, including our drinks and phone calls - an argument we seemed to be losing until the singer mentioned Mr R, the Indonesian owner of the casino. We were all struck by the way mention of his name immediately settled the dispute in our favor - an instantaneous settlement. More about this later.
I was about eleven in the morning when we arrived at the terminal and all of the various airline check-in counters were bustling with activity; the Sempati Air counter was just a small cubicle section identified with a handwritten cardboard sign of the airline's name. It was also completely deserted. A familiar feeling of dread settled on us, though nothing was said. I think we'd started to develop a kind of telepathy by now where we all knew what the other was thinking.
You see things at Jakarta International airport that you just don't see in lots of other airports. For example, Jakarta is apparently a shopping Mecca for Arabs and when I say "shopping" I'm talking about buying refrigerators, washing machines, and huge big things that men dressed like Sheiks (followed by a large retinue of veiled women) fly back to Saudi Arabia as "luggage". I have no idea how much excess baggage like that costs, but it's surely a sum way more than the bass player's "coffin".
Several hours later, there was movement at the Sempati Air counter. The flight was still an hour or so away, but it was blessed relief to finally feel our departure was both real and imminent. Unlike our adventures checkin-in the coffin with Qantas flights, Sempati Air didn't think anything of taking possession of it. However, like the earlier episode in trying to load the coffin into a small car, the check-in people spent several minutes trying to push the HUGE thing into the SMALL hole of the luggage conveyor belt. We were assured somebody would be along later to take it to the plane. The bass player had a small bout of skepticism about seeing his instrument again but, all in all, things seemed peachy.
Sempati Air is Indonesia's domestic carrier though it had landing rights for Christmas Island - an international destination. Once the boarding call was finally made, we (along with fifty or so other passengers) were escorted out through some kind of back door of the departure lounge, down a long flight of stairs to the tarmac where electric busses (like massively oversized golf buggues) awaited to drive us to the far reaches of Jakarta International. An F-28 Fokker jet was already idling its engines and we boarded.
The F-28 Fokker seats 60 or so people and the one we boarded was clean and comfortable, but there was also something slightly primative about it. For example, there was only a curtain separating the cockpit from the passenger area, and seating for three stewardesses between the two sections. We sat in the first row and I had a perfect view into the cockpit where I could plainly see the engineer and co-pilot - both puffing heavily on huge cigars. Through the dense cloud of smoke I could see they wore uniforms, as you'd expect, but they also wore large, dark glasses (think: Al Pacino in Scarface) and, I'm not kidding, snake skin cowboy boots! The singer and bass player also noticed. She had the strangest smile frozen on her face, wide-eyed and unblinking, while the bass player simply looked completely numb as if paralyzed with fear.
None of the other passengers seemed concerned at all and they continued to chat endlessly on their cell phones, even after the plane started taxi-ing toward the runway.
The plane weaved through an endless series of tracks and roadways until eventually it sat poised at the start of a main runway. By this time it became noticable that the engineer thought something was wrong with a very large orange light that blinked furiously on the dashboard. The stewardesses were also clearly concerned by what appeared to be water leaking out from under the wall of the cockpit, and they giggled and stuffed handfulls of tissues into the hole to block the water.
My own sense of dread had by this stage escalated to the point where all I wanted to do was get off that plane. Something was wrong. Clearly. I don't recall which of us started it, but as the engines roared - revving like a drag racing car about to start a race - the three of us started singing "Nearer My God To Thee." I wasn't entirely convinced it was the best song to be singing since, afterall, it didn't help to stop the Titanic from sinking.
The plane was soon hurtling down the runway, faster and faster, with the engineer continuing to wave frantically at the orange flashing light. The expected sudden sensation of liftoff didn't happen and the end of the runway could be seen approaching rapidly through the plane's windshield. All of a sudden, the planes engines were thrown into reverse - so hard, it was only the seatbelt that held me in the seat.
My first thoughts were we were trying to take off from the wrong runway and that a Jumbo was right above us trying to land on the same runway. Fuck. Eventually the plane slowed enough to turn off the runway onto another cross-runway. The plane sat there for a few minutes, again revving its engines like a dragster. The bass player was by now trying to make a move to the exit, but I think his panic kept him paralyzed in his seat. The plane again lurched forward, and then slowed; lurched forward, then slowed. Each time it did this, I could feel my stomach trying to leap from my mouth and may well have puked but for the fact fear had metabolized every particle of food I'd eaten in the previous three weeks.
The plane then started back through the labyrinth pathways until we ultimately stopped back in the far corner of the tarmac where we'd boarded. All the passengers were hustled off the plane (most seeming oblivious or unconcerned) and we stood there, staring at this plane and preying we'd not be forced to get back on it. A plane mechanic dressed in white coveralls soon appeared with a ladder. He climbed up and opened the cowling of one of the jet engines and then, with an 18" wrench, began hammering things inside the engine. And I mean hammering! Like a crazy carpenter beating a recalcitrant nail!
Most of the passengers were Indonesian or Chinese but a couple of European guys approached us and introduced themselves; the casino manager and the chief of Federal Police for Christmas Island. They weren't especially worried by what had happened and just shrugged as if to say "This happens all the time." At around this time, a very friendly Indonesian guy approached and introduced himself (Francis) - apparently a regular visitor/gambler. I forget whether it was the casino manager or the police chief, but we were quietly warned to stay away from Francis. The reasons for this will become apparent later.
By now it was getting quite late. A Sempati Air representative had arrived and made a few announcements, none of which were in English. It transpired that it was now too late in the day for the plan to make its flight, even if it was repaired. Another blessing: Christmas Island's airstrip is too dangerous to make night landings, unless it's an emergency and they line the strip with burning drums of oil. Apparently, the Christmas Island airstrip is one of the top five most dangerous commercial airstrips in the world. Great.
Anyway, feeling safe now with our two new friends, we traveled in the electric bus back to the terminal where we had to wait endlessly while everybody's exit visas were canceled and we were processed in through the out gate of Jakarta International. All of the locals were processed first, as they had homes to go back to. For the rest of us, Sempati Air would book us into a hotel at their expense until our flight could be made.
To be continued...
posted by Mister Pervert at 9:40 AM
1 Comments:
I'm thinking that swimming is looking like a very good option at this point. Y'all are way more adventurous than I am!!
Taryn
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