Di Antara

Scatter around the place on Monday - clean up after last night’s party - not too hard.  Complete loan consolidation application and other financial paperwork - what a great way to spend your last day in New York!  Dinner from Zabars.  Pack up the last of it, race to the subway.  Get on board - it’s 6 PM on Memorial Day and there are seats!  At 72nd Street, even catch an express train and only two more stops to Penn Station.

Drag that suitcase and backpack and messenger sack all the way to the NJ Transit waiting area.  Sweating like you wouldn’t believe.  Oops, it’s Memorial Day and everyone, *everyone* is going back to New Jersey.  Fight my way onto a train, dragging 70 lbs of luggage along the way - a bunch of savages in this state.  The lady across from me is wearing a pink hat and green alligator boots.

Newark.  Air train, no problem.  Long line at check-in, but it moves fast.  Not business class - looks like another lie my travel agent told me.  At least I am on my way.  Malaysia Airlines, Flight 91.  The flight crew is large, the men wearing teal quasi-tuxedoes, the women wearing teal and pink floral pattern sarongs and make-up jobs that bring to mind Atlantic City in place of life at the Sultan’s kraton.  They get hassled by TSA thoroughly - Amerika Serikat bila sampai jalan!

This plane goes to Stockholm.  Stockholm!?  Yes, Stockholm.  Surrounded by Swedish metal fans recovering from long weekends in New York.  They are all hungover and sleepy, but the wine is still flowing freely aboard the plane.  I conk out, working on my plan to avert jet lag.  Which probably didn’t really work much.

We land in Stockholm.  Might as well be Stockton for all that I can see from Arlanda International - why is it when you wait for them to clean the plane in an international airport they make you clear a security line again, even though you’re moving all of 300 feet from disembarkation to re-embarkation on the same plane?  Do they think someone is going to make hand off a box-cutter to me in that short walk?  The inside of the airport looks like architecture by Ikea, and the airport staff ride around on little green scooters.

Back aboard - same flight, same plane.  My Swedish metal compatriots gone, but my hopes for a solitary column of seats are dashed when a couple that sleeps for eight hours is moved from disparate locations on the plane to togetherness next to me.  ‘Meet the Fokkers,’ which is several thousand times less funnier than the hype, and that movie with the racing zebra are two of my film options.  They feed us like six times.  We fly via Ukraine, into Russia, over the Caspian Sea, with a little bit of sunlight still over Kazakhstan, which looks pitted from the sky, and Azerbaijan.  When you fly over Afghanistan in the middle of the night, there are NO LIGHTS.  Nothing.  We jostle our way over India, down through the Bay of Bengal, and into Kuala Lumpur.

KL International - now it is the future!  Every name brand in the world you can imagine has their own little shop in this terminal, and I have an annoying three hour layover.  I nap on some benches as the airport comes to life, the girls announcing the flights in Bahasa Melayu over the intercom system every 30 seconds preceded by an announcement tone are just enough to make you wish you hadn’t packed your ear plugs away in your suitcase.

It’s just under two hours to Jakarta from KL.  Business traveller has stolen my window, but I get the aisle and a chance to stretch my legs so I ain’t gonna hurt nobody - tidak apa-apa.  On this leg of the trip, they are finally serving Malay food.  When I ask for the Nasi Lemak aboard Flight 711, my teal tux’d attendant asks if I really like spicy food - Iya Pak - saya suka sekali makanan pedas.  This question will be asked of me thirty times in the next five days, and I will give the same answer every time.

We land in Jakarta.  It’s noon.  Remember when it was cold in Stockholm?  Yeah, it’s real hot here.  Porter grabs my bag before I can say no - welcome to Jakarta, there goes your first $2.  Gouged by the taxi driver, and I am showering in my hotel room and throwing on a clean shirt to get a move on to the office.  Cuz, you know, if I stop, I sleep for 12 hours straight, and waking up at midnight and being unable to sleep all night long ain’t really the way I wanna spend my first day in Jakarta.

Welcome aboard to Di Antara.  I’m back in operation.

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