froginmythroat (FIMT)

The actual logistical part of leaving Indonesia was a failure. A complete and utter failure. I was leaving Indonesia for a week holiday in Vietnam before starting work again in the Philippines. Let the record show that the disaster begun on the morning of March 7 2006. Poor time management, familiar to this writer and perhaps some of you readers out there, is a skill honed after many an all-nighter just before that university assignment is due. Those of us who strive to excel at this black art will be impressed to note that the record shows at 10.10am, 50 mins before my flight, my close friend and ride to the airport (Era) was still at the market in town trying to arrange me a present. Just as I somehow always managed to get that assignment in, Era pulled through at 10.20am, which after the drive to the airport left me with a sizeable 10 mins of quality check-in time. It was 7 months since I had arrived, and if I had achieved anything in that time it was that I had at least 1 friend who would take me to the airport when I left (or 3 if you count Era’s Auntie and a random neighbour who thought it would be fun to go to the airport for a ride, cos well, they didn’t seem to have anything better to do).

So, where to from there? Only onwards and upwards to more mishaps. Jakarta was the destination after Aceh, followed by a single hour transit in Singapore on the way to Vietnam. But arriving in Jakarta I was confronted with the nightmare that the ticket I had booked at the Aceh office of the airline had been miscommunicated and was on the WRONG day. This meant navigating the disjoint Soekarno-Hatta International Airport to find an airline and timing that would allow me to reach Singapore in time to connect with the Singapore-Vietnam leg. Yes, Guarda gave me the green light and inconvenience of a dead early morning flight but I would make it nonetheless.

Singapore. Let’s all follow the rules, because yes, that is what makes a disciplined progressive nation. Don’t take that durian on board the public transport, and no spitting gum on the pavement. And no, you really do need a visa before we will let you on the plane to Vietnam. Come on, since when did you ever need anything other than money to enter a third world country? Nhung, my close Vietnamese friend told me I could just pay a fat $100USD Franklin and say sorry like I meant it and I would be admitted to the communist stronghold. But I gave in to the airline staff early, and conceded to their line of argument that I really did need a visa to enter Vietnam, and yes I should have known this.

Was there any hope? Could I make it to the Vietnamese embassy in Singapore in time to get a visa? I would try. The Vietnamese embassy is located in an expensive leafy residential suburb, convenient if you are a Vietnamese official with a family, inconvenient if you are visitor who has to find the place because it has no public transport links, or even a taxi stand outside. They told me how it was – I could get an expedited visa in 24 hours, 23 hours after my flight from Singapore to Vietnam for a stiffly fee. I paid. I left. And then I collapsed outside on the roadside, with all my luggage around me, tired, upset, tears on my face because I would miss my flight to Vietnam. It would cost me hundreds of dollars for the visa and a new plane ticket, and worst of all I would lose a precious day of time with my Vietnamese friends. And to top it off I was lost, stuck in a stupid leafy Singaporean suburb with no transport options and 20+ kgs of luggage I had been carrying since the airport conveyor belt, the remnants of a life spent living in undeveloped Indonesia, which now lay beside me on the neatly manicured grass outside the Vietnamese embassy.

You don’t spend 7 months in Indonesia without hearing about a guy called Allah. He’s the guy (along with that other guy called God) who is supposed to be nice to you if say your prayers, help the poor, give up your seat on the bus for the old granny, or help out the guy whose car won’t start. Then if you’re ever stuck outside the Vietnamese embassy in Silly Singapore, he’ll take care of you. Well, I haven’t helped any granny’s lately, I never get around to sending mine even just a postcard, so why would Allah want to help me? He did. After 5 minutes I was picked up by a Malaysian guy who immediately sympathised with me being completely lost and without transport and offered to take me anywhere in Singapore. Along the way he convinced me that Allah indeed wanted to help me out, and that Allah had sent him to help me. I wasn’t complaining.