The four of us were in the car, driven by a black leather jacketed chap with midnight shades. Luggages were piled in the trunk, and we were happy-clappy all the way, all revved up to begin our journey. Passport – check. Tickets – check. Attire – very tourisy and perasan cool. Check.
And then the text message came in. Sukarno-Hatta Airport had been shut down since 10 this morning due to bad flood.
Granted, we were only going to Jakarta – not a far-fetched, romantic, getaway resort on a remote island somewhere. Still… We were looking forward to this trip for weeks. It was supposed to be a kids-free holiday. One which we planned to eat, walk, eat, shop, eat, eat till our hearts’ content, and in that order. The gals had refused to eat the whole week, just to make room for the eating spree weekend. The guys, well, they didn’t not eat.
So, telling us that we might not be able to engage into our makan marathon, that is not on. So on the spot, we made plans. Lets get tickets to Bangkok instead. We can roam the night markets and try the crickets, grasshopper and livestock menu. We can visit the ‘adult only’ areas and act like we’re on our honeymoon. We can buy fakes. Loads of fakes. Or maybe, lets go to Macau instead. The Asian Las Vegas. We might have to deliberate long on every choice of food, but then, no pain no gain. We can take pain. We can try our hand on the bingo machines, and with the extra moo-lah that we’ll make, since we can’t spend them on food, then maybe, yes… we can buy fakes. Loads of fakes. Now, do we bring our rupiah, or change at the airport, or at the casinos…
Amidst the tossing of venue ideas, and the constant squabble of menu choices, we reached the airport. KLM was right on schedule. Not even a half minute delay. So much for crickets and jackpots, we were way on our way to Jakarta.
Of course-lah we got there as scheduled. Aeroplanes travel by air, why would it be affected by land matters like flood? Flood would only concern objects with all wheels or legs touching solid ground. The wheels of the aeroplanes would touch the ground for mere minutes, so unless the runway was floored in water, their schedule would not the least be affected. But the roads leading to and fro the airport was a different story. Traffic was a standstill. The driver of our rented car had been stuck for 3 hours getting to the airport. And he was nowhere near the airport. Quick calculation, we decided we would be better off taking another car from the airport. Except there were no legal rented cars or taxis left. “Semuanya kehabisan, Pak. Macetnya, aduh… Ribut sekali”.
Ribut tak ribut. We don’t care if its a taufan, we need a car, and we need it NOW. We shouldn’t have worried though. The illegal cars were aplenty. After much negotiation, we hopped into an MPV, and headed off…. The journey to the hotel was an Episode. The smart-alecked, boom-box voiced driver, was also the disciple of David Coulthard. His skills in cilok-ing even at the most uncilok-ed places scared us witless. It was amazing how he could swerve from one end to the other, with hand constantly on the horn, and managed to outrun all other vehicles, in a standstill, non-moving jam. Crazy, I tell you. Not fun, I also tell you. But, even though he accused us Malaysians of being “Perogol Bahasa dan Budaya Indonesia” (It must be that Rasa Sayang song and them getting irked at being termed “Indon” issue), to which, Guy Friend answered “Sama-sama merogol, Pak…, he delivered in getting us to Mulia Hotel via alternative village routes in exactly four hours. To that I raise my hat. Maybe not raise, just tilt it a bit.
By then, mood was lukewarm bordering cold. Being trapped four hours on an empty stomach drains the smileys out of you. We dropped off our luggage and went to the hotel restaurant. Fairly impressive! It had just been refurbished, and had the look of an icicle clove with drops of snow on the sides. Very christmasy. We couldn’t stomach the abundance of sushi and sashimi (Indonesians LURVE their sushi), so settled on Sup Buntut instead. It was the wisest of choices. It was pure heaven, and it warmed us all up (banjir kan, so very the cold…), so much so that we could smile and be merry again. Jakarta was looking good.
And then the text message came in. Sukarno-Hatta Airport had been shut down since 10 this morning due to bad flood.
Granted, we were only going to Jakarta – not a far-fetched, romantic, getaway resort on a remote island somewhere. Still… We were looking forward to this trip for weeks. It was supposed to be a kids-free holiday. One which we planned to eat, walk, eat, shop, eat, eat till our hearts’ content, and in that order. The gals had refused to eat the whole week, just to make room for the eating spree weekend. The guys, well, they didn’t not eat.
So, telling us that we might not be able to engage into our makan marathon, that is not on. So on the spot, we made plans. Lets get tickets to Bangkok instead. We can roam the night markets and try the crickets, grasshopper and livestock menu. We can visit the ‘adult only’ areas and act like we’re on our honeymoon. We can buy fakes. Loads of fakes. Or maybe, lets go to Macau instead. The Asian Las Vegas. We might have to deliberate long on every choice of food, but then, no pain no gain. We can take pain. We can try our hand on the bingo machines, and with the extra moo-lah that we’ll make, since we can’t spend them on food, then maybe, yes… we can buy fakes. Loads of fakes. Now, do we bring our rupiah, or change at the airport, or at the casinos…
Amidst the tossing of venue ideas, and the constant squabble of menu choices, we reached the airport. KLM was right on schedule. Not even a half minute delay. So much for crickets and jackpots, we were way on our way to Jakarta.
Of course-lah we got there as scheduled. Aeroplanes travel by air, why would it be affected by land matters like flood? Flood would only concern objects with all wheels or legs touching solid ground. The wheels of the aeroplanes would touch the ground for mere minutes, so unless the runway was floored in water, their schedule would not the least be affected. But the roads leading to and fro the airport was a different story. Traffic was a standstill. The driver of our rented car had been stuck for 3 hours getting to the airport. And he was nowhere near the airport. Quick calculation, we decided we would be better off taking another car from the airport. Except there were no legal rented cars or taxis left. “Semuanya kehabisan, Pak. Macetnya, aduh… Ribut sekali”.
Ribut tak ribut. We don’t care if its a taufan, we need a car, and we need it NOW. We shouldn’t have worried though. The illegal cars were aplenty. After much negotiation, we hopped into an MPV, and headed off…. The journey to the hotel was an Episode. The smart-alecked, boom-box voiced driver, was also the disciple of David Coulthard. His skills in cilok-ing even at the most uncilok-ed places scared us witless. It was amazing how he could swerve from one end to the other, with hand constantly on the horn, and managed to outrun all other vehicles, in a standstill, non-moving jam. Crazy, I tell you. Not fun, I also tell you. But, even though he accused us Malaysians of being “Perogol Bahasa dan Budaya Indonesia” (It must be that Rasa Sayang song and them getting irked at being termed “Indon” issue), to which, Guy Friend answered “Sama-sama merogol, Pak…, he delivered in getting us to Mulia Hotel via alternative village routes in exactly four hours. To that I raise my hat. Maybe not raise, just tilt it a bit.
By then, mood was lukewarm bordering cold. Being trapped four hours on an empty stomach drains the smileys out of you. We dropped off our luggage and went to the hotel restaurant. Fairly impressive! It had just been refurbished, and had the look of an icicle clove with drops of snow on the sides. Very christmasy. We couldn’t stomach the abundance of sushi and sashimi (Indonesians LURVE their sushi), so settled on Sup Buntut instead. It was the wisest of choices. It was pure heaven, and it warmed us all up (banjir kan, so very the cold…), so much so that we could smile and be merry again. Jakarta was looking good.
