Holidays Again!

Ahh, Bali...

Land of ancient temples, verdant rice paddies, towering volcanoes, rolling surf, exquisite dances, an artistic spirit whose exuberance and joie de vivre is matched only by it's perfected synthesis of originality and judicious appropriation...

Just a pity that the place is so damn full of fat, sunburnt Aussies and Poms!!

Seriously though, we've just had a lovely break in Bali. Our original plans of leaping about here, there and everywhere (a couple of nights in Ahmed, a couple in Padang Bai etc) went by the wayside when we realised that not only would Jorji and Alex be there with their brood, as would Min, Steve and Flame, but we were both completely knackered, and all we really wanted to do was find somewhere nice where we could chill out for ten days--swimming, sleeping, playing with Iola, sleeping, going to the beach, sleeping...

And that's exactly what we did. We booked into Taman Ayu in Seminyak, which was about a hundred meters from the villa where Jorji, Min et al were staying, and had a lovely week of lazing around, playing with the kiddies, and eating lots of luscious food. Not much else to report, really. It was a very lazy week.

I think my favourite bit was actually another classic encounter with Indonesian bureaucracy on the way home. I had to fly home on Sunday night to go back to work on Monday, but Tash decided to hang out for another five days. So we phoned up Mandala and switched her ticket. No problem, at least not so far...

When I got to the airport, I was armed with our original e-ticket receipt (paid for with an ATM). It had our booking number and Tash's name, since this was the name the original online booking was done under. So I bowl up to the check-in counter and present my KITAS and my small piece of paper.

Immediate confusion.

"But sir, the name on the KITAS is not the name on the booking receipt!"

"I know, it's my wife's name. She was originally on this flight too."

"But this is not your name!"

"I know. Put the number into your computer--it'll come up with my name as the sole passenger."

She enters the number, and sure enough--there it is. 'Passsenger 1: Fergal Fleming'

"You need a new ticket sir."

"Why?"

"Because this is not your name."

"But my name's on the computer! This is an e-ticket. 'E' for electronic."

"You need to go back to our office and get a new ticket. It must have your name on it for our files."

By now I'm getting nervous about the time. It took me half an hour to find a taxi that didn't try to charge me four times the normal price to get to the airport because their meter was 'broken', and I was starting to cut things a little fine.
But you can't argue with someone who's got a uniform AND a badge, so I trundled off to the office like a good little boy.

"I need to get a new printout of my ticket."

"Certainly sir. May we have your passport and original ticket?"

I hand over my KITAS and ticket again.

"But sir! This is not your name!"

Through gritted teeth, "I know! Just-feed-the-number-into-the-computer-and-print-the-page."

"Ah! here you are. No problem."

He fiddles with an ancient beige dot-matrix printer, circa maybe 1984, for a few minutes.

"I'm very sorry sir," he shrugs, "but the printer is not working. Maybe we can fix it in an hour or so?"

"I'm boarding in twenty minutes! Hang on. This is an e-ticket, right? So all I need to check in is the booking number, yeah?"

"That is right, sir."

"Right."

I walk back out to the departure hall, take out my notebook, copy the booking number from the e-ticket into the notebook, and chuck the ticket in the nearest bin. I go back to the original check-in counter and approach my arch-nemesis.

"Hi!" I say in my brightest, cheeriest, 'don't fuck with me coz I'm about to go postal on your arse' voice, "I'd like to check in please."

"Certainly sir. May I have your booking confirmation number and passport?"

I give her my KITAS and the page ripped from my notebook. She enters the number into her computer.

"No problem sir."

Five minutes later I'm checked in and waiting to board at gate fifteen.

***

There you have it. One more bureaucratic hurdle successfully cleared!