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Memories, April 2008 | Memories, April 2008 |
| Wednesday, 09 July 2008 | ||||
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“A journey is a person in itself; no two are alike. And all plans, safeguards, policies and coercion are fruitless. We find after years of struggle that we do not take a trip, a trip takes us.” --John Steinbeck 1902-1968 The hot humid air hit me the moment I disembarked from the airport, Welcome to Bali. I knew not to mess around, get off the plane and hit the ground walking because going through the immigration lines can be long if there are other flights. Nothing can prepare you for the 95% humidity. Men lining the walk-ways perhaps trying to think of ways to help you and get a few extra dollars. In a land that should be one of the wealthiest in the world because of the rich natural resources, the majority of the country lives below world poverty standards. Indonesia just struck a deal with Japan to supply natural gas at a rate intended for 2012…the next fuel for the world! As an ex-pat I lived and worked in Indonesia for nearly three years in my adult life. “Walking the line” for me meant walking the immigration line, could I bribe my way into or out of a country as I had to do so many times. As I approached the window I could not help but remember the time my Grandmother at 76 came to visit me in Bali. I went to the airport to pick her up and after all the passengers had come through the gates, I could not understand why my Grandmother was not in the arrival lounge. In those days, we had no cell phones or internet. I bribed one of the airport workers to find out where my Grandmother was. He came back and told me she was being detained by immigration, what seemed like hours later, she emerged. In order to enter a country when you travel internationally, you need a passport valid for six months. My Grandmother’s visa was due to expire in two months and she chose not to renew it before she left because in her words, “Annie that means when I am 86 I will have to renew it 6 months earlier!” So my Grandmother was detained at 76 by the airport authorities because she had a visa that was about to expire and they were worried she might stay in the country…right? Nope, they wanted money…but she had no clue. Grams said, “I kept trying to explain I was just coming to visit my Granddaughter. And they sat there going back and forth with me, looking at my passport then pushing it towards me but not letting me leave.” In the end, Grams remembered a story I had told her about bribing officials. She said, “The immigration officer kept looking at my passport, giving it back to me by sliding it across the desk…and then I realized. OH MONEY! So I pulled out a five dollar bill and put it in the passport and gave it to him. He looked at the five dollar bill, pulled out his stamp and gave it back to me with the money still in place.” I laughed as the story unfolded because my Grandmother actually insulted the man behind his desk by offering him too little money. Perhaps he got a heart and thought about his own mother or grandmother and how he would want them treated. I can only imagine, but she was released. I used to bribe immigration between 50,000 and 150,000 rupiah when I would fly in and out of the country. Fifteen years ago the rupiah was a 2 to 1 exchange rate. Now it is nearly 8 to 1. Amazing how economies change so drastically. So all of these stories come flooding back to me as I walk into the immigration area and there was someone holding a sign for me: “Annie Crawley” I could not believe it because this never happened to me the entire time I lived in Indonesia. There was a staff member from the airport waiting for my arrival. Walking me through, helping me with my luggage. He has no idea of my trials and tribulations from years gone by. For the memories haunting my soul from the very first time I entered this country.
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