Our arrival in Jakarta last night couldn't have offered a greater contrast from our final interactions in S'pore if we'd tried. This was how it happened ...

As we checked our luggage in for our Cathay flight to Jakarta, the Singaporean flight attendant asked us, 'Which part of Australia do you stay in?'

When we told her, 'Sydney,' she got to her real point: 'I am going there in March!' she bubbled. 'I have been to Perth before and this time to Melbourne.' Leaning toward us, she said fervently, 'I really, really love your country.'

We smiled like idiots, inanely happy as though we had somehow made Australia fabulous and could take personal credit for someone loving it.

I guess it felt good too, because Australia has something of a rogue status in Asia, and it was nice to see someone who felt positive towards us rather than thinking we came from the land of the Great Unwashed Redneck.

Landing in Jakarta was strange and otherworldly. lnstead of being the land that time forgot, it was more the land that Westerners forgot. The were barely any Causasians in the immigration queues; many Indonesians, lots of Singaporeans, and a healthy contingent of Koreans. In the entire arrivals hall, there were maybe five Westerners.

Ads telling us we'd arrived in 'Marlboro Country' danced behind the heads of the uniformed immigration officials, but the overall air was quiet and dilapidated. A little like arriving in a country town's pub after last drinks have been called, it was all lowkey melancholy and quiet smoking in corners. This was an Asian hub as I'd never quite experienced it before.

Upon reaching the head of the queue, it transpired we'd done the wrong thing and should have been at a different desk in a different area altogether to collect our visas-on-arrival. We trooped over, duly purchased the visas for $25 USD each, and had them stuck in our passports by a nonchalant young guard who smoked like Brando as he worked.

Returning to immigration, we were treated to a bizarre exchange. By now, the hall was empty and only one desk remained open. The guard had a strange look on his face as he took our passports.

'What part of Australia?' he asked.

'Ah, Sydney...' we returned, not quite sure where this was going.

'Sydney is a horrible place, yes? Bad place because too many Indonesians there,' he smirked, regarding us with an icy, unforgiving leer. 'Sydney, too many Indonesian people, so not nice place,' he repeated, glaring at us.

'Umm .... no. We don't think so,' we both faltered. What the hell was going on here?

'Sydney has people from everywhere; that's what makes it nice,' I said. 'I like that.'

'Makes it interesting,' said Andrew.

With a surly grunt, our passports shot back across the desktop, and we were in.

Dear god, I thought. Was this our first taste of the famously tense relations between Indo and Oz? Was he saying this stuff because he expected us to unburden our dark, racist souls and say awful things about Indonesian people? Or was it something else entirely?

Whatever the case was, I felt distinctly uncomfortable at the thought of having to tell anyone else here that we were Australians.