Washed up in Makassar
The Awu might only call in Makassar every two weeks or so, but I was in luck. The next departure to Maumere on Flores was due in three days time.
Perhaps I was out of my mind to contemplate taking a Pelni ship after my last experience, but at least I knew not to travel ‘Ekonomi’ this time. I went to the office by the harbour to enquire about a bunk. Third class was full. So was second class. Oh, what the heck.
“First class?”
“Fuuul!”
That couldn’t be—on the ship to Pantoloan, there had been nobody in first class! But then again, this was Makassar, a much busier route.
Unsure what to do, I retreated to the internet café. As always, it took me a while to calm down from the attention I received every time I stepped out onto the street. It was all too much. One thing that was for sure was that I had to get out of here.
So what were my options for onward travel? A part of me, frazzled from the stress, wanted to go straight to Bali, but that was ridiculous. John wouldn’t be due there for another two weeks. And I was meant to see Indonesia, not hide away in some tourist spot. I wanted to experience the spectacular beauty of Nusa Tengagara, even if it was a little inconvenient getting there.
Another part of me still wanted to go to the Moluccas, but with my poor knowledge of Bahasa, it wasn’t really an option and flying there would be risky as foreigners tend to be turned away at the airport. Flying felt like cheating anyway. No, I would go on that ship. I was almost certain that I could upgrade on board, although I would feel better with the right ticket in my pocket.
Even after spending several hours surfing the web, I actively dreaded walking back outside. This wouldn’t do—an agoraphobic backpacker? I bit down a curse and left the internet café. After about five minutes, I was on the verge of bursting into tears. But where to go? It was just after four in the afternoon, and the hostel room wasn’t particularly inviting. I consulted my map and walked down the seaside boulevard, away from the harbour. And the miracle happened: the traffic and throng of pedestrians grew thinner. The surroundings became more pleasant. Most of all, I was left alone. A few kids waved at me, but that was all. I waved back at them with a happy smile. This was much more like it. The side streets were charming and quiet, so I went for a pleasant walk.
There, across the street, was another Pelni agent! By some miracle, it was still open. Luck was on my side.
The clerk shook her head. “Fuuul!”
“Really?”
“Really!”
—Then again perhaps not.
I made some more detailed enquiries. The Awu was due to leave on the fifth on January at 4 am, but the hostel was practically in spitting distance from the passenger terminal, so the time wasn’t a problem. I could catch some sleep beforehand. It would be a 22h trip, perhaps I could stay alert the entire time.
I bought the ticket.
Back at the Torajan bar, I began to formulate a plan of how to deal with the men. If you can’t beat them, join them. I would keep my mangled language books in my bag and enforce a language lesson! They would teach me Bahasa, I would teach them English. This would ensure that the obnoxious element filtered away soon enough, and their place would be taken by friendly, bright guys I could latch on to.
But 4 am is a hell of a time for a language session.
I pushed the thought from my mind and tried to enjoy Makassar. As nice as it was by the seaside, scarcely half an hour later the heavens opened again and rain washed down in thick curtains. I was really not meant to do any sightseeing.
Tags: Indonesia, Makassar, SE Asia, Travel, Tag Index
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