Touch over 35mins. on clear, open freeways
in Jakarta on a Saturday; as soon as we cleared Thamrin City it was a breeze
going out. As a consequence there would be a four hour wait at the airport. Newspaper
nowhere to be found for love or money, what was worse; so said the first
assistant enquired. However, it would turn up once Immig. had been passed. A
number of lookalikes through the morning: at a flicker of passing admiration a
woman showing her eyelids after a brief smile was a dead-ringer for Semarang
Sugi in Sing; then just now a lad standing in for the delivery chap at J. C. Complex opposite
Geylang Serai Market. The maid at the cafe was initially difficult to pick in
the scrum. Likely the Chinese preferred their own kind, first thought; or else
this girl may have been a younger sister/relative. Terribly complacent airs of
the usual sort at the table. The gal was a maid alright, identifiable by the
way she promptly hopped it in that particular manner when her little charge
began wandering too far. Her youth and mixed features; when you looked more
closely the attire of course. The definable Chins in the group carried salon
cuts and all were decked in the same white tees: HANG OUT AND DO NOTHING. Easy
for them to say. Well, roundabout slow, slow process of deduction. Clear skin
on the youngster too; the four girls at the table had caked on for the screen
shot. One started off another with her eye-liner and now the lass continued
using her red & white polka dot compact. Youngster must have taken the
little boy to the bathroom. Early-mid twenties too close for sisters that
grouping, but not out of the question. CHILL it was in fact; not Hang. A mother
had an altogether different aspect to a maid—a full and entire maternal
patience displayed by a passing lass with her mite in hand. They must have told
to girl to get lost, give them some quiet time. Perhaps there was a jumping
castle here now somewhere in a corner. The transformation of Soek-Hat. over a
mere four years was it? remarkable. Four years ago the airport had a country
town aspect here, dusty outback Oz. Adapted to this new traveller class now; in
the old airport the locals had predominated. A demonstration of the argument,
“Build it and they will come.” En route a freeway board for the incumbent in
the election scheduled for next month — JO-KER;
ie. Joko Wiwodo gets things moving. (Kerja,
work.) Correction: five of these CHILL Chinese. Did their grandparents duck low
and survive the riots in the late 90s?... Well over a half hour: didn’t look as
if the girl had been capable of drowning the toddler in the toilet bowl. If she
was treated right there was no need fear. Blimey! Further correction: six of
them. Mushrooming they were. A beauticians’ conference, delivering a weekend
workshop to the locals, range of all natural products that couldn’t be beat.
Cackles and titters as if they were reading thought bubbles from the guy at the
end of the row. At this rate the quart hours’ spin one needed to be careful.
How many seasoned travellers had missed FOUR flights—international flights; the
last in KL actually sitting immediately by the gate happily dreaming? Aduh! Still not revealed to a
soul and never to be…. Nobody gets a glass or cup at Tours
les Jours, no need feel guilty. The plate for the croissant had been a
special mercy; the girl had been getting the plastic out from the drawer. The
plastic for the hand taught by international best hygiene protocol—they were
coming on in leaps and bounds in Indonesia. Pain in the bum having to log in
each time, assumption being once you were on that’s where you’ll stay forever
and a day. A good hour the tot gone; panic as yet not in evidence. Some castle
it must. Best not tarry further.
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