COMING DOWN TO EARTH

Dearest Friends,

The Singapore airport is one of the most beautiful, easily navigated airports in the world, and Singapore Airlines has always been the epitome of luxury to me, with it's serenely exotic attendants clad in full-length batik sarongs with fitted tops.  However, from that point on, each leg of our journey brought our kids just a bit further down from the stratosphere.  The closer we got to our final destination, the wider their eyes, and the more serious their expressions.  I knew exactly how they felt!

image from tokyoworklife.com

It's all a bit hazy now, but I'm pretty sure we landed in Medan, the largest city on the island of Sumatra, and had to clear customs there.  The airport there is nothing like the one in Singapore!  I remember a large cavernous building, old and none too clean; sweltering heat; a small kiosk selling newspapers, candy, some bottled Fanta sodas, etc.; and the smell of those clove-scented cigarettes.  You know how I said the scent of Tiger Balm whisks me straight back to Singapore?  Well, it's clove-scented cigarettes that take me to Indonesia!  

As soon we had cleared customs, a swarm of little men in bright yellow or orange jumpsuits descended upon us and began grabbing our bags. They each insisted that they should be the one to help us, and that we should follow them, then they all headed off in different directions!  You always ended up having to tip five or six different people just to get them all back.  It was very disconcerting, and I never quite got the hang of keeping things under control.  My friend Crys always referred to them as "the bumblebees."  Of course, I should add that, in all that time, we never actually lost anything, and the total of what we paid those five or six was still probably less than what you would tip a single porter here in the states.  So, as they say, it's all relative.  It was pretty overwhelming to the kids though, especially since they were both very blonde when they were young, which made all the Indonesians want to touch their hair.

Since the company plane wouldn't be leaving for several more hours, we'd been instructed to take a cab to Mobil Oil's guest house, where we sat in a daze, along with several other Mobil employees, until it was time to head back to the airport.  At least it had A.C.!

The next leg of the journey was the part I'd been dreading the most.  Thanks to my propensity for motion-sickness, I was very leery of small planes.  Thankfully though, the company plane (or co-plane, as everyone called it) was a small jet with a very smooth ride, and I am happy to report that I never once got sick on it!  The planes were primarily for moving cargo to and from the plant sight, and the number of passengers allowed on depended upon how many rows of seats had to be removed to make room for all the cargo.  There was usually a huge pile of it, strapped down and covered with a net, right there in the cabin with us!  Finally, we took off.