Balikpapan beckons

We wrongly assumed that only the three of us were crazy enough to wake up at 3.00 in the morning, grab a cold shower and rush to the Kuala Lumpur International Airport to catch a three-hour flight to Balikpapan. And before you say Balikpapan where, allow me to give you a bit of geography lesson. Just imagine that you are in Sabah. Picture where Kota Kinabalu is, then mentally run your finger along the coast, going clockwise. When you reach a location about southeast of Kalimantan, somewhere due south of Tawau, you would be able to locate the city of about 300,000 population.

We were among the last to board the flight which meant we found ourselves occupying the last few rows at the back of the plane. It also meant we got three seats each. Quite a bargain actually, since we only paid RM8.88 (before tax and other incidentals, of course). No sooner had the flight taken off had people started curling up and going to sleep. Sleeping babies look cute. Slumbering adults just give the impression they are in a state of disrepair. One lady decided to turn the last row into her first class sleeping quarters, presenting her rear end for those still awake to admire. While I must admit beautiful rear ends can sometimes inspire equally beautiful works of art, one that was pointing towards me at that hour of the morning could only fill me with fear. You never know when it may decide to honour us with a 21-bum salute or something.

Prince Siddharta some 2500 years ago must have woken up and walked in on just such a sight of unprotected rear ends and drooling salivas. A sight disturbing enough, among others, to push the noble one to renounce all princely comforts and go seek answers to the nature of suffering. This rear end did not push me any nearer to seeking enlightenment. That station, I am afraid, belonged to another rear end, which no sooner had it convinced me of its lack of interest in my non-spiritual attributes, had plonked itself in the lap of one more deserving of her attentions. But that is another story. A love story, actually, that I do not care to go into detail here. Miss Rear End finally awoke after dawn broke and helped herself to a bowl of hot noodles, thereby ensuring her posterior portion could continue to get the necessary nutrients to torment those sitting at the back of the plane.

Flying at such an hour of the morning meant that the plane’s air-conditioning system seemed to be working extra hard. One of my travelling companions actually had the gall to ask a flight attendant whether he could have a blanket. He must have thought he was flying first class on another airline. Lucky for him it stopped at that. If he had also asked for red wine, friend or no friend, I would have reached over and given him a smack for being a nuisance at such an hour. He did not hear the last of that for another few weeks after we returned to KL. The flight attendant was suitably offended as she had every right to be. But credit to her for taking time off from her intellectual intercourse with a middle-aged Caucasian gentleman, to politely tell him blankets were not options provided by low cost carriers. She then turned back to continue her discussion with the Caucasian gentleman, presumably about how the oil prices rise disproportionately with airlines wages. Incidentally, Balikpapan, which happened to be an oil town, has quite a sizeable expatriate population. There is even a website for the expatriates’ wives club, a cross between a Rotary Club and a Joyluck Club minus the mahjong sessions.

We finally landed without much fanfare at this beautiful airport called Sepinggan Balikpapan. After going through immigration and customs we popped into the nearest coffee shop for breakfast. Then we took a taxi into town and went in search of suitable accommodation. Finally we settled on an establishment called Hotel Bintang, a two-star lodge charging four-star rates and providing three-star entertainment. Not all the entertainment were provided by the hotel, though. But they were within easy reach. A right turn takes us to a discotheque on stilts. One wonders whether dancers in graceful movements that can only come with intoxication ever danced themselves into the sea below. That would certainly have woken them up somewhat for the wet journey home. Turn left after emerging from the hotel and there is a health centre waiting to cure various forms of sickness that the flesh is heir to and to the front is a karaoke joint. What more can a lonely tourist ask for in a city such as this?

Then it was time to go look for some lunch, which consisted of nasi padang. Getting ourselves understood seemed a bit harder than the time I was in Bandung. It also took a while before my two millionaire companions actually got the hang of the rupiah-ringgit conversion. Balikpapan was not what we had expected at all. It has very modern facilities and wide roads, attributed to the fact that the city of some 300,000 owed its existence to oil. After lunch, we took the local transport known as angkut into town. Cost of transport to most part of town was 7000 rupiah. We were dropped off in front of the biggest shopping complex in town where we ran smack into a demonstration by Muslim students against the publication of Playboy magazine in Indonesia. While I shall keep my opinions on the Playboy magazine to myself, I thought they should have a re-think about their protests against condom vending machines. Just because the Muslim students were presumably practising celibacy, it is probably wise to reconsider their stand. Only moralists seem to think that the easy access to condoms would lead to more extra-marital sex. They forget that people have been doing it without condoms for centuries even in Victorian England. They seemed to think that just because condoms are easily available, innocent Muslim girls would throw off their headscarves and automatically lift their sarongs for the next man who comes along. I suppose people tend to equate condoms more with free sex than with safe sex.

The hotel was not the only place charging us exorbitant prices. The restaurants and taxis were also doing the same thing. We were told later by one kind lady that there are three prices in Balikpapan – one for locals of Kalimantan, one for Indonesians from other islands and another for foreigners. No prizes for guessing who gets fleeced. Take the time we decided to go visit Samarinda, a town some 100 over kilometres to the west of Balikpapan. We paid 408,000 rupiah for the baby-faced driver to drive us there and back. Anything babyish about the driver stopped at his looks. Once he got behind the wheels he was a maniac taking us to our destination in two hours. This was made possible by driving at about 120kph on roads where lesser mortals would only dare drive at 40kph. I tried to close my eyes and block out the speed but this only made it worse. It just meant that I get thrown about a whole lot more even with the safety belt on. Resigned to the fact that there was no way our very own Michael Schumacher, who hailed from Semarang in Central Java, was going to slow down, I did the next best thing and went to sleep. I figured if I die in my sleep it would be painless.

Samarinda, on the bank of the Mahakan River, had this bright yellow bridge connecting it to the east side. I suppose only a native of Samarinda could ever speak in glowing terms about such an apparition known as Jambatan Mahakan. It is the more of an eyesore as on the other side of the river stands a beautiful, soon to be completed, state of the art Islamic Centre. To think that they would latter stand side-by-side is simply blasphemous and an insult to the new and beautiful piece of Islamic architecture. After a brief tour of the town, we dropped by one of the international hotels to use its restroom facilities before going in search of nasi padang. By the time I came home, I still do not know how good local Kalimantan food is since nasi padang is found in abundance. By the time we left Samarinda for Balikpapan, I had more or less gotten used to being driven around at breakneck speed on small trunk roads that I stopped being bothered by it anymore. Our driver even had the audacity to tailgate a police petrol car. Now that took guts.

We came back to the hotel for a deserved rest after a tour of the petroleum facilities in Balikpapan. The tour is actually just a drive past the huge complex by the sea. I could still not get over the fact that I have had to pay 300,000 rupiah (about RM120) a night for my room, which faced a rubbish dump. Anywhere else it would have only cost half as much and at the price I was paying one would expect the shower to have hot water and for the door to close properly. It failed miserably on both counts. Only consolation was the double locks on the door. While double locks may keep intruders out, they do nothing for the soundproofing needs of the guests.

I woke up at 4am to the sound of the couple in the opposite room professing their undying love for each other, in a mixture of standard Bahasa Indonesia and English, no less. Being a romantic at heart, I was deeply moved by such outpouring of love between two people. It was two weeks before Valentine’s Day, so who am I to argue with cupid. I could not quite keep up with their wedding plans. After a while the discussion became unintelligible followed by a deafening silence. Good, I thought. Now I could get back to sleep since I had to catch a morning flight back to Kuala Lumpur the next day.

Fat chance. The enchanted lovers decided to fast forward from wedding plans to early honeymoon, and in the process waking up the entire floor. The old boy must have done all right because about the only thing she did not shout out was the speed limit in Balikpapan. (By the way I was told the speed limit is 68kph. Once you reach 69 you have to turn the other way around). After that I had a hard time myself trying to get back to sleep again. So it was a cold shower and getting ready for the airport.

The flight home was only half full and I chose a seat at the wings. As usual, the flight crew would come and request your assistance in opening the emergency door in case of an emergency. That was all fine and well but I am one of those who need at least one or two trial runs before I can get anything right. After all when my services are badly needed at such times, I would only have once chance of getting it right. What if the door would not open? They should at least let me play with the emergency door a bit so that I may be able to perform my task automatically when and if there was ever a need.

As the plane taxied away before take off, I noticed some egrets feeding in the field adjacent to the runway. I could not help praying very hard that the egrets in Balikpapan were not as suicidal as the eagles of Chiang Mai.