It’s been nearly a week since i returned home, and i’m slowly starting to feel like this is how things should be — for now Coming home didn’t go exactly as planned, of course. On wednesday, i finally took the stuff that didn’t fit into my bags in a nice huge box to the post office. The post clerks rolled their collective eyes in shock and said that this box is waaaay too big to be mailed by them. This was of course the very same box they had accepted one week earlier as the allowed maximum size, but now when i had actually filled the box, it was different business. The contents of the box was split into two boxes under the eyes of the authorities. I filled in a couple of forms and we used half a roll of packing tape to make sure the boxen didn’t open by themselves before the next check, and away they went. Twenty-seven kilos and some.

Then it was time for my last walk home to Carla Mansion (see, i’m calling it home now) to get my stuff and, much thanks to Madeleine and Mirjam, get to the airport in time. Rico too showed up, and it felt only slightly blue. I’m going to miss you all.A hug, a handshake, a melancholic smile, and through the waiting hall to the plane. What a strange mix of blues and relief to exit Timor-Leste. This cannot be the last time, but it’s okay to be leaving for a while. So far, nothing’s gone substantially wrong.

I arrive in Bali early in the afternoon with my ticket reservation code. My mission for the next four hours is to locate the Thai Airways office and have my actual ticket printed out. There should be plenty of time. Somebody tells me that the Thai office is out of the terminal, turn left and keep going until you find it (you can’t miss it). Nope. Not there. Another somebody tells me that oh, the Thai ticket office is inside the terminal. Walking left was alright, but you should enter the terminal again, and there you should find it. No problem. Except that the Thai office isn’t there either. Yet another somebody, wearing an airportish outfit and a charming smile tells me that, uh, i’d better ask that clerk there, he should know, who tells me that yeah, through that door and to the second floor. There it is. Through the door that says Authorised personnel only?, i enquire. Yes yes, he insists, and i go, hesitantly, through the door i most certainly am not authorised to go through. Upstairs, there is no Thai Airways office. Surprise surprise. But no worries, because an authorised gentleman tells me that indeed you are at the second floor, but you should take the other route (without the elevator) and there you’ll find the Thai Airways office.

I seriously doubt his advise, but i follow it nonetheless. To the escalator, thirty odd kilos of stuff on my back, up to the second floor, and to the airport tax gate which you can only cross if you have checked in. Which of course i have not, since i do not have a ticket, so how could i? It’s down again, and the young gentleman who insisted i should go through the glass door marked Authorised personnel only still insists i should go there, but this time i politely refuse.

Somebody then says that maybe they can help me at Thai Airways’ check-in counter. Fine pipes. The counter it is.

Some explaining later (how do i know if i have an electronic ticket or a paper ticket, when i do not have a ticket at all, but i have a reservation and that one is electronic, or at least done with electronic mail) they do find me on their systems! Yes! I am reserved and confirmed! All the way from there to Helsinki. I almost already have a seat. Now please print it out so i can go and get a cool fruit drink and chill some.Nope. While i am listed and confirmed, they do not have confirmation that i have actually paid for the ticket, even if i’m in their systems, even if i have got to Bali half a year earlier on that same ticket. I must have a paper receipt. Otherwise it’s no bananas and certainly no ticket. Sorry. No copy (that i could try to get faxed from UNV in Dili). The original. Or you’ll have to pay for a new ticket. That’s how things are.

After considerable efforts in creative negotiation, i am forced to give in to bureaucracy. Thankfully, a gentleman from the Thai ticket counter follows me and my bags to the police station, where i report that i have lost my ticket. He’s a bit confused when i tell him that i cannot report the ticket stolen, since it isn’t. The police office is close to the terminal, small, and inhabitated with three officers, none of whom seem overworked at the moment. The lady by the computer has significant problems reading my handwriting, so i file my own report while watching the clock ticking. It is now a quarter past three and the plane leaves at five. The Chief accepts the report, rubberstamps it and asks for the administrative fee. How much?, i ask. Well, uh, fifty k, says the guy from the airport desk. I look unhappily into my wallet and ask whether i will get a receipt. How much do i have, he asks me and i say, well, will ten k do it? Then k is alright for the police officer and the police report is my receipt.

Next stop Thai Airways. Which is not at the airport at all, nor is it in Denpasar, the airport city. Thai’s office is in Sanur, half an hour’s taxi ride away, at the bottom floor of Grand Fivestar Hotel. And of course there’s a traffic jam, due to traffic lights which do not co-operate with the traffic light users.

Grand Fivestar Hotel (which really is called Inna Grand Bali Beach) does look grand indeed, and the contrast between me in sandals, two giant bags and a guitar, and the hotel with it’s balinese piccolos is considerable. One of them helps me with my giant bag to the Thai office. Yes. Victory is near. Just print my tikkit and i’m on the way out of here. Or so i think. Because of course they cannot print out my ticket before polling my travel agent in Helsinki to confirm that i have paid the ticket.

Oh please hurry up. Or, had i known about this when i arrived… had i just found the Thai check-in counter… had i just had the damn receipt with me…

Five minutes to five, the payment is confirmed and the ticket –for tomorrow– is printed. I pay the reprinting fee and i feel the plane taxi to the runway without me. In a five star hotel, far from home (either of them), far from a twenty-dollar hotel and far from the bars and restaurants and electronics ghettos of Bangkok which is where the plane without me is now leaving. Deep sigh.

I decide that this is the price i have to pay and lug my stuff to the reception. A low-end five star crib goes for seventy bucks without sea view and one with sea view goes for eighty-five. Heck. I’ve planned to splurge, and being stranded i Bali, i might as well do it here. Sea view it is. Eighty-five isn’t that bad for punishment. Bali is nice. Not what i had planned, but i’ll take it.Sitting at my five star Tower Wing terrace watching the palms and the beach, i slowly start accepting my fate. It really could be worse. The shower is great and the welcome drink helped to break me in. And the skewer at the nearby restaurant is really good, and though their fruit drinks aren’t really all that fruity, even the balinese bluegrass band sounds almost good. It’s strange that even if i don’t think too much of country music, bluegrass is pretty okay.

Happy and fed i navigate back towards the hotel room and make the unsuspecting detour through the near-empty hotel bar. Bad move :). And they had karaoke, which i too found wildly entertaining a few pints of poison later. I am Jon Bon Jovi. I am CCR. I am Blues Brothers. I am Slash. I am Kurt Kobain. Unsober but happy :*). Bali is okay. This accidental stopover is okay.

Next day, i wake sufficiently late, not a pain in my head (my throat is worse — i blame Kurt and Jon) and head for the five star breakfast, also enjoyed with sea view. Not bad. And then out for a walk along the Sanur beach. After all, this is the last time i will be beached for a while.

Far in the distance, i see a huge building which somehow seems out of place. I make this my goal. The waves crash, the sea breeze is nice, and walking along the sand is something i will miss.An hour later i arrive at the strange building. One wall from the building is missing. It is a derelict church. It is decayed, it is run-down and it is beutiful. Not beutiful in an estetic way, just beautiful in its derelictness and abandonedness. It is too big to fit on a picture. Fascinating.

I trample on. The beachside walk has crashed and fallen into the sea. There’s a rusty wire fence. It is so out of place. But there are some industrial-looking constructions behind the uncut shrubs. And there’s a hole in the fence. I enter. The construction, much to my surprise, is what used to be a roller coaster, and behind it is what to my even bigger surprise is an abandoned tivoli. I am ecstatic and go wild with the camera. This is so strange, so un-touristy, so out of place. Bali, the dream of a paradise island, and with this. The contrast between what this whas and what it now is is enormous. I can feel the life in this place and see the overgrown rollercoaster tracks, the ticket counters, the merry-go-round and the restaurant. It is dreamlike.

I take a hundred pictures and i wish i had a proper camera where i could adjust the aperture to properly convey the unreal atmosphere of this place. For unreal it is. There is a crocodile pit on the far side of the tivoli, and wooden crocodiles still inhabit it. Nearly fallen light poles still stand here and there but are covered with green stuff. Bushes are taking over the paved walks. A family of chicken are as surprised to see me as i am to see them.It’s two o’clock and time to head back to the hotel. I want to check out at three(-ish) so that there is no hurry for the plane. And walking is nice, although the locals don’t really understand the value of manual transport.

Flash forward through Bali, air transport and the taxi through Bangkok. Hello, hello! I’m at a place called Vertigo! Vertigo is the highest-up open air bar in Bangkok, at the top of the (five star) Banyan Tree hotel (dress code: no sandals…) and the view over the city lights truly is stunning. And so are the drinks prices, but i don’t care. I’ve come from the other side of the world, and i can afford a gin tonic here, and the “free” cash-ew nuts are perfect.

Half a day later and i’m home. Finland is cold, but the meeting with my girls is warm. Even my Ronja remembers be. It’s good to be back.