Travelling between islands is very different from imagining travelling between islands. The land’s long, low and foggy. Flying over the sea is dim blue. When I arrive in Jakarta (which I realise I’ve been saying too leisurely, in three elongated syllables and should be said like someone cutting up a fruit with three quick strikes) the airport is a quiet corridor with wood carvings on the walls — then a bus ride to the other terminal, which is a modern glassy hangar. Food so far is stuffed rolls and cakes.
My next leg is to Bandar Lampung (Lampoong) and when I arrive at 6 I’m surprised to find it already dark.
The next few scenes are dreamlike — like set pieces spotlit and complete darkness in between. A conveyer belt with a crowd of people standing over it; a kind man with my name on a sign and a leopard print umbrella; a strip of one-story buildings with men standing around in groups of three or four, each with an umbrella and a friend with a car.
Then it’s a two-hour drive east of Lampung to the Satwa Elephant Ecolodge next to a national park called Way Kambas. The drive is unlikely — kind of peaceful and comforting — like being a child driven home in the dark. And also, because when we’re out of the city the land planes away, blue and unfussy, it reminds me of Norfolk. But as we pass through towns and villages, it’s very different and I can’t pretend I’m anywhere I know. Life is lived along the road, in open porches and around open kiosks, as the traffic streams past in a constant negotiation of overtaking. You’d think it never rains. Mosques are frequent and important. The houses are small with arched roofs and prominent doors. Their owners sit or lounge outside. Someone plays a drum. Someone sits on a motorcycle.
Then we’re back in the dark again. The road gets bumpier. “Nearly, nearly,” the driver says. And the next moment we’re heaving off the road into the walled compound of the lodge.
My next leg is to Bandar Lampung (Lampoong) and when I arrive at 6 I’m surprised to find it already dark.
The next few scenes are dreamlike — like set pieces spotlit and complete darkness in between. A conveyer belt with a crowd of people standing over it; a kind man with my name on a sign and a leopard print umbrella; a strip of one-story buildings with men standing around in groups of three or four, each with an umbrella and a friend with a car.
Then it’s a two-hour drive east of Lampung to the Satwa Elephant Ecolodge next to a national park called Way Kambas. The drive is unlikely — kind of peaceful and comforting — like being a child driven home in the dark. And also, because when we’re out of the city the land planes away, blue and unfussy, it reminds me of Norfolk. But as we pass through towns and villages, it’s very different and I can’t pretend I’m anywhere I know. Life is lived along the road, in open porches and around open kiosks, as the traffic streams past in a constant negotiation of overtaking. You’d think it never rains. Mosques are frequent and important. The houses are small with arched roofs and prominent doors. Their owners sit or lounge outside. Someone plays a drum. Someone sits on a motorcycle.
Then we’re back in the dark again. The road gets bumpier. “Nearly, nearly,” the driver says. And the next moment we’re heaving off the road into the walled compound of the lodge.