Grounded in Jakarta

I sat stunned, seriously pondering the possibility of being denied passage from Jakarta to Bali. My problem was not new news.

Officials warned me in Hong Kong that the only sheet left for stamping in my passport was the U.S. Government sheet. Waving my passport in the air, the immigration clerk explained that stamping this page was impossible.

Nor could the U.S. Government add more pages to my passport. They had done that, multiple times, up to the legal limit.

A Time for Bureaucratic Immigration Sweet Talk

Reality was, I could be sent home from Jakarta to America on the first plane out. My partner and I huddled, discussing what to do next, as our Balinese getaway hung in a state of delicate balance.

D shook his head, incredulous over our situation and properly annoyed with me and my casual attitude about bureaucratic procedures.

“Is it about money?” D asked me. My partner was an investment banker, and just about anything could be fixed with money.

“I don’t know,” I murmured. “He could be totally affronted, and we go to jail in Indonesia. It’s not a pretty thought … jail in Jakarta.” (Rereading this post on Aug. 24, 2009, I could have been caned.)

“You stay here. I’ll deal with him alone.”

Watching D confer with the immigration officer in hushed tones, I was happy not to be in charge for once. I’m an expert at getting myself out of jams, but here in Jakarta, I was convinced that only a man could get me out of the country.

Amankila Bali: Scene of My Niskala Spirits Unveiling