Bali's Airport, late Thursday afternoon (written 2/3)

I landed in Bali late Thursday afternoon, brain-tired. The last time I'd slept in a bed was Monday night. I had no urge to look around the airport, but did see some wonderful things as I walked through. I will take the time when I leave in mid-March. In the meantime, I have no pictures with this post, sorry. 

It's not as English-speaking as Qatar. It has far less security, and it isn't nearly as scary. But it has plenty of "entitled" visitors, like Qatar does. 

I was tired, needed to pee, was thirsty, exhausted, and frustrated. I actually felt old. Well, sure, I'm 68, but I finally just felt old. Ignorant. Worn out. Mortal. I didn't know the language, and didn't have all of... okay, any of the helpful apps on my phone. Topping it off, I couldn't find any wifi service and my cell phone wasn't working the way it was supposed to. I didn't know how to call anyone. I couldn't even figure out who was the right person to ask for help. But, obviously, I couldn't just quit. I'm laughing now, but I wasn't Thursday night. I still had to find my bags, get my visa, go through customs and immigration, and find my driver. 

Clearly, the other passengers knew what to do, but they weren't the friendliest bunch to an old lady traveling alone and looking stupid. So I pulled up my big girl panties, remembered that I'd done much tougher things, knew I was simply tired but still fully capable to taking care of myself, and I kept on going. I picked the most likely line and figured I'd just be patient. If it was the wrong one, I'd be directed to the right one where I'd spend more time waiting in another line. But progress is progress, even if it's slow. 

So for about thirty minutes, I shuffled my two carry-on bags silently in line with others. I channeled my inner "I'm a swimmer" attitude, stood tall and proud, and kept on going. 

When it was my turn, I handed my documents to the nice lady behind the desk, she asked me one or two things, took my picture, printed out a little sticker and stuck it in my passport, then handed it back and that was that for immigrations. On to customs after I'd claimed my bags.

In the baggage claim area I was approached by several different men, all looking hopeful, offering to help. They had on uniforms, but I had no idea what they did or if I would need to pay and/or tip them (using a currency I'm not yet familiar with). All my life I've done this stuff by myself, so, once again, I pulled up my big girl panties, thanked them for their kindness, and assured them that I preferred handling my own baggage. I found my two checked suitcases, grabbed them as well as my two carry-ons, and got into the next line. Everyone ahead of me was flashing something from their phones and waved right through. I had no idea what it was, but obviously I didn't have anything on my phone that would get me through customs, so I backed out. 

Having found computers along a wall, I filled out the declarations form there, and took the printout back to the line. When it was my turn, the nice woman took one look and sent me to security... What is it with me? Do I look like a villain?

Actually, I knew why she did that. I had meds with me that I'd declared. I had all the necessary forms if they pulled me over, so wasn't worried. The (very) young security officer was quite friendly, smiling, and kind. Actually, he looked somewhat uncomfortable confronting me about my meds. I wondered if he was new at his job. Nobody else had been sent to security, so the other young officers were watching and talking and giggling. I had a hard time taking it seriously. 

He really didn't know what he was doing, what he was looking for, what to ask, or anything else. It seemed a mere formality, not a security risk issue. After brief pleasantries and a cursory glance at my meds and paperwork, he gave me my freedom. At last, I was officially in Bali!

Next hurdle was to find my driver. That should have been easy, but I couldn't even find my way out of the airport! Oh, I chuckle now, but I was so tired and frustrated. I was repeatedly approached by people wanting to sell me a SIM card or drive me somewhere. I needed neither one, thank you very much. Eventually, I felt the heat of the outdoors and the noise of traffic.

There were probably close to 100 male drivers standing behind a rope, holding up placards with passenger names on them. I walked past looking for my name. When I made it all the way to the end and didn't see it, I tried to call my contact in Bali, but still didn't have working cell service. Just as I was about to head inside and get someone to call him for me, my knight in shining armor arrived. Yeah, again I chuckle, but it was such a relief to see my name on a placard and someone rushing to my aid. 

Finally, I was in Bali, climbing into a car, my destination only a few more hours away, with Nyoman (his name) at the wheel.