The Adventures of Takako the Danger Librarian (with a MOP)

17 November 2001:
"Visiting Darwin" (the place, not the dead guy)

First, I need to apologize to my readers.

I forgot to pack my camera.

(Takako runs around, ducking various objects being thrown at her)

It definitely won't be the last time I'm in Darwin, so if I 
mention an upcoming trip, and you think I need reminding, please 
remind me. I promise to post the pictures as soon as is humanly 
possible.

In any event, I spent the long weekend (Monday, 12 November, was
a national holiday here, and I took Friday off) in Darwin on a 
shopping trip. Those of you who know me are probably saying, 
"'Takako' and 'shopping' do not belong in the same sentence,"
and they're right. But given the paucity (and the outrageous 
prices) of some necessities in Dili, an occasional shopping trip 
to the little frontier town of Darwin is completely 
understandable. Especially if one can fly for free on the UN 
flight.

That has one condition, though. Reporting time is 0530 hours.

Friday morning. 0400 hours. The alarm clock rang. My hand blindly 
plunked around atop the bedside drawers trying to turn the damned 
thing off. Finally managed to turn it off, and dozed off again.

0415 hours. The other alarm went off. Now, I had planned all this 
the night before, knowing how I am in the morning. It still 
didn't make getting up at this most ungodly hour any easier.

But I did get up, finally, and rolled into the clothes I had 
laid out the night before while I packed. Amazingly, everything 
fit into the black backpack with wheels. I brushed my teeth, then 
packed up my toileries and shoved it into the backpack.

By the time I finished my puttering around, it was about 0430. I
took my mobile phone, currently fully charged but still plugged 
into the wall, and made one quick call to Rich, who had asked me
to look up some information for him. We had already talked a while 
the day before, for the first time since his surgery, and his 
mother and uncle were visiting, so we kept this one short. He 
didn't sound all that great -- he was still fighting this 
bronchial thing -- but he did say his doctors expected him to be 
discharged on Sunday. That was great news.

As soon as I got off the phone, I wound up the charger and 
stuffed that into the backpack, too. I then zipped everything up,
put the mobile in the phone case Alissar lent me, slung that over 
my shoulder, then fitted myself with the big ol' tummy pack, 
and rolled the backpack out.

I had just emerged into the lobby when I saw Muttaqi approaching 
the front door. He had VERY kindly offered to take me to the 
airport, and he was there, at 0445 on the button. He helped me 
with my bag, then I climbed in.

We made small talk as we made the short trip to Comoro. He and 
some friends from the Pakistani military observers group were 
also going to Darwin for a break, but they would be leaving for 
Darwin the day I was to return to Dili. Yasmeen would be coming 
with them at the same time, with a friend from the Travel 
Section.

He dropped me off at the airport with a smile and a wave, and I 
walked into the terminal. It seemed I was the first one there, 
but I was soon joined by other eager people on the Standby list.
It was a bit nervewracking, knowing that I may have to go back 
to the hotel AGAIN again, if I couldn't get on the flight. 
However, this time, there was another flight in the afternoon, 
and there were 24 or so on the list, so the likelihood that I 
would be able to board looked decent.

Luck was with me. I heard my name called, and I quickly stepped 
up to the check-in counter, lest they think I wasn't there. I 
plunked down all my paperwork, as I didn't know what the man 
required, but he looked at everything he needed to, and I was 
directed to Immigration. The man at immigration stamped both my 
national passport and my Laissez-Passer, and I was on my way! I 
was so excited, I almost left my passport and LP behind on the 
security check machine's conveyor belt; the security man ran 
after me and gave them back to me.

I saw a familiar face -- Olga, one of the District Legal 
Officers. I didn't know her very well, although we chatted in 
Spanish a while back when we first met in the office. I busily
filled out the immigration card for Australia, asking questions 
of the CIVPOL officer sitting next to me.

I didn't hear an announcement for the flight -- all I saw was a 
general movement of the herd toward the doors facing the runways.
I joined the (what seemed like) mass of people through the doors.
On the way out to the runway, we passed a man with a box of 
disposable earplugs, and we all took a pair.

It wasn't too hot yet, as it was a bit before 0700 hours. I 
plodded along, toward the end of the long line, toward the plane.
It was squat, with propellers, and the hull was white, with "UN" 
in big black letters on the sides. I knew it to be a C-130
converted for civilian use (information courtesy of Rich, the 
airplane nut), but the label didn't really mean much to me. I 
just knew that I had no idea how I had put myself into a 
situation in which I would be boarding a UN plane actually to 
GO somewhere, but even those thoughts were a bit vague, as I had 
to pay attention to the proper boarding procedures.

I handed my boarding pass over to the waiting man, and stepped 
up onto the plane ("One person at a time," said the label on the 
steps). It was a tight fit, with a quick right, then left, in 
front of the first row of passenger seats. The floor had lots 
of railings jutting out; now I knew why open toed shoes were 
prohibited on the UN flights. Since I was one of the last few 
boarding, I did not have much of a choice in terms of seats. I 
ended up between two CIVPOL officers, one from Senegal, one from 
Ghana (I think). Thankfully, neither were very large men, so I 
didn't feel like I was totally squished.

Once I settled into my seat, I took a good look around. The 
civilian conversion of the C-130 basically entailed the 
attachment of old airline passenger seats. That was about it.
Otherwise, it was barebones airplane. There were pipes and 
wiring all along the ceiling, and I could see the railing on 
either side in the forward section with the straps that, I 
think, are used when people are parachuting off the plane. 
I had a passing hope that they didn't expect us to do that 
in an emergency. The inside hull was military/industrial 
pale green. There were very few windows, so I couldn't see 
outside much at all.

The pilot started the safety briefing over the PA system. It was 
somewhat amusing to see a hefty crewman in a flight suit doing 
the standard demonstration with the seat belt buckle that 
commercial flight attendants usually give. The emergency oxygen 
were in metal canisters under the seat (along with the inflatable 
vest), as there are no overhead bins for the oxygen masks to fall 
out of, the way they do on commercial planes. Considering the 
very short distance between my knees and the seat in front of me, 
I wondered how in the world they expected anyone of average size 
to be able to pull out the canister, put the mask on, then pull 
the tab to start the oxygen, all in a panic-filled atmosphere.

With the briefing over, I followed the example of those around me 
and took out the disposable ear plugs -- little orange spongey
things that you squish and stick in your ears. I decided that
although it looked a little funny, since everyone else was doing 
it, it was okay.

I was able to see a little bit of the takeoff, but otherwise, 
it was a no-event flight of one hour and forty minutes duration.
It wasn't even uneventful. I dozed as much as I could, and we 
were soon landing in Darwin.

I stepped off of the plane and I thought, Wow. I'm in Australia.

We all trooped off along the walkway and into the terminal. 
Airports tend to be pretty much alike, and Darwin's was no 
different, with advertisements and bland art on the walls and 
escalators that go up and down to take you to immigration 
and customs.

The Immigration people were very friendly, which was a pleasant 
surprise; I usually find those who work those booths to be 
rather cross. Customs were also no problem, for I had nothing 
to declare. I hadn't even checked any bags, so I just breezed 
on through to the arrival lobby.

Which, considering that I had no idea where I was staying, was a
good thing, as it was still about 9:30 am, and so I could take 
my time in deciding where to stay. I picked out something from 
the Lonely Planet Guide that looked promising among the mid-range
hotels, a Don Hotel on the corner of Cavenagh and Litchfield 
Streets. A girl answered the phone, and I was immediately able 
to secure a room for three nights, for AUD 60.50 a night, GST 
included. Not too bad.

Then it was a few times back and forth in the arrival lobby, 
trying to figure out where I could find myself a shuttle to get 
me into town. I finally decided to get out onto the sidewalk 
instead of wandering about aimlessly in the lobby, and found a 
big bus. Some people were gathered at its side, around a lady at 
a table with tickets.

AUD 10 got me a return ticket on the shuttlebus, and I climbed 
aboard after handing off my backpack to the man at the luggage 
compartment in the back. I found a seat, right next to Olga, and 
we had a little chat. I found out to my great surprise and dismay
that Xavier (he with the sign at the airport) had come down with
dengue, in New York, of all places. He was still recuperating 
there, according to the story she heard, which made it 
interesting because I knew that his contract expired at the end 
of the month. He would barely be able to go through check-out
(which apparently takes a LOT longer than check-in) in time 
if he came back in a week or so.

Olga got off earlier than I did, at the Carlton. It wasn't that 
long before we arrived at the little hotel where I had called.
I hopped off the bus and went to retrieve my backpack, while I 
noted in the back of my mind that there were several other people 
who were also getting off. I also noted that they were in 
fatigues which made my best guess that they were peacekeepers on 
holiday. And that on the sleeves of those fatigues were the 
telltale flag with the green background, yellow diamond, and the 
blue globe with a white line through it. You guessed it. Brazil. 
I rolled my eyes in my mind and tried not to think about it too 
much, still not believing the run of coincidences. At least, the 
guy that had caused me problems a few weeks ago was not among
them.

The girl who had made the arrangements for me recognized me, and
the check in was a breeze. I got my key, careful not to display 
the room number to the bunch of guys immediately behind me, and 
walked briskly to my first floor room.

It was a bit run down, but it was clean, with a double bed and 
a single bed. The TV sat on the desk built into the wall. There 
was a built in closet to the left of the door, along with a 
couple of shelves which housed a mini-fridge and two sets of 
cups and saucers, some tea, and an electric kettle. The bathroom 
looked serviceable.

I unpacked, leaving the spare towels I had brought, and stuck the 
backpack into the closet. I laid out my clothes on the little 
bench by the desk, and quickly changed out of my jeans and 
sneakers and into shorts and my Bali flipflops. I was allowed to 
wear shorts above the knee in Australia, and I'd be damned if I 
didn't take advantage of that! Even if it meant I had to slather 
on bug repellent on my legs.

I was totally famished. I hadn't eaten any breakfast, and I was 
beginning to feel faint. I studied the map, looking for some 
good ideas of places to eat, and I regretted that I hadn't asked 
Magda, a girl from staff orientation and (usually) a Darwin 
resident, for some recommendations. I figured that walking along 
the street toward the centre of town would let me bump into 
something that would do, so I left the hotel with the map in my 
pocket.

I passed a few places I had read about, but none really stood out
in my mind. I finally forgave myself, saying that I would try 
those places in the next couple days, and settled for a sandwich 
from McDonalds. I had to take my anti-malaria pill, as it was a 
Friday, and my stomach was not giving me much choice.

I realized I was still hungry (in Australia, when they say 
'small,' they mean 'small'), so off I went for something else. 
I also wanted to get started on my shopping.

First stop: Shoes! My immediate need was for a new pair of 
sandals, as the current ones were not only falling apart and 
looking horrible, even for wearing around Dili, my feet got all 
smelly when I wore them. I needed a pair of black sandals that 
would go from casual to casually elegant, as I didn't want buy 
a multitude of shoes and begin resembling Imelda Marcos. I 
finally settled on a pair at Perrini's in the Smith Street 
Mall: black leather, one wide strap across, very little heel. 
I put it on my credit card, as I had planned on putting all my 
larger purchases on it.

I made my way to the Transit Centre, where I read that there were 
some cheap eats. I got a little container of fried rice from the 
Chinese take-away, along with a Coke, and sauntered my way back 
to the hotel. Once back, I gobbled about half of it, and 
swallowed my anti-malaria pill.

After a little siesta -- I hadn't a lot of sleep, having risen 
around quarter past four -- I decided to go for a swim. I 
put on my swimsuit, then my sundress and flipflops, and with 
key and towel in hand, I headed to the pool.

There were a few young Australians lounging about, but no one 
else. I slipped out of my dress and into the water. The water 
wasn't very cool, though. Lukewarm. I guess they don't have to 
pay much for heating, considering the ambient temperature.

After a swim and a shower, I spent the earlier part of the 
evening with a range of Australian television programming. There 
was an interesting programme on foreign women working as 
hostesses in Japan. There was a francophone Canadian woman who 
was interviewed in French, which was fun. I kept trying not to 
read the subtitles.

I got hungry for dinner, so off I went to forage in town. I ended 
up at a place called Pancake Palace, a little place down the 
street that I had read about in Lonely Planet. I tried the ham 
and pineapple pancake, as it reminded me of the Canadian bacon 
and pineapple pizza from California Pizza Kitchen. I was 
pondering the idea of the 'savoury pancake' as dinner when the 
plate came. It had lots of salad on the side, which was great, 
and the pancake was really yummy. I'd go back there again.

I knew I would spend Saturday shopping at Casuarina Shopping 
Centre in the northern suburbs of Darwin. I dragged myself out of 
bed and over to the Visitors' Centre on the corner of Mitchell 
and Knuckey Streets. The queue was short but the people before me
were booking trips, and that took a while. I only wanted to buy 
the all-day bus pass. I finally got to the desk, and the young
man sold me two of them, the last two he had. AUD 5.00 would let 
me ride around the bus system all day, and I liked the idea of 
the freedom that would afford me.

Then it was off to the bus stop. I almost got lost on the way, 
as one of the streets I had expected to continue veered off to 
the left. It turned out that was the direction I needed to go 
anyway. I coincidentally passed by the UNTAET Darwin Liaison 
Office, so I stepped in to check the flight manifest for Monday.

Then I saw the bad news. Not only was I on Standby, the Standby 
List was LONG. At least two-and-a-half pages. I had wanted to get
on the afternoon flight anyway, but being on Standby apparently 
meant I'd have to report to the check-in counter at the airport 
at 0830 hours. I wondered whether I'd get stuck at the airport 
all day Monday. I took notes, then continued to the bus stop.

It was long series of benches along the street, with some cover 
from the intense tropical sun. I checked the schedule, waited for 
the wrong bus for a few minutes, then found the correct waiting 
area for the bus I wanted.

A couple of guys that I'd seen the day before at the hotel, 
presumably two Brazilian peacekeepers, were on the next bench. 
As I had said 'Boa tarde' when I saw them last, one of them 
started speaking to me in Portuguese. He saw my confused look, 
and asked, "Fala Portugues? (Do you speak Portuguese?)" and I 
had the presence of mind to reply, "Nao falo Portugues. (I don't 
speak Portuguese.)" We made small talk until a bus to 
Casuarina came. It was the bus that took the scenic route, which 
was fine with me. I left the two guys behind and climbed aboard.

The trip took longer than it usually takes -- about an hour. We 
went through a lot of residential streets, by parks and little 
mini-malls. It went by the Casuarina campus of the University of 
the Northern Territory, and I saw some local students.

We soon arrived at what looked like the shopping centre, and I 
hopped off the bus after confirming that with the bus driver.
I proceeded through the carpark and up a slightly-elevated moving
walkway into the building.

Having grown up in Los Angeles, shopping malls seem the same 
everywhere to me, and this was a typical shopping mall. It had a 
food court (good thing, as it was lunch time when I arrived), 
and a range of stores from clothing to toys to books to, well, 
you get the idea. After sauntering through a few stores, 
including a book store ("Wait, don't go in there, you'll never 
come out!"), I got a bite to eat.

I spent the afternoon walking in and out of different stores, 
looking at one thing, then another, finally deciding to buy, then 
walking back, and generally being my wishy-washy self. 

Among my purchases:

* An Australian plug that had two sockets, so that I would have 
  an extra socket. Now, I can have the TV on *and* recharge my 
  phone at the same time without unplugging the fridge.

* Cheap sundress, though not so cheap as the one I bought in 
  Bali. But it was blue, and it fit. Miracle of miracles. I also 
  bought a polo shirt in the children's section. (Hey, I heard 
  that snickering!)

* Rid, a bug repellent Magda recommended. And some razors.

I was also looking at some hiking shoes in preparation for the 
wet season, but I didn't see anything that said, "Buy me." For 
the moment, I figured that my regular shoes and my sneakers 
would do, so I didn't buy any.

I got back on the bus earlier than planned, as I had seen some 
things in a store on a side street back in town that I wanted to 
see. I thought it might already be closed, but I decided to go 
for it anyway.

By the time I got back to the hotel and dropped off all my things 
and got back out to that store, it was already closed. I was a 
little disappointed, but I thought I'd just go the morning of the 
next day.

I continued walking around a bit, and bumped into Olga again. We
started talking, and ended up having dinner together on Mitchell
Street while waiting for the sudden downpour of rain to stop. 
Afterwards, we crossed the street to the night market, where I 
went back and forth over a pair of dark red lightweight trousers 
with little patterns on them, while she bought a few things. We 
stopped to have a milkshake before bidding good night, with plans 
for a dinner and a movie Sunday night.

I spent a lazy Sunday morning in my room before I went back to 
the store that I had missed the day before. There were a few 
things that I thought I would like to try, but I was wearing 
sneakers at the time, which didn't look right with the skirts I 
wanted to try on. After asking when the store closed, I headed 
back to the hotel, first to change my shoes, then for a bite to 
eat. 

I had seen a little cafe-like place called "Roma Bar" which 
hadn't been mentioned anywhere, but looked like it had plenty of 
local customers -- always a good sign. I walked in, and ordered 
eggs, sausage and hash browns from a very cute short-order cook.
Later, as I waited for my order, I noted the wedding ring. 
Bummer. (As someone said to me once (you know who you are), "Just 
because I've ordered doesn't mean I can't look at the menu!")

It was a very filling brunch, and with that done, I went back to 
the store. After trying on a few things, I bought a beautiful 
wrap skirt, long, blue with gold embroidery, that I thought I 
could wear on special occasions while I'm here, and perhaps even 
to work when I get back to New York. Knowing I would have 
problems figuring out what to wear with it, I asked the lady in 
the store whether it would be appropriate to wear a white 
collared shirt with it, and she said that was fine.

I walked around a little bit more, exploring the nooks and 
crannies of the Mall (Smith Street between Bennett and Knuckey 
Streets) that I hadn't been to before. I found a bookstore, 
where I picked up the Lonely Planet East Timor Phrasebook. If I 
wanted to talk to the hotel staff and other locals and be 
understood, it would be imperative that I learn more Tetun than 
what little I know now.

I went back to the hotel, now a bit warm. It wasn't quite as hot
as it had been; the downpour the day before seemed to have cooled
down the air. I was determined to get one more swim in once I got 
back to the hotel.

But, who should be hanging out by the pool but the Brazilian 
peacekeepers? I passed by them, saying "Boa tarde," but I kept 
thinking, "Great. All those guys. One girl. Am I going to get 
harassed?" I got back into my room, putting down my purchases, 
and pondered. And my stubborness won through. "I'm not going to 
let anyone tell me what I can and can't do!"

So, I got into my swimsuit and sundress again. However, just to 
be safe, I also brought my new Tetun book so that I can scope out
the scene before I got into the water. I sat out with my towel
and my book and studied a bit as they lounged and swam about.

It turned out that they were pretty harmless. A couple of them 
swam over, but none tried anything. Another one, the guy who had 
seen me on the way to Casuarina, walked over and invited me for 
a beer, but once I told him I don't drink, we made a bit of small 
talk and that was it. So, I decided that the water was safe, and 
hopped into the deep end. After a few laps, I got up on the edge 
and chatted a little while with Casuarina Dude (sorry, I never 
got his name). We talked a bit about Brazilian music and dancing. 

It was soon time for me to go, as I had a dinner/movie date with 
Olga, and I wanted to get myself cleaned up and off to the night 
market again. I'd been thinking about that one pair of trousers 
that I hadn't bought the night before, and I thought, heck with 
it, I want it!

After my shower and changing clothes, I headed to the night 
market for my intended purchase, then continued on my way to 
the Carlton. Olga met me in the lobby, and we headed out for 
dinner. We had salads at Rorke's Drift, a bar with an outdoor 
dining area. The movie, The Tailor of Panama, was great brain 
candy with some excellent acting work, especially by Geoffrey 
Rush (as always).

I had to pack, so we bid good night immediately after the movie.
There wasn't a whole lot to pack, but as I had packed the 
backpack up to the gills on my way there, I knew not everything 
would fit back in. I had to use the shopping bag from the shoe 
store to carry the extra stuff.

Getting back to Dili turned out to be another adventure. Being 
on the Standby list, I knew I had to be at the airport by 0830 
hours. I had the airport shuttle drop me off before 0800, just 
to be safe. I was one of the first ones there, but soon the 
place was hoppin' with Standby-ers. The Lady with the List came 
around 0830 to check our names off, and she informed us that 
not everyone will be able to get back today, but they will make 
every effort to get us all back in the next few days. I'd 
requested the afternoon flight anyway, but I dreaded having to 
take an extra half-day of vacation, which I would have to do if 
I couldn't get on the flight that day.

I wasn't on the morning flight, and we were told to report back 
at 1415 hours, so I sauntered over to the arrivals area (the 
airport is all one big long building) to see whether I could 
catch my Pakistani friends who would be arriving on the morning 
flight. Sure enough, Tahir came out, then Muttaqi, then Yasmeen.
They introduced me to a few other members of the Pakistani army, 
and I ended up in a taxi with three of them on the way back to 
town, as there was little point in me hanging out at the airport 
for five hours.

They had reservations at the hotel where I was staying, so I 
gamely followed them back. Once they checked in, Muttaqi and 
another colleague who was in the Japanese programme with him 
took me out to lunch. We had a bit of curry, and some chicken 
satay. Yum. We went back to their room, watched a bit of cricket 
(the rules were explained to me very patiently), and soon it was 
time for me to head back. One of them walked me to the taxi rank,
and I was on my way back to the airport.

And thank goodness! I made the afternoon flight. I was one of the 
very last that made it. I heard the List Lady telling the others 
that they would definitely get on tomorrow. I felt a bit guilty.

The trip back was almost as uneventful. I sat in the rearmost row, 
between two CIVPOLs again, an American on the left and a Very 
Tall Kenyan on the right. His legs were so long his right knee 
was sticking out into the corridor and his left knee was 
squeezing me into the left half of my seat. He was very lucky I 
didn't take up much room, otherwise things might've gotten ugly.
I dozed quite a bit, my hat on my face a la Indiana Jones, until 
we landed safely at Comoro Airport.

Once I went through immigration (very long queue, for some 
reason), I collected my bags, handed my customs form to the 
Customs person and walked out toward the lobby. I had figured 
I'd just hire a taxi, but who should happen to be out there 
but Johan, the Principal Legal Advisor himself! A friend of his 
was coming in on the AirNorth flight, he said, and if I can wait, 
he could give me a lift. I accepted his offer gratefully, and 
before I knew it, I was back on the bumpy road back to central 
Dili.

And thus ends my adventure to Darwin. I'm sure I'll be back 
again. I asked Magda later about the 'dead'-ness of the town, and 
she said that this was no-tourist season, which was the favourite 
season for locals. She even offered to ask her boyfriend to take 
me around should I go there again by myself. While I did manage 
to do a bit of exploring myself, I'm sure that having a local 
person take me around will have a lot of advantages. I'm looking 
forward to that.

Oh, and the MOP?

In order for staff members to go *anywhere*, we need to file a 
Movement of Personnel (MOP) form. The first time I saw the 
abbreviation, I thought, "What the heck do you need a mop for?" 
but I was soon enlightened on the subject. Most people read it 
'em-oh-pea' but I'd recently started to call it the MOP.

The night before my departure to Darwin, I'd forgotten it in my 
desk, so I had to go back to get it. One of the lawyers, Campbell, 
was still there. I simply told him I had forgotten my MOP. After 
a silly comment about a girl and her mop, he asked where I was 
staying. I told him where, and he asked, in all seriousness, "And 
you need a mop to clean up there?" I nearly lost it then. I did 
explain to him I meant my 'em-oh-pea,' of course, and he laughed, 
too. I told Magda about it later, and she suggested the title. I 
think I'll just keep calling it my MOP and have a little fun at 
the UN bureaucracy's expense.

To be continued....