Follow the Red Tape Road

Attempting to import a couple of second-hand sea kayaks into Australia would probably not even raise the eyebrow of even the most fastidious customs officer. However, attempt to do the same in Indonesia and the bureaucratic gates slam shut. Customs officers scratch their heads (what is a kayak?), and despite the elaborate rules and stipulations, bureaucratic decisions can apparently take place in only one place, the sweaty, overpopulated metropolis, Jakarta.

To say that a visit to Jakarta was low on my list of priorities is a gross understatement. The city is known as "The Big Durian" partly for the spiky appearance of its rapidly growing skyline but also for the pungent smell, a mixture of dense, hot smog and the oppressive stench of the foetid open sewers that slowly drain through the city.

Hopefully our brief (we cross our fingers) visit to Jakarta will yield a special travel permit from the Director General of Customs that will allow us to use our kayaks in more than just the harbour of Surabaya (the location that they are removed from the shipping container). We also hope to achieve miracles in the Department of Foreign Trade, sidestepping the normal procedures for importing goods into the country, and obtaining more special travel permits for the movement of our kayaks. Thirdly, we hope that our Australian passports will get us further tomorrow into the Australian Embassy than we were able to achieve today, where we were holed up in between several bomb-proof walls and hammered with questions (in Indonesian) by the security guards on duty.

Through all of this, and the hours of delicate negotiating and fiery hoops we had to jump through in Surabaya with the shipping company, import agent and customs department, I have sat virtually mute, struggling to understand more than the most basic of greetings. Lain, on the other hand, has shown her true colours. While Lain might humbly insist that she is not fluent in the intricacy of Indonesian language and culture, she has proven herself a champion of diplomacy and translation.

Having spent 17 hours on a bus the night before, seriously dehydrated and with a pounding headache, Lain still found the energy and the vocabulary to charm the stone faces behind the high desks of Indonesia's bureaucratic capital. Quite simply, without Lain's skill with the language there would be no way we could attempt to achieve what we are trying to do in Indonesia.

So while we nervously await the decisions of the heads of departments, our kayaks get ever closer, still tightly packed in a container somewhere between Darwin, Singapore and Surabaya.

A couple of hundred years ago there would have been no red tape - you want to go there, then just go! I am sure it is meant to make things safer, easier and faster but this paperwork jungle that we are swinging through right now definitely represents the less glamorous side of adventure travel. If we manage to dig through the paperwork, to follow this red tape road, then it is only the madness of the travel visa system (and yet more red tape) that will restrict our paddling plans.

Ah, Indonesia. Love it or hate it but just make sure that you sign the form, in triplicate, on the way through.

Picture: Yet another hot, smoky office - not exactly the paddling paradise we were expecting in Indonesia.