Indonesia
Why I needed to ask a guy to become a Flores citizen to extend my own visa
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Johan Kruseman
Updated on 24 July 2024
Updated on 24 July 2024
I believe there‘s no meal in the world that can attract as much attention after a while as pizza made with local ingredients. And by pizza, I mean the kind only Italians can make. Usually, there‘s no Italian around at that moment, let alone the right original Italian ingredients. But this time we got lucky. We found an Italian guy, complete with a mustache and a little belly, and apparently, he managed to smuggle the real Italian ingredients into Flores because his pizzas were even better than in Italy.
With a full belly, I walked back to my hostel, and a few meters before reaching it, I stumbled upon what later turned out to be a three-day local festival. Three families living there had built a wall of speakers to blast Indonesian Frans Bauer at a volume higher than the speaker wall could handle non-stop for three days. I didn‘t need to look interested for long before I got invited. Before I knew it, I got food and drinks for three days, played card games, dominoes, and chess during the day, and danced in the evenings and nights. It came at a price, though. For each lost game, I had to attach a clothespin to my ear, and since the rules were explained to me in Indonesian, I ended up with both ears full of five clothespins on each side on the first day.
During the day, I danced with the big mama of the families, and she seemed to fall in love instantly. Even days later, she‘d blow me kisses and give me a wide smile as I walked by. After sunset, the women weren‘t allowed to party anymore, but that didn‘t stop us from dancing well into the night. And all of this was in celebration of a baby‘s first haircut. I‘m all in favor of introducing that ritual worldwide.
A look in my passport revealed that my visa was about to expire. And wouldn‘t you know, visa extensions are my favorite pastime. After a good night‘s sleep, I went to the immigration office with fresh enthusiasm. There were about 7 people there, one of them even behind the counter. When I approached him, he quickly took a few steps back, looking startled, and said they were just closing for lunch. I was allowed to sit in a plastic chair for 1.5 hours, and then I would be the first one he would help. A courteous offer, but I told him I just had a question about what I needed to extend my visa. Clearly irritated that I was taking away a minute of his 90-minute lunch break, he quickly gave me a short list of requirements: passport, passport copy (they didn‘t even have a photocopier), ticket and its copy, two passport photos, a special stamp, and a sponsor. I wasn‘t sure where to get that stamp, and he suggested I ask my sponsor. I had already heard that the sponsor was a thing on this island. The immigration office had only recently opened, and the employees still wanted to do everything by the book. And a sponsor wasn‘t just any Indonesian off the street. No, to spend my tourist money in Indonesia for a longer period, I needed a good, well-known friend from Flores to vouch for me as a good tourist. I quickly said I had one, but had to leave his name out. You know how it goes – if you know someone well, you usually don‘t call them by their name. The officer nodded, not because he agreed, but because enough of his lunchtime had been taken away.
Time to leave the office and find my yet-to-be-found friend. I had closed a million-dollar deal that morning (in rupiah, but still) for a two-day diving trip for four people, so I thought I might still have some credits left for a new friend. First, the guy who handed out flyers was pushed forward. I told him we had known each other for years. But when we were about to leave and I did a final check on all the requirements, he said he had an ID card but that it was on the other side of the island (8 hours by bus). Was that a problem? I didn‘t need to ask the immigration office for that. I could figure that one out myself. The boss of the diving school stepped forward and said he could also be my friend. Even though he was from Java, where the immigration office had clearly said Flores, he was a smooth talker and was convinced it would work. Unfortunately, the immigration office, now awake from their lunch, had a different opinion. It had to be someone from Flores. And that‘s when the diving school owner proved why we had been such good friends for years: he asked how he could change his citizenship to Flores. Surprisingly, it was quite simple: two extra forms to be submitted to two different agencies. The offices had different opening times, but two days later, I appeared with my friend, this time from Flores. And after ten fingerprint scans, a front and side photo, and the signatures of both me and my sponsor, I was granted an additional thirty days.
In those two days when my friend became a citizen of Flores, I went on my two-day diving trip. I actually don‘t like diving, but I find it fantastic to see big creatures in the wild. In this inner struggle, the promise of spotting manta rays and coral sharks tipped the balance. After a few startup problems (no diving masks, and the generator for filling the diving cylinders broke down, pragmatically solved by getting 24 filled gas cylinders with a speedboat), we were in the water at one of the world‘s best diving spots. It felt like we were floating under the manta rays as they glided overhead one by one. And in the next dive, a group of sharks circled above us. On paper, it sounds more impressive than it was – the sharks weren‘t bigger than my leg – but when you see them for the first time, you still hold your breath for a moment. In the third dive, we were carried through the currents between rocky formations like in a rollercoaster. The fourth dive was where the water from the Pacific Ocean met the Indian Ocean, creating bizarre currents. In an attempt to reassure our group of novice divers, the guide explained that the current was so strong that if you strayed two meters from the underwater wall, you‘d be dragged down to a depth of 45 meters in three seconds, so we should stick close to the rock, and nothing would happen. I had never hovered so close to a rock wall (without touching it) before, but the fear was rewarded with what must be the most well-stocked open-air aquarium in the world: thousands of fish fluttered like butterflies among the coral walls, visibly with less fear than our group of divers. So, diving became fun again!
But the second-to-last dive reminded me why I prefer to live above water. We had to descend quickly to minimize the effects of the current. There was almost no current at the bottom. However, I didn‘t reach the bottom because I struggled to equalize my ears. While my dive group calmly glided forward over the seabed after a rapid descent, I had to fight my way through the heart of the current using my hands and feet. When I finally reached the bottom, my battle against the water had consumed all my air. I signaled to my guide that my tank was almost empty. He said it was okay. I had a different opinion and swam to my instructor to quickly empty his tank too. When I was almost successful, he signaled for me to swim up alone. My conclusion was that if I wanted to dive again, there had better be a group of killer whales on the itinerary.
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Traveled route: Bali, Denpasar, Buleleng, Boengkoelan, Gili Air, Lombok, Pemenang, mount Rinjani, Komodo Island, Flores, Labuan Bajo, Sumatra, Medan, Bukit Lawang, Banda Aceh, Pelabuhan Balohan, Jakarta, Yogyakarta, Imogiri Pine Forest, Borobudur Temple, Malang, Mount Bromo, Ijen, Banyuwangi, Surabaya
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