There was a little incident on a boat trip while we were in Donggala. One of the German guides was to accompany us on a day trip to two dive sites across the bay. Paul was a tad disappointed it wasn’t one of the Indonesian guides because the German tended to get quite cross with him, for example, for failing to provide a running commentary on his air supply. Her mantra was “The dive is my responsibility, I am the guide” and when it’s said over and over again in a German accent it can get a bit tedious to a fairly experienced diver (particularly as he seemed to be unfairly singled out for this sort of treatment – he is neither reckless nor irresponsible). And anyone that knows the Wooky will know he doesn’t take too kindly to being told what to do by anyone. Ever. Me, I was tolerating a lot of hectoring, given my novice status, happy to accept any advice thrown in my general direction.
The visas are in the bag (60 days for Indonesia), Dawn has finished work and bade a bittersweet farewell to friends and colleagues amidst a haze of alcohol (twice); the flat has been emptied, cleaned and vacated, and the last long and seemingly endless journey from Melbourne to Adelaide has been endured.
