It’s very late on Friday evening, almost midnight, and I’m sitting in the Al Mourjan Business Lounge at Doha’s Hamad International Airport and reflecting on what has been a whirlwind week of flights, meetings, moderating, reunions and after-hours merriment. If you caught yesterday’s edition of Andrew’s column, you’ll know that we’re all on a bit of a Jakarta high off the back of our Chiefs conference – delegates, speakers and staffers alike. Andrew covered the thrill of being a first-timer in the city but this was perhaps my fifth trip and I’m now looking back on the 48 hours spent there and thinking about the high points, what had changed and why it had been nine years since I had last taken a spin around Jakarta’s leafy neighbourhoods, government ministries and modernist cafés.
A standout moment was reconnecting with Indonesian friends who I’d bumped into on occasion in Tokyo or London but hadn’t seen properly on their home turf. The businesses that they’d launched in the early 2000s had since flourished, grown to multiple locations, launched spin-offs and generally changed the face of hospitality and retail in many corners of Indonesia.
Another moment was when I was onstage with the journalist and broadcaster Najwa Shihab. Perhaps one of the most recognisable faces in the country’s media, she is part Christiane Amanpour, part Oprah, part Barbara Walters. After 25 minutes of discussion and a few questions from the audience, I was about to wrap up our session when Shihab stopped me and said that she wanted to ask me a question. “Sure,” I said, the tables suddenly turning.
“How do you do it?” she said, with a warm, slightly mischievous grin. “How do you do what you do – find stories, see where things are heading? Tell me.” It was the most simple, direct question and, in a flash, I was caught completely off-guard. Being asked a question onstage is rather different to chatting to a journalist in a hotel lobby lined with potted palms, a pianist tinkering away in the background. In front of an audience, you need to quickly respond or, at least, make sure that you don’t leave too much dead air. Trying to get to the core of her question, I started with a disclaimer about certainly not getting it right all of the time but then, in my scramble, the answer came to me. “We get out in the world,” I said. “We look up. I remind my colleagues that every time they pull into a train station or drive away from an airport they should look up. They ask questions about things that look surprising, different or out of place.”
Shihab nodded and there was a flash of approval in her eyes. I expanded on the idea a little more, conscious that we were running over time. With a disarming smile, she said, “I like that.” I thanked her again and we walked off the stage together, at which point she was immediately mobbed by fans who wanted photos and delegates who had never heard of her before but now wanted to ask more questions and compliment her on her talk.
This week has been a reminder of the importance of being out there, going the distance and making the effort to deal with the time zones, the lack of food, the bulging inbox of correspondence and the tempting comfort of a big corner suite and crisp linen. There is much that can be done on-screen from a research perspective but you need to smell the clove-scented tobacco, ask what happens in the gaudily lit nightclub called Helen’s that you just zipped past (“naughty things”, I was told), listen to stories about Surabaya and Bandung that make you keen to visit and just run with it. If you’re wondering what to do this Sunday, look up from your screen and absorb, appreciate and question all that you see.
