Sixteen Days in Indonesia, Part 1

1. Indonesia was such an unlikely travel destination. I had never considered it to be a place I would want to go, and if I weren’t there to visit my friend Jen I would likely never have gone. Even as I touched down in Soekarno-Hatta airport my thoughts were on visiting a good friend, rather than visiting a foreign country. But, slowly, the city seeped into me, rather like the carcinogens in the air (Jakarta is the third most polluted city in the world), and I was hooked.

2. Firstly, a tip. Don’t go into the toilets at Soekarno-Hatta airport. Just don’t. Breathe, and hold. If you absolutely must go, make sure you have tissues with you. You’ll have to use a squat toilet (which is a whole lot cleaner than the sit down one they have), and next to it will be a bucket and pail filled with water. That’s what you use to flush the toilet with. Not that any of this is the problem — the problem is that while there are always people in uniform hanging around outside the toilet, none of them seem to know how to clean it, and it’s pretty filthy inside. Blerg.

One of Jakarta\'s many street vendors

3. Indonesia has the coolest visa I’ve ever seen, it’s only a little smaller than the page and prints out with all your details and sticks onto a page in your passport. I got mine on arrival, handed over the US$25 and headed off to immigration, where I nearly got deported. See, I got my passport eight years ago when I was 18, and I just don’t look like that anymore. Mr Indonesia Immigration Official thought much the same, and the only thing worse than getting grilled by immigration is getting grilled by immigration in a language you don’t understand. I think he did try to speak english, but I couldn’t tell, but he seemed satisfied enough when he rifled through all my flight details. I certainly wasn’t going to ask, I just moved on by.

4. Bags collected, foreign items check processed, proceed to exit. Here’s tip number two — don’t pay any attention to the people hawking taxis. There are a lot of dodgy taxi companies that’ll try to screw you, head straight out and try to find a Blue Bird taxi (they’re easier to find from the departures terminal upstairs), or join one of the lines for a Silver Bird taxi. They both cost a bit more, but won’t screw you around (and if you’re traveling on Australian dollars, who cares?)

5. Finding Jen was easy, she was the only white girl without a backpack. We got a cab back to her place, which is this big two bedroom place, instantly reminded me of all the interiors you see in any Vietnam movie. White walls, white tile floor, 70s era furniture, pot plant in a bird cage outside, and a Jakartan street kitten called Warong. Warong is in the I’m-just-learning-how-to-fight-so-I’m-using-you-as-a-scratching-post phase, making him awfully cute but terrible to wake up to (I swear I have a scar).

6. The next few days were a bit of a blur. We chatted, got scratched by the cat, cruised around the big malls, and went drinking. I had my first experience of an Indonesia mall the day after I arrived. Jakartans love their malls, and it’s the place to be if you have any sort of social life. It’s a symptom of the city’s layout — there isn’t any single central place people can gather for a night out, as a consequence malls became the de facto city centre(s) where people can shop, get a drink, see a movie, or get a meal. And we’re talking proper restaurants and bars, not small food stands. One of the malls we went to seem to be comprised completely of bars, restaurants, and places where bad cover bands play Maroon 5 all night. Think a more expensive Newtown in one building with no taste in music, and you’re pretty close.

Rush hour Jakarta style

7. Which leads me to my favourite part about Jakarta — the bars. You can find the most dodgy cheap-as-piss bamboo-and-wood-shack bars, and the most spectacularly extravagant bars anywhere. Here is the only place where “cheap and cheerful” really means something. We started one night at a great dodgy place, not too many people but they had a one hit wonders cover band on stage, and finished the night at Retro (which, ironically, didn’t play any retro music when we were there), where barstools, lounges and booth curtains are trimmed in rich maroon velvet, and the bar and floor in matching black marble. The place oozed with indulgence, and a level of understated class that doesn’t exist in Sydney. Yeah, you read that right, the capital of a developing nation has classier joints than Sydney.

8. There’s not an awful lot in between though, which in many ways describes Indonesia. For a “developing nation”, there is an awful lot of wealth there. And we’re talking people who would be wealthy by western standards. There are also very poor people, whose entire monthly income you could blow on a good meal. But there’s no middle class per se. You’re either rich or you’re not, and the evidence can been seen everywhere. As Jen notes, the chasm between the haves and the have nots are so wide that sooner or later there will be a repeat of the 1998 riots. And I reckon it would be sooner rather than later.

9. Social inequalities aside, I really enjoyed my time there. It’s dirty and crowded and smells of burning garbage and exhaust fumes everywhere, but it was not as foreign as I would’ve expected. I had no culture shock, nothing was all that different to what I’m used to back home. The only time “foreignness” set in was when I was spoken to in Indonesian (people alternately thought I was Indonesian or Japanese, which a few more worldly locals guessing Hong Kong). Part of this was I was with a friend who knows the place, but I never felt uncomfortable. I could spend a lot more time there.

10. Next up, the week in Sulawesi.

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