Kota.

It’s been a while since I last posted, but with my parents’ visit fast approaching, I figured I should dust off my writing skills and put up some new stuff. Internet connection permitting, I hope to do running posts while they’re here.

I also have a backlog of trips that I have photos and outlines for, but just haven’t got around to posting. If things go well, I’ll finish these off and have them up in the coming weeks.

My most recent outing was with my newly arrived colleague Alyssa and her husband Mark. We headed up to the Kota area of Jakarta to take a look around. Jen and I had previously wandered around Sunda Kelapa, but never took the time to see the surrounding area.

With the Idul Fitri holiday emptying Jakarta out, traffic has been blessedly forgiving for the last week. The cab ride to Kota would normally take an hour or more, but was less than a half-hour. The reduced traffic also noticeably cleared up Jakarta’s notoriously polluted air, making walking outside more enjoyable and less like chain-smoking unfiltered cigarettes than it normally is.

We started out our tour in the central square: Taman Fatahillah. The Dutch colonial architecture contrasts a bit with the bajajs and food stalls that are part of life in Jakarta. While some of the museums and other government-held buildings have been well kept-up, the area in general is fading fast. The upside of this is that it makes photographing the area far more interesting.

Most of the museums were closed, as was the famous Café Batavia, so we decided to leave the square to make our way north to see the port at Sunda Kelapa. Before we left the square though, we took a detour down a side alley, and saw a guy talking to some Japanese tourists; he was standing in front of a door market “Toilet” that led into a dilapidated building.

After some brief discussion and bargaining, he agreed to let us wander around inside. From what he told Alyssa, the place used to be a concert hall of some kind. Now though, it’s just an abandoned and graffitied, but still fascinating shell.

When we were done there, we made our way to the port. The ships were a lot like the buildings: run-down and rotting, but great for photos.

We’ve lived here for over a year, but still have a lot of Jakarta left to see. I’m looking forward to going back to Kota with Jen when Café Batavia is open again.

More to come in the next few days – I have a few more posts I want to take care of before my parents get here so that I can devote my time to covering their visit.

That’s all for now – more photos on Flickr.

Traffic and haze.

As promised, some thoughts on two of the defining characteristics of the city of Jakarta for me:

Coming in from the airport late on a Thursday night, traffic was crazy but manageable. At least by Jakarta’s standards. A sane and responsible driver would not do so well here. It seems that Jakarta’s drivers are taught from a young age that the best defence is a good offence. I would be exaggerating in saying that I have never seen anyone check their blind spots, but it wouldn’t be too much of a stretch.

On a large street, say three lanes a side, you will typically have four or more cars driving abreast, with motorcycles and scooters filling in the gaps left between the cars. Lanes are sort of a novelty once traffic gets busy (even when it isn’t, drivers like to pretend that they’re monorail trains, and drive down the centre of the line). City planners have given up in certain areas, with six-lane-wide traffic circles completely lineless. Its every car for itself.

Driving operates on a system of given and take. Those that give are motorcycles, and people valuing their lives (and the finish on their cars). Those taking are, in order of precedence, bajaj, bemos, cars, microvans, trucks, minibuses, and big buses. Also, priority in traffic circles is determined by size and momentum coming into the circle, not who is already there.

There is a lot of honking in Jakarta traffic. To be fair, not much of it is angry honking. It signals “hey, you’re coming into my lane without looking” or “coming up behind you, please don’t hit me”. Cars just change lanes and wait for someone to honk or give way. The chaos seems to work here.

Bajaj in Jakarta:

Jakarta has its share of people trying to help sort out this chaos. There are policemen (have only seen one policewoman so far) who stand on the curb of straight stretch of road and wave traffic onwards, blowing a whistle non-stop. They aren’t guarding an entrance or helping you avoid hazards, they’re just there.

You also have the amateur and freelance traffic directors. Every building and restaurant seems to have someone with a whistle and a uniform of sorts whose job it is to stand by the entrance and facilitate the departure of cars from the premises. They will bravely venture into the road, blaring their whistle and waving their hands for your benefit. Some cars on the road heed these signals, some speed up.

On the back roads (jalan tikus – translates to rat/mouse roads), there are the less formal traffic wardens. These roads vary in width, from just wide enough for a motorcycle, to slightly over two cars wide. I have seen a driver have to reach out the window and flip the side mirror in to give just enough space to negotiate a tight spot. There are locals who will help guide you through a narrow section of these back streets for a small tip – 5 to 10 cents is standard from what I’ve seen. Long live free enterprise.

Now the haze. Ah, the haze. On bad days, it makes buildings 200m away unclear. On good days you still can’t see the horizon, but you don’t feel like you’ve just smoked a pack of cigarettes walking from the car to your apartment.

A contributor to the problem:

When we first arrived, we noticed a smell. To me, it smelled like something burning. I’ve found that this smell has faded, if only overwhelmed by the fine scent of diesel fumes from the 2 million+ cars and 5 million+ motorcycles on the streets of Jakarta. On our first weekend, we made the ~2 hour drive to Bogor and the Puncak, naively thinking that the haze would dissispate further from Jakarta. Wrong.

I’ve taken to swimming each day in our apartment’s Olympic-size pool. Its great, and very underused by the residents. I quickly learned to go in the early morning, before rush hour, when the day’s pollution has not yet risen to stifling levels. Still, there is a noticeable feeling of congestion in the throat after a day of short walks outside.

I want to make sure that you don’t get the wrong impression from all this: Jen and I love Jakarta so far. There is so much going on! Driving is an adventure, travel opportunities are plentiful (we’re off this weekend to the Gili Islands, and to Bangkok in a week or so), and the people welcoming and friendly. Every place has some drawbacks, and I think we can live with Jakarta’s.

Until later.

-R

First impressions of Jakarta

So we’ve been here in Jakarta for about a week and a half now, and I’ve finally managed to find enough time with a computer to put down some first thoughts about our new home here in Indonesia. It has been a bit crazy, but everything seems to be working out for the bestWhen we arrived on the 7th, we were met at the airport by Dana and Ross. Given our advanced state of jetlag, having people whose judgement was unclouded by an 11-hour time difference was really great. The handlers from the pet importer, Groovy Pets, showed up right on time, and Jen was happy to send the cats (who made the trip just fine) off with him

Our drive from the airport to our new place was…quiet. Well, compared to all our outings since it was. The night-time traffic was still a bit chaotic, but the volume was low enough that we could have just been in Montreal on a busy weekend.

On arrival in our apartment, we were pretty impressed. Guards at the gate, marble in the entryway, special passes to work the elevator, and then…our new apartment. I’m going to hold off on posting pictures until our air and sea shipments are here, and our new furniture arrives, but for now let me just say that we are very, very happy. Here’s a shot from the Sky Lounge at The Peak on the 41st floor, covering the front towers and Jakarta below: 

 

See our Flickr set for more shots of the outside of the complex.

The next day, Dana and Gilles dragged our somewhat less jetlagged selves out to our first Indonesian mall. From what we have seen so far, malls are a major part of living in Jakarta. You can’t drive very far without running into one. Senayan City, right across the street from another huge mall, Plaza Senayan, has enough high-end stores to make you forget that so much of this country lives in poverty. Seriously, I have never been to a mall that has so much that is beyond my reach: Gucci, Prada, Zegna, Mont Blanc, and more, all less that a hundred meters from the homes of people living on dollars a day. The contrast is a bit hard to take.

It’s the contrast that has defined Jakarta so far for me. You can easily spend much more or much less on anything that you can back in Canada. Choose between lunch at a noodle place for $1.50 or dinner at a five-star restaurant for hundreds of dollars, or between a twenty-minute cab ride for $2.00 or a chauffeured Mercedes. You can do it all here.

More to come soon! Up next: traffic and the haze.

-R

The other side of life in Southeast Asia – the Squat Toilet…

I know that I already posted this on my Facebook, but I loved it so much that I had to include it here. The article is taken from the blog Banterist…I claim no credit for the writing below, but wish that I could.

This is the kind of thing that’s going to make life in Indonesia so interesting – there is such a disparity between the apartment we’ll be living in (see previous post here), and the squat toilets and shacks of Indonesia.

Using a squat toilet:

Rule One: Exhaust all other possibilities.

If you are truly in need and condemned to use the squat toilet, comfort yourself with the knowledge that you are several thousand miles from friends and family. No one has to know.

Proceed as follows:

Most stalls do not have toilet paper. This is the best time to realize this. Either take paper from the general dispenser in the bathroom area or preferably bring your own as it will be made of tissue and not plywood carpaccio.

Approach the squat toilet apprehensively and make sure it’s not covered in stool. If it is covered in stool, choose another stall. If another stall is not available, accept the cards that have been dealt you. This is a good time to come up with a title for your experience such as My Great B.M. Adventure or Disgusticon One.

Close the door to the stall, knowing full well the handle has more germs on it than the entire population of Botswana.

Place your feet on the appropriate foot grids, assuming they are not covered in stool. If they are covered in stool, place your feet on the least fouled space you can find, being careful to maintain balance.

Unfasten and drop your trousers and underpants, making sure that they do not make contact with the urine and stool covered surface area.

Grimace and ask yourself if a country with such a toilet can or should ever be a superpower.

Assume a squatting position like a competitive ski jumper. Stick your ass out like a whore in a 50 Cent video. This is a good time to pretend you’re not a miserable tourist with your pants around your ankles, squatting over a barbaric poo hole.

Use your right hand to prevent the soiling of your trousers and underpants by holding them off the ground and pushing them forward, away from any Danger Zone. This is perhaps the best time ever to be a kilt-wearing Scotsman.

In your left hand should be the assortment of paper/wipes/anti-bacterial sheets you intend to use after you are finished with your production.

You would think you would want your left hand to brace your squatting self against the stall wall. However, the stall wall is covered in nose nuggets and as such is not touchable. At any rate, if you have a penis you will need your left hand for guidance anyway.

For the penised: Use your left hand to aim it away from your trousers and underpants. Point it backwards between your legs – as if it were a rocket engine designed to propel you far away from this alien hellhole. At the same time be sure not to drop any of the objects in your left hand as they will be rendered horribly irretrievable should you do so.

If you do not have a penis, use the left arm to balance yourself – waving it around wildly rather than touching the snot covered stall wall or filthy support bars (if any).

If you are able to maintain balance for several seconds, you are ready to begin bowel evacuation. At this point the bulk of your focus should be towards the quick evacuation of your bowels without soiling your clothing, missing your mark or – God forbid – losing your balance and falling.

For aiming purposes keep your head tucked between your legs – like a bombardier on a very unpleasant mission assigned by General Squalor.

If your aim is true you will have the pleasure of watching poo (yours) drop down a deep, dark hole to a resounding ploot. If it’s not true, you will have the pleasure of watching poo (yours) come to rest on the floor between your legs.

After you have completed your bowel evacuation, DO NOT STAND UP. Remain squatting and miserable.

Continue using your right hand to prevent contact of your trousers/underpants with urine/stool. Place your tissues and wipes in your left hand on top of your underwear/trousers and select the items you need for wiping.

Wipe and curse culture simultaneously, all the while maintaining the squatting position.

Do not drop soiled tissues. That would be too easy. Sadly, the 16th century plumbing can only handle poo. Soiled tissues are to be placed in the bin behind you. Without leaving the squat position, twist your body in order to see the bin and make a good throw. Don’t worry if you miss, as it’s obvious from the poo-sheet pile on the floor that even the squat-tastic natives are no Michael Jordans.

Once sufficiently wiped, humiliated and traumatized, you may stand and re-underpant and re-trouser yourself. This is a good time to reflect on your life and also a good time to try blacking out these last ten minutes – like a freshly-sodomized felon might do.

The filth-covered flush button is behind you and may or may not work.

Open the door to the stall, again knowing the handle has more germs on it than a decade of scrapings from Paris Hilton’s tongue.

Exit the stall and never, ever, ever get yourself into a situation where you have to do that again. But first, wash your hands until they bleed.

Reprinted from: http://www.banterist.com/archivefiles/000348.html

Squat toilet

First look at life in our new abode.

So our friend in Jakarta who looks after the Embassy’s properties has been nice enough to send us a few shots of our new apartment in The Peak. Although it is still unfurnished, I have to admit that the place is beautiful, if a little cavernous for my taste.

To start things off, here’s the floor plan:

First we have a shot of our living/dining room. I love the marble floors:

Next the kitchen:

Master bathroom:

Finally, the view from our balcony – over the complex’s Olympic-size swimming pool:

I can’t wait to see it furnished! The only problem is, after living in a place like this, how are we going to move back to our little condo here in Ottawa?

-R

A Place to Put Our Stuff

It looks like we have finally been assigned a place to live in Jakarta: the Peak at Sudirman. I have to say that, since the process started, J and I have had our eye on the building. From what we’ve seen, the complex has four towers (two at 55-stories and two at 35-stories), an Olympic-size swimming pool, a gym, and is nicely located in the heart of Jakarta Pusat.

Beyond being a great complex and well-situated overall, the apartment will be close to my job at the World Trade Centre, and in the same complex as some of my co-workers. Its also kind of interesting (I don’t know if I’m relieved or not) to know that the buildings have “Japanese-designed earthquake proofing technology is incorporated into the design”, at least according to the Wikipedia article.

More details and possibly a floor-plan to come!

-R