For some reason this post came out (at least in my head) as being narrated by Tony Bourdain, except that he tends to be much more eloquent. Not sure where that came from—doesn’t he have a travel show to be doing?
Indonesia. Coming here I thought "What do I really know?" Okay, so there's East Timor, Jamaah Islamiyah... but I hear Bali's nice. What does any American really know of Indonesia? I guess its related to India, right? And it is somewhere in those islands between mainland Asia and Australia. Oh, and I think I have a shirt from there.
So what did I know? Pretty much nothing. I might have seen a Travel Channel show on it at some point. So its one of those countries that makes our clothes. You know what I mean--India, China, Thailand, Indonesia. Places where you typically think of people working their fingers to the bone for the shirts we buy of the rack at $10 a pop, and probably getting paid that much a day, if they're lucky. A place where you don't drink the water and you watch your wallet. I geared myself up for a grueling experience where the weather was hot, the air was foul, and danger lurked around every corner.
Okay, so I didn't go to 'Indonesia' as much as I went to Jakarta. The capital, yes, but mainly a city on West Java, only one of the many islands that make up this equatorial island nation. Prior to this trip I had been doing some reading on Southeast Asia, or the "Land Below the Winds" as it was known by many outsiders. So, I thought, maybe I'll get lucky and at least see some part of
traditional Indonesia. Perhaps some dancers or a puppet show.
Flying into Jakarta International Airport I looked down at the oil rigs off the coast and some sort of aquaculture--I couldn't really tell at that height. We start coming down and I see fields all around with houses under the trees with motley roofs--the kind you expect some wholesome peasant family to be living in. So far, things were living up to my low expectations. It was hot, and the airport hardly impressed, coming in as I was from Thailand's newest International airport. Making it through customs my colleague and I followed the directions we'd been given and grabbed a Silver Bird cab for transport to our hotel.
As we drove down the road, I saw more fields--at the entrance to the Sheraton, just outside the airport, someone was even herding their goats along the waterway by the side of the road. There were flooded fields, and rickety looking piers jutting out into a lake or river, for who knows what purpose.
Then, the city.
It sprang up around us with the quiet stealth of a stalking cat. Buildings here and there, and fewer and fewer trees. As we went over a raised bridge I could see it, stretched out all around. All the trappings of many people living and working in an area that was never really meant to hold them in the first place. Buildings rose up around us, reaching for the sky as we drove onward, into the heart of the city. I saw the highway across the way turn into a parking lot as cars clogged the road like a hairball in a drainpipe.
As the buildings grew taller, the scenery grew more pleasant, if only in that glitzy industrial way. Hitting a larger traffic circle around a large fountain we had reached the nicest part of the city so far--and I have to say I was impressed. This wasn't just some backwater country; there was business, commerce, and trade going on. New buildings could be seen going up all over the place--this seemed a happening place.
At the hotel room, I was pleasantly surprised--I was taken up to the 15th floor, where I had to use my room key just to access the floor itself. I was led to a palatial room, decorated in classic black and white. On the wall hung a piece of fabric art that should have been in an art museum. I was quite taken aback. I was just getting relaxed when the phone rang:
"Excuse me sir, it seems there has been a slight mistake..."
Turns out the palatial digs were not my room. As I trudged with an apologetic bellhop down to my room with the rest of the hoi-polloi I gave a quick thought to seeing what it would take to upgrade me--but I've never really needed princely treatment and a bed and a shower would be fine enough for me.
First night out in Jakarta we went looking for food. I thought this would be great--a chance to experience something new! Was I in for a surprise. The hotel had several restaurants; one was offering Mexican fajitas, and another was a Japanese sushi/steakhouse. In the lobby was an Irish pub. Next to the hotel: Burger King and Starbucks. Looking around, we found Dunkin' Donuts and McDonald's as well. Nothing like International Cuisine! Hungry and unwilling to spend too much time wandering around in unfamiliar territory, we made our way to that exotic bastion of American cuisine--Chili's.
Now, don't get me wrong. I'm a fan of American food, and a good hamburger is just what the stomach is calling for at times. And not some gourmet burger specially prepared with expensive seasonings, but something that was cooked on a griddle for 5 minutes, slapped on a toasted bun--maybe some mayonnaise so the grease doesn't soak in too badly--and topped with American cheese product. A real man-burger!
Still, I was expecting an exotic experience, and Chili's just wasn't doing it for me tonight. I did heartily enjoy their version of deep fried onion--one of the better ones I've tasted. But still... where were we? Had we even left the States?
Breakfast the next day I was determined to get a Real Indonesian morning meal. Something that they just don't have anywhere else. Rice--okay, that's an Asian staple and common enough. A chicken and a fish dish. Now we're cooking. Then, wait, knackwurst? And isn't this a Chinese noodle dish? And over there they have sushi and a pot of miso boiling. Once again I was thwarted in my attempts to have an Indonesian experience by the mass intrusion of all of these OTHER cultures. I ate my muffin and drank my tea like a good hotel patron, but inwardly I was dreaming of finding the true culture of Indonesia out there, somewhere.
The next night we went out with local celebrity to the Hard Rock Cafe. An expat regular whom we’d met during the day. They shouted his name as we came in A good meal--better than Chili's, but still something of a standard. A few drinks did not go amiss, however I was beginning to notice a trend—where was the culture? Still, 15% off and 2 for 1 drinks at happy hour do help satisfy the soul—or at least squelch the conscience.
Night after that we decided to try something different and headed for the Japanese restaurant, thinking at least it was Asian. Not a tremendously marvelous experience for me--the 'gyu yakiniku' tasted of fish (it's beef if you don't know), and only made me crave the real thing that much more.
The weekend was upon us before we noticed. Breaking up for the day I decided to walk around. I was surprised at the relative cleanliness of the city--a major improvement from Kathmandu. And there were street vendors, but not too many--I almost wish there had been more. Those who were selling, I was wary of--food that had been sitting out under Plexiglas in that heat of the day for who knows how long. I decided I'd wait to take my chances when I think I can afford to not get up the next day.
I walked down the street, taking my life into my own hands each time I came to an intersection. I've already grown somewhat accustomed to braving the streets here in Thailand--judging the distance between cars, and trusting that they don't want to have to pay to scrape a stupid American off of the front of their grill. Still, a harrowing experience. Add to that the Indonesian version of the tuk-tuk and motorcycles that felt that the rules of the road were really only for four-wheeled vehicles, and disaster seems iminent. I also found that the lights for the crosswalk don't necessarily mean that it is really safe--some times one side will be green, while the other side is red! What the heck is that supposed to mean?
Like Odysseus I timed myself and made it between the Scylla and Charybdis of the city streets, eventually coming to the gates of Monumen Nasional (that's the 'National Monument' for those who don't speak Indonesian). I went past the 'Halte Busway' (Bus stop) to the Museum Nasional (I'll let you guess this one). Sorry, the guy at the gate said no pictures (in contravention of their website). Go figure.
Let me point out right now that things in Indonesia are not on the same kind of time schedule as the West. In the West you'd expect a museum to be open on the weekends, maybe 9-5? Hah! Here's the schedule:
Tuesday-Thursday and Sunday, 8:30 am - 2:30pm; Friday, 8:30 am - 11:30 am; and Saturday 8:30 am - 1:30 pm. They close on Mondays.
Despite these annoyances I went in--and was impressed. There are two parts to the museum, apparently, an older wing and a newer one. The old wing is filled with ancient artifacts, including numerous stone statues and steles littering the courtyard. One long room was given over to the various cultures of Indonesia. There are over 17,000(!) islands in Indonesia, and just about every one of those had its own culture, art and radition. On top of the indigenous religions came the organized proselytization of Hinduism, Buddhism, Islam, and Christianity each adding their own, further flavour. I caught here a glimpse of what I had been searching for--the common people; their lives and traditions. It was refreshing.
But in the same breath, there were almost more non-Indonesian artifacts on display. Thai and Chinese ceramics, and East Asian bronzes. There was even a Japanese-styled sword supposedly made in China as a gift to one of the Indonesia sultans. I caught an inkling here that there may be something I'm missing about all of this, but I just couldn't place it.
That evening, we hit one of the malls--Plaza Indonesia. This was no quaint little marketplace, either, but a happening scene with the latest in fashion and design. Here, you get out of a cab and are treated as though you are one of the rich and famous. Yeah, I could get used to this.
That night we still didn't eat Indonesian, but I didn't care. We dined at a place called Gyu-kaku. Oh. My. Gyu-kaku is a yakiniku restaurant. For those of you not initiated into the wonders of yakiniku, it is basically Korean BBQ, Japanese style. You sit down around a table with your own grill and they bring out trays of raw (sometimes marinated) meat. With a few vegetables to keep your conscience appeased, you throw it on the fire and eat it right off the grill. Pre-cut into mouthwateringly bite-sized pieces, it is something of a family tradition at our house. The way the hot meat just melts in your mouth is one of the closest feelings to perfection I have ever come. This is what yakiniku is supposed to be—not some bland cut of beef tasting slightly of seafood! That night we were truly satisfied.
The next day, however, we were in a quandry--how do we top that? We started at Ratu Plaza--one of the most notorious open piracy markets anywhere. A many-stories tall building with probably any kind of electronic media you could want. Any show you could think of, even ones that hadn't even made it to disk, were available. They'd even tell you if the quality was any good or not, and I saw several people urged away from a sale because it was "no good!"
Okay, for everyone out there fretting over it, I was good. I didn't buy any of the USD0.50 DVDs, tempting as it was. Frankly, I know I have a near Catholic sense of guilt and wished to make it back through customs without causing an international incident. Yeah, I'm a wuss, deal with it.
After a night like that, where do you go? How about Grand Indonesia? A brand-spanking new mall with an interesting concept: some of the floors are themed. The entertainment floor is like a walk through the Moulin Rouge, where another floor is like walking beneath the streetlights of Paris--streetlights and all!
We explored until we felt the faux sand and rock of a Zen garden beneath our feet. Beneath the red and pink of cherry blossoms and maple leaves, mixing in a bizarre dance of Autumn and Spring, we found a classy looking place called 'Duck King'.
The facade was imposing--an austere black marble that shielded the dining room from the outside. Hesitantly we glanced at the menu outside and decided it seemed within our meager price range. We entered through a small corridor made all the more impressive by the black floor and mirrored walls and ceilings. We walked past a room of live seafood, waiting for a hungry diner's call, and around a bend into the restaurant floor itself.
The decor was elegant. Sparkling beads fell like a frozen waterfall, separating spaces. Tables were well spaced, with a view of the kitchen without being distracted by it. Service was excellent, with floor managers directing service to whoever might need it.
In a place like 'Duck King' what else are you going to order? Their Peking duck came in two flavours: you could choose a half or whole duck and the crispy skin would be used to prepare the classic Peking duck rolls--done at your table by someone with obvious experience so that you don't have to show off your own inadequacies in front of your dining partners. The meat would then be prepared in one of several ways--we took our waiters' suggestion and went with minced meat and vegetables on small circles cut from a lettuce leaf. Each mouthful was such a pleasant experience I deliberately avoided eating it too fast so that I could savour them throughout the meal. We also ordered individual soups, and a plate of mabo-dofu, as it is known in Japan (I believe it is Mapo-dobu in Chinese). This made for first class dining two nights in a row. And this second meal? Only about $15/person for the entire thing, including drinks and a small dessert.
The next night was relatively uneventful--we were unsure how we could really top that, so we went back to the Hard Rock for a quick drink before getting to bed a little early.
The last night, I was on my own. I had just the day before gained a line on a batik shop in a nearby department store. Two floors of batik and Indonesian crafts, I looked through the keris knives, some wayang shadow puppets, and others. One entire floor was devoted to just batik, the traditional fibre art of Indonesia, and their substitute for Western 'fancy dress'. Everything from business working clothes to high-end, hand painted silks were available; $10~$500, and probably more. And it wasn't just foreigners here--there were plenty of Indonesian people looking through the racks as well. I like to imagine they were there looking for something for a wedding, or some other such celebration.
Before I headed up to the store and spent what money I had left--barring taxi and airport fees--I decided to try one last look for a good Indonesian meal. I had seen one of the classic restaurants earlier--dishes piled high in the window, but it was now out of my way. Instead I decided to head down one of the back streets behind the batik store. Passing stands selling groceries and more DVDs, I saw a promising little place in the corner--a place I later learned was called Saung Gading. The menu showed several 'paket' meals, but nothing was in English, or even in the pseudo-Western pidgin I'd seen on signs elsewhere. I hesitated at the door, and was about the try something a little less intimidating, when a man, speaking broken English, welcomed me to come inside.
The small tables were not classy and ritzy like in the malls. Some 'renovasi' was taking place so half of it was curtained off. There was a small grass eave along one wall to give it some character, but in many ways it seemed like any neighborhood diner around the world, other than the quiet emptiness. Perhaps it was the wrong time of day, or perhaps they had a bad location--I couldn't tell, though it did worry me more than a bit. Maybe this is why they were so eager to welcome me inside? I prepared for the worst.
An incomprehensible menu was placed in front of me. Surrendering my free will, I explained I had no idea what Indonesian food should be, and asked my host to choose something. He picked out three dishes--fried shrimp with a sweet chili sauce, a sweet and sour soup, and a dish that reminds me of Pad Thai, but with no noodles and a heavy peanut sauce. Oh, and potato chips (or some other fried starch) on top. I did ask for a soda, the one thing on the menu I could read.
As I hesitantly tried the food, I was amazed at what I had discovered. The shrimp was so light that you could eat the entire thing, tail and all, without incident. The soup reminded me of a Vietnamese dish I had eaten once, but this one was filled with potatos, corn, and other vegetables that gave it a feeling I could only describe as 'comfort food'. The greens with the peanut sauce--fantastic! It had been spiced just to my tolerance--a little below Thai spicy, which is probably a little below Indonesian spicy. I ended up being unable to finish the whole thing, and heartily thanked my host for a most excellent meal.
As I departed the next day for the airport, I felt somewhat cheated. I'd spent way too much time in the city. Where was the Real Indonesia I'd been hoping for? But then it hit me: This is Indonesia, all of it. Indonesia has always been a crossroads, where cultures have come together and mixed. Their traditional culture is heavily influenced by India, China, and their surrounding neighbors. Now they are adding western and Japanese influences as well. Yet through it all they still have their batik, their wayang, and other traditional crafts.
I don't claim to have uncovered the heart of Indonesia by any stretch of the imagination. My encounter was but a brief glimpse into their realm. There are still many issues that face their nation: Sanitation, over-population, and prejudice between city-dwellers and the people in the villages. They have their own brand of terrorism that they are trying to subdue, and their position places them in a place where cultures, religions, and ethnicities are bound to collide. What I have done, to some extent, is remove, at least in part, some of the cultural blinders I had about what makes up Indonesia. Sure there is history and culture, but there is also the living Now, where people are working to make their way onto the world stage. That is the Indonesia of today, where East and West meet on their own terms, and continue to shape the culture of these islands.
