The oysters of Jakarta inched through traffic jams

Jakarta, Indonesia: 3 days

September 2012

I moved to Singapore at the end of May, 2012. I had been wanting to relocate for a while, and after countless emails and interviews for jobs in New York, Hong Kong, London, and Singapore, I finally landed a job as a digital manager at an advertising agency. I had my interview over Skype in the first week of May, gave my two-week notice the week after, packed up all of my bags, and was off for Asia within the same month. My life dream was to travel the world, and this would be the start of my adventure.

In a whirlwind of moving, starting my new job, finding an apartment, and acclimatizing to the intense humidity of Singapore, traveling took a backseat for three months, which I spent dreaming up where I wanted to go. A bit overwhelmed, I couldn’t decide where to start.

Finally, Tony, a coworker who had become my “work husband” within the first few months, asked me if I wanted to check out Jakarta. I quickly agreed to go so I could avoid the stress of planning.

Jakarta, Indonesia

The Wednesday before we were leaving, I spotted a news article about riots in Jakarta protesting the release of the anti-Islamic movie, “The Innocence of Muslims”. The movie was produced by an Egyptian born U.S. resident. Due to the offensive content in the film, angry Muslims all around the world were holding protests. Jakarta was one city where the protests had turned into violent riots which became so aggressive, that the U.S. Embassy had to be shut down as Molotov cocktails flew towards it’s doors:

http://thejakartapost.com/news/2012/09/18/film-protest-turns-violent.html

When I saw that article, the first thing I wanted to do was cancel our trip. I didn’t have a lot of experience with traveling, I didn’t speak the language, I didn’t know the city, AND the Embassy was closed – I felt like I had a giant target on my forehead. To make things worse, when I did a quick map search on the location of our hotel, and it was less than a mile away from the Embassy. In a panic, I ran over to Tony’s desk and asked what we should do. He calmly turned to me and said, “It’s fine, I don’t think it’s that big of a deal”. Tony, how can you NOT be afraid of Molotov cocktails??

After a 48-hour stretch of anxiety, we mutually agreed that we should go. One of the reasons I changed my mind was because of a conversation that I had with Amanda, a coworker from Jakarta:

Me: Should I be worried about the Embassy being closed and all of the anti-American sentiment in Indonesia right now?

Amanda: Nah. Indonesians are always rioting about something every week.

She was right, there wasn’t a Molotov cocktail sighting the entire weekend.

Tony and I were still extremely careful when we were in Jakarta. My coworkers had given me a few pointers here and there, which didn’t really help to ease my nerves. One coworker mentioned that I should only take Silverbird or Bluebird taxis, as some of the other companies had a reputation of taking tourists to an unknown destination, robbing them, and dumping them in the middle of nowhere. Another coworker mentioned that he had heard a horror story from a friend who had gone to the largest and most popular club in Jakarta, Stadium.

http://stadiumjakarta.com

The Stadium nightclub boasts a 1.5 acre real estate (larger than a football field). It has a 5,000 person capacity, and is well known for selling drugs over the bar, especially ecstasy. It’s very common for people to enter the club on a Thursday night and party all the way through Monday morning.

My coworker told me that someone had spiked his friend’s drink the moment he arrived at the club (which if you look on TripAdvisor, seems to happen quite often). The next thing he knew, he woke up naked and beaten in a gutter with all of his belongings been stolen. I firmly told Tony that we wouldn’t be paying Stadium a visit.

The city:

Jakarta. A city with the worst traffic I’ve ever seen. LA, you have nothing on this city. You can’t even call it stop-and-go traffic, the cars literally do not move at all. It’s like getting caught in a mall parking lot during Black Friday. There were young teenagers standing amid the hundreds of cars, directing traffic for the reward of small tips from drivers.

Traffic jams in Jakarta

I recently heard that the government implemented a law to help with the terrible traffic problem. Drivers who are commuting to the city need at least three people in the car. This is to encourage carpooling, which ideally would reduce the number of cars on the road. However, a few people have started full-time jobs as a “car sharers”. They hop into cars to help the driver meet the quota, and are dropped off once the driver has entered the city. They shuffle back and forth between cars until they make their daily wage.

The accommodation:

Favehotel, Jakarta

We stayed at Favehotel, a small boutique hotel close to central Jakarta. The hotel was located on a street called Wahid Hasyim, which would prove to be a challenge for me to articulate to every taxi driver. I found myself saying “Wahid Hasyim” six or seven times before they would say, “Oh! Wahid Hasyim” in the exact same pronunciation.

The area surrounding the hotel wasn’t particularly welcoming. The roads were ripped open by giant tree roots that had been battling their concrete caskets for years. There were street food stalls lined up against the walls of buildings selling everything from chicken skewers to plates of fried noodles. Everyone stared as we passed by and we felt incredibly out of place, almost as if we were in the wrong part of town. I crossed my fingers that we had made the right choice to take our trip. The inside of the hotel was a stark contrast to the surrounding area. It was decorated in hot pink, modern white couches and a giant rainbow mosaic against the back wall.

Favehotel, Jakarta

The people:

I felt a bit uneasy around the people in Jakarta as their eyes were glued to me everywhere we went. This was probably subconscious since I was prepared for any Molotov cocktails flying my way.

The food:

Indonesian chicken dish

We looked up an award winning local restaurant on TripAdvisor called Kedai Tiga Nyonya. The restaurant was empty when we got there, which was surprising since the reviews showed that it was supposed to be quite popular. We ordered spring rolls, string beans, a traditional chicken dish, and mee goreng (an Indonesian fried noodle dish), all of which was only average.

Cafe Batavia

Cafe Batavia

My favorite restaurant was a bit more touristy, and was called Cafe Batavia. Cafe Batavia is located in a 200-year old colonial style building, the second oldest building in Jakarta. The ambiance was beautiful – high ceilings, old paintings plastered across the walls, and a great view of the colonial architecture of the Jakarta History Museum – it was a lovely experience. The setting was much better than the food, which wasn’t all that local. We had dim sum, Hong Kong style noodles, and another plate of mee goreng.

Dim sum, mee goreng, and Hong Kong style noodles

The sights:

Since there weren’t too many things to see in Jakarta, we spent our time checking out the bar scene and getting massages recommended by TripAdvisor.

Transvestite performer

The first night, we went to a gay bar that had popular reviews. When we got there, it was almost empty and no one was dancing or interacting with each other. It was a bit of a strange experience. After a while, the music cut out and a man got on stage to announce that the performance would be starting. What performance? Tony and I threw each other sideways glances. All of a sudden, loud house music came blasting through the speakers, and two transvestites strut confidently onto the stage. They were wearing American flag outfits, which was ironic given the anti-American protests going on. They jumped onto the bar and started to dance with each other seductively. That was only the tame performance of the night.

An interesting bar dance…

After a while, they hopped off the bar, and the music suddenly changed again. Two short little men wearing nothing but shiny gold g-strings walked out onto the stage. Their bodies were covered in a thick layer of oil and glitter. The two of them got onto the bar and started to dance around. The performance got raunchy very quickly, and they started to give each other lap dances in sexual positions, rubbing up against each other’s oiled up bodies. Super awkward. I kept trying to catch Tony’s eye to gauge his comfort level, because I was feeling extremely uncomfortable. I had only been to one gay bar prior to that night, and part of me thought that I would be insensitive if I said anything. Both of us sat in silence for five minutes. Finally, Tony looked at me and said, “I can’t handle this anymore. Can we get out of here? It’s really weird”. I casually responded, “Yea, let’s go somewhere else”, but inside, I breathed a giant sigh of relief.

Tony & I

The second night, we went to a bar that was located in the middle of a shopping mall. The stores had already closed, and we had to roam through dark and empty corridors to find the place. Tony and I perched on seats next to the bar and started to people watch. A girl approached me and said, “Hey, my friend thinks you’re really cute”, and walked away. Ten minutes later, she brought her friend back to meet me. Hilariously enough, it was a petite little girl who was so drunk that she was incapacitated and had to be held up by a friend on each side. Great introduction!

Outside of the nightlife, we decided to go for massages, since it was much cheaper than in Singapore. The first place we went to had very good reviews, and was down the street from our hotel. As we walked towards the area, we saw a giant sign with the name of the massage parlor plastered across the front. However, as we got closer, we couldn’t seem to find the building itself. I looked to the left and saw a long alleyway, which was poorly lit by a lone, flickering light at the end. Talk about a perfect setting for a horror movie. Just like in the movies, the obvious choice is not to go down the dark alley. I sucked it up and we figured that as long as we stuck together, it would be alright. We followed the signs to Bersih Sehat (the massage place).

Once we arrived, the host guided us to a room at the back. It looked like an old hospital, the walls painted a sterile white color. There were about seven massage beds covered in white sheets and pillows on each side of the room, which happened to look a lot like stretchers. There were pale blue curtains around each bed, and dim, flickering lights attempted to brighten up the room. The host led us to two beds in the corner. After a few minutes, a small old lady came to prepare hot cloths and lotions. I turned to catch a glimpse of her. She had to be around 70 years old, wearing thick round glasses, and was teeny in stature. Her white hair was pulled tightly back into a a bun and she shuffled around the table, moving the towels around. I assumed she was preparing everything for the massage therapist, so I laid down to wait. Turns out she was the massage therapist. Before I knew it, she was standing on my back using her feet as hands. I guess not too many people can say they’ve had a 70-year old lady stand on their back. On the other side of the curtain, I could hear Tony’s massage therapist clearing her throat by making a gross “huuuuuuuck” sound. Probably wouldn’t recommend this place.

Taman Sari Royal Heritage Spa

Our second massage was at the Taman Sari Royal Heritage Spa. This place was amazing. It had a specialty in traditional Javanese massage, and the entire place was decorated in Balinese furniture. My therapist was tiny, probably shorter than 5’0. She couldn’t have been older than 20, but sometimes you can’t tell with Asians. She guided me to a large private room, which had scented oils burning and soft music playing in the background. It was so peaceful and relaxing that I almost fell asleep. There was a shower and bathtub at the back of the room and every scented lotion and shampoo you could possibly think of. I would definitely recommend this place to anyone who is planning to go to Jakarta!

The transit:

Street peddler selling gorilla masks

We were finally ready to leave Jakarta, and braved the terrible traffic on the road to the airport. The strangest thing we saw on the road was a street peddler selling gorilla masks to passing cars. Not entirely sure when you would need that!

I wish I could have seen… Stadium, if I was a bit braver!

Goodbye Jakarta!

The oysters of the Indian Ocean were filled with a thousand fish

Indian Ocean, Indonesia: 2 days

July 1999

I started traveling from a young age, tagging along with my parents every time they went back to Singapore to visit their extended family. I followed them everywhere like a shadow, sitting quietly at the table for free lunches and dinners with people I didn’t know, greeting strangers as “aunty” and “uncle”, and being hugged by older ladies exclaiming, “Wow! She’s growing so fast!”.

The long-haul flights to Singapore every other year set the benchmark that sparked my addiction to travel. The first adventure I can remember was when I was visiting Singapore in 1999, and we were staying with the Lims – family friends I had known since I was born. They were a wonderful family of six – two grandparents, Ah Gong and Ah Ma, Uncle Chin Tong and Aunty Phyllis (it is customary to call non-blood related elders by “uncle” and “aunty”), and their two children, Erica and Jolene.

One of the nights we were in Singapore, my dad dragged us to dinner with a man I had never met before – an old colleague of his. I greeted him as Uncle Chor Kee, and sat down quietly at the other end of the table. My sister and I immediately pulled out our first generation gray brick Gameboys, and put our heads down to play Tetris. Every few minutes or so, my dad’s booming laughter shook the table as the adults reminisced about their younger years.

The kelong crew

Somewhere in the conversation, Uncle Chor Kee asked my dad if he wanted to join him for a visit to a kelong that he owned. A kelong is a hut on wooden stilts that sits in the middle of the ocean, and is generally used for fishing purposes. My dad excitedly jumped at the opportunity. I didn’t know that it would be an experience I would never be able to forget.

The kelong, Indonesia

The city:

From left to right: my sister, Jolene & I on the ferry to Indonesia

The kelong. In order to get there, we had to take a ferry from Singapore to Indonesia, and then another small boat for 1-2 hours to the kelong. When we arrived in Indonesia, we went to grab a bite before the next leg of the journey. We had a huge meal among our whole group, which was made up of ten of us. We must have scarfed down at least 15 plates of local food, and we gorged until we couldn’t eat anymore. The total bill came out to 100,000 rupiah, and I thought to myself, wow, that’s a really expensive meal! Turns out after converting it back to US dollars, it was less than $10.

The accommodation:

Pretty obvious – the kelong.

The people:

There were 10 of us – Uncle Chin Tong, Aunty Phyllis, Jolene (Erica couldn’t make it, I can’t remember why), my parents, my sister, Uncle Chor Kee and his friend, and two Indonesian guides who spoke no English. When we got to the kelong, there was a friendly dog that greeted us excitedly.

The adorable kelong puppy

The food:

A day full of fishing in the middle of the ocean meant some of the freshest seafood I’ve ever eaten. Of course at the time, I was too young to appreciate it.

The sights:

In Indonesia before the boat ride

With our full tummies from lunch, we walked over to the jetty where a motorboat was waiting for us. I had to double take when I saw the boat. It was a long, shallow boat made of dark, deeply indented wood. The motor was simply hanging off the back of it. Unsure of what to expect, the ten of us piled in, and one of the Indonesian guides yanked violently on the string of the motor a few times before it jumped to life. As we took off for the middle of nowhere, I wondered how the guides could know where we were going. We were flying forward into the depths of the ocean, unsure of when the journey would be over. 15 minutes in, I noticed that water was slowly seeping into the boat. It passed through my head that we might sink in the middle of the ocean with no way of contacting anyone for help. At the same moment, it was almost as if one of the guides read my mind – he reached for a metal bucket at the front of the boat, and casually started to bail the water out. Apparently, this was not out of the ordinary, and I watched him carefully as he would scoop a bucket of water and pour it back into the ocean every few minutes.

A windy day for boating

In the middle of the journey, the motor sputtered and died. Looking around, I couldn’t see any land and I panicked for a moment, thinking that we had no way of swimming to safety if we needed to. The eighth or ninth time that the guide wrenched the chain of the motor, it finally came to life again.

After what felt like forever, we saw the kelong in the distance. It really was out in the middle of the ocean. As I glanced around, there was nothing in sight but water in every direction – no land, boats, or people. As we pulled up to the edge of the kelong, I noticed that the structure creaked and swayed dangerously at every movement of the wind and waves. I was almost sure it was going to fall over and we would drown in the night. The Indonesian guide pointed up to the top, and motioned that we had to climb up. I looked across the stilts, but there was no ladder in sight. I watched as the first Indonesian guide grabbed a hold of the knotted rope holding the kelong together and scaled up the side flawlessly, like a monkey climbing a tree. Just as I had planned my route up and it was my turn to climb up the kelong, my dad pointed at the stilts and said, “See that stuff covering the poles? Those are barnacles, so if you fall in, don’t grab on. They’ll cut you open and your blood will lure a shark over that will eat you”. Thanks dad. Trying to get the image out of my head, I grabbed onto one of the ropes and started to climb up. It was easier and more fun than it looked.

Dad fishing in the sunset, Uncle Chin Tong & Jolene relaxing on the deck

Being on the kelong felt like I was in another world. It was rugged and untouched, definitely not a typical tourist activity (although I’ve heard that today, the concept has been commercialized and marketed as a vacation spot). It looked like a small house perched on 100-or-so wooden stilts, plunged deep underwater. To this day, I still wonder how the structure was originally built, and how it had been able to sustain years of storms, waves, and wind. The stilts were bound tightly together with thick rope, and were coated with thick, wild barnacles that crept up from the water. The hut itself sat on the edge of a square platform, and was made of dark wooden planks tacked together and covered with a straw roof. There were paths leading out from the hut to another walkway that was circling the structure. I could see that all of the wood was heavily weathered – parts of the building were rotted by salt, wind, and rain. Another path led from the hut to a small building in the corner, which was an outhouse. The outhouse was just a hole in the floor with a 20 foot drop, so you had to be very careful not to fall into the ocean when doing your business.

My sister & I getting ready for a fishing adventure!

Once everyone had gotten up the kelong, we unpacked the fishing gear, relieved to get off the choppy water and start with the next activity. We set up our fishing rods, and each of them had five hooks and a lure attached. We were instructed not to cast our line out, as there wasn’t too much room to swing our rods backward. All of us dropped our fishing lines into the water and waited. Within five minutes, I felt a sharp tug on my fishing line, and saw my rod bend. I had caught something! I quickly reeled my line up, excited to see what would come up from the other side of the water. As the hooks rose out of the ocean, I saw flecks of silver flitting around in the sun. I hadn’t caught one fish, but one fish per hook with little to no effort! Although the fish were small, it was instantly gratifying, and I couldn’t wait to do it again.

Preparing the hooks

Every time I dropped my line into the water, my hooks would be full of silver fish with yellow fins within minutes. Sometimes, there were even two fish fighting over the same hook. I quickly pulled each one off the barbed hooks, impatient to cast my line out again, and after a while, my hands were coated in dried silver fish scales.

Fishing away

Feeling confident, my dad’s friend tried to cast his line out a bit further. As he swung his line backwards, three of the hooks got lodged into the skin of my dad’s back. There was obviously a reason we were told not to cast the line out. We all had a good laugh after we were able to pull the barbed ends out.

It started to get dark, so we packed up all our things and went inside the hut. Our clothes were covered in a thick layer of salt made from a mixture of our sweat and the air of the sea. The hut was equipped with with an electric stove and a giant wok, so we fried the fish we had just caught for our dinner. We chatted and munched away, and the moon soon rose over the dark water, its reflection dancing across the calm surface of the waves.

The giant wok for frying fish

When it was time to go to bed, we rolled out yoga mats on the floor. Tropical weather meant warm nights and no need for blankets. I peeked through the cracks in the floor and saw the ocean rolling by, rocking our hut gently back and forth. As we were being lulled into sleep, out of nowhere, a huge storm suddenly cracked through sky, and torrential rain pounded down on the kelong. What I’ve learned about living in a tropical country is that the rain is very temperamental and unpredictable. It comes so suddenly, so heavily, it’s like an apocalypse. The booming thunder ripped so loudly through the dense sheets of water, it felt like the gods were angry. My heartbeat raced as the tropical monsoon attacked the straw roof. Heavy winds shoved the hut back and forth like rag doll, and I could see lightning spearing the surface of the angry black waves as I peeked out of the gaps in the floor. Talk about the calm before the storm. It was terrifying, and hard to imagine what we would do if the kelong were to topple over. We huddled together inside, and I felt my anxiety creep up. When I get really anxious, I tend to fall asleep (don’t ask me why), and within a few minutes, I was out cold.

We caught a stingray!

While I was sleeping, the storm came and went. I was awoken in the middle of the night by loud yelling outside. Afraid that something was wrong, we all sat up and went to investigate. As we walked out of the hut, I saw that huge floodlights on the side of the kelong had been turned on. Uncle Chor Kee was already outside, his face lit up with excitement. Apparently, one of the fishing traps set below the kelong had caught something. I walked over and cautiously peeked over the edge. Wow! Floating at the surface of the water was a stingray, with a wingspan of about 2 feet. The guides were yelling to each other in Bahasa and racing around the walkway. As nimble as a fox, one of them adeptly scaled down the side of the kelong with a harpoon in his hand, and speared the ray with one swift motion. It was quite the spectacle.

The catch of the night

Once the lifeless stingray had been secured and lifted back up to the surface in a thick green net, the guides went to check on the other traps. Eager to continue the excitement, we followed them to the other end of the kelong. Trapped against one of the stilts was a small shark, slightly larger than the stingray. Again, the Indonesian guide swung himself down the side of the kelong in record time. Using his feet to hold on to the ropes tying the kelong together, he held on to a stilt of the kelong with one hand, and the harpoon with the other. With one quick thrust, he stabbed the shark in its side. Wrapping it in another net, the two guides reeled the dead shark up to the top. After the excitement had calmed down, we finally got back to bed, and slept peacefully until morning.

The transit:

In the morning, we packed up all of our things, sad to leave the adventure behind. We piled back into the wooden boat and started to make our way back to Indonesia. Halfway through the boat ride, I heard my sister yelp loudly. We asked her what was wrong. Turns out there were small insects at the bottom of the boat, and one had crawled over her foot. I took a closer look, and there were 5-10 of them hiding around dark corners of the boat. They were black insects about an inch long with translucent bellies, small spires, and red and yellow spots on their backs. I’m still not sure what they were, but I spent the rest of the boat ride curled up on my seat, afraid that one would crawl across my legs. After what felt like hours of claustrophobia, we finally reached the jetty in Indonesia, and caught the ferry back to Singapore. Truly an adventure of a lifetime.

I wish I could have seen… Another day at the kelong.

Goodbye kelong!