Jakarta

I used to think of Jakarta as a wild, crime-ridden city. There was no reason to think so; the idea just popped into my head one day. Maybe I’d read something.

It turned out to be untrue. Jakarta is, on the whole, a tolerable Asian city. Something between Delhi and Bangkok. It’s not as dirty as India, but not yet as modern as Thailand.

The other thing is that Jakarta is an utterly dreary place. Most of the city is built up with one-story houses.

Some sort of half-ghetto, half-normal housing. On the whole, the neighborhoods are fairly clean, and the layout of streets and houses is typical of Asia.

Crowds of locals walk the streets and zip around on scooters.

Almost every house has a café or shop built into the ground floor. “Bloom where you’re planted”: in Indonesia, they take this motto literally.

A shop:

An eatery:

A laundry:

A white foreigner showing up in these parts causes a sensation. Absolutely everyone waves. Every single person says hello, including the kids.

More than anything in life, Indonesians love having their picture taken. They crowd into the frame like mosquitoes.

Kids flash gang signs.

Adults strike Spider-Man poses.

Amid the village-like houses, I found a shopping street of sorts.

They sell terrible junk. The latest word in Indonesian fashion: a shirt and jacket made from a duvet cover.

It turned out that this street is historic. There’s even a gate at the entrance claiming there was a bazaar here as early as 1820. Today both locals and tourists shop here.

These neighborhoods are called Little India. Many settlers from India live here.

The area is separated from the rest of Jakarta by a river with monstrously dirty water.

In general, Jakarta has almost as many rivers and canals as St. Petersburg. Only the water is the color of diarrhea, and swarms of insects graze around it. Better not buy an apartment with a waterfront view.

The bridges across the river are in such a state that even Kherson looked better after the Ukrainian counteroffensive.

A wonder of the world: the Hanging Gardens of Babylon.

The dirty water doesn’t bother local fishermen at all. They sit there fishing. Well, sure — you’ll wash the fish later anyway.

In the background is a church. It’s Jakarta Cathedral, built in 1901, when Indonesia was a Dutch colony.

Right across from it stands the Independence Mosque. No, really, that’s what it’s called. All that’s left is to name a minaret after the Revolution.

The mosque is monstrously bland. It’s impossible to find an interesting angle to shoot it from. Just some sports palace in Belarus.

At night, the dome of the mosque is lit in red. It looks like a blood moon rising in the background.

All of the above is in central Jakarta. But the very center of the city is occupied by a monstrous obelisk that resembles the Juche Tower in North Korea.

This is the National Monument.

Indonesia generally has a bit of a fixation on this subject. The huge country remained a colony for a long time, until in 1945 President Sukarno came along and started a war with the Netherlands, which recognized Indonesia’s independence four years later. A truly extraordinary event!

The monument took a whole 15 years to build. At the top is a bronze flame covered in gold.

At night, the flame is lit up, as is the shaft of the monument.

Supposedly you can walk up to the monument, and there’s even an observation deck at the top, but there’s no sign of that. The monument stands in the middle of a huge empty field surrounded by a kilometer-long fence. Patrols drive around, and armored cars with machine gunners stand guard. Apparently to keep enemies from scraping the gold off the flame.

A walk through central Jakarta is a pleasure only a madman could enjoy. It’s simply impossible to walk here. On one side there’s a highway the size of an autobahn. On the other, everything is fenced off, with some insanely huge concrete blocks and coils of barbed wire lying around.

There’s a lot of cool architecture in the center, but you can’t get near it. The new independent government doesn’t let the people come close.

Luckily, traffic rules are more or less observed in the country. A swarm of motorcyclists stands rooted to the spot at a red light. In India they wouldn’t even think of it.

But still, Jakarta is a city where the car, the autobahn, and the pedestrian overpass have won.

During my visit, Indonesia was preparing to host the G20 summit. Ads for this grand political success hung all over the city against a backdrop of barbed wire, sewage, and tuk-tuks.

And on the whole, something is happening in the country after all. Not far from the Juche monument, business districts with skyscrapers are already growing.

You can already smell civilization here.

Clean streets, shiny bus stops, little people in little suits.

With an Asian twist, of course.

And step just a little away from the center, and there are thickets and shacks. Well, that’s life.

The mosque fits in nicely, though.

A ride on a commuter train gives you a pretty good idea of the country. Through the window you see both skyscrapers and slums. Such inequality is typical of a third-world country trying to rise from its knees.

The Historic Center

“Is there a historic center in Jakarta?” the reader will ask.
“Of course, it was a colony!” the echo will reply.

A small patch left over from the Dutch occupation has survived in Jakarta.

No, really, it’s just nice here.

All the Indonesian hipsters come here for a stroll.

There’s one problem. To get here, you’ll have to break both legs: there’s chaotic construction all around, lots of dust and building debris. And, as usual, a couple of beautiful houses are surrounded by shabby shacks.

Still, from what I saw, it’s clear: the patient is more alive than dead.