Jak Snaps

Southeast Asia's New Nightlife Capital -- Jakarta?

2008-12-09T09:35:00.007+07:00

JAKARTA, Dec 5 (Reuters Life!) - The chaotic capital of the  world's most populous Muslim nation is rarely associated with  glitzy nightlife, but new venues in Indonesia's Jakarta may soon  see it challenging more cosmopolitan centres in the region.

The city of about 10 million, or many more if thousands of  unregistered poor flocking in from rural provinces are included,  has just become the first city in Southeast Asia to host a  Buddha Bar, the hip Paris-based franchise of restaurant/lounges.

The region's biggest economy has enjoyed a period of sustained  growth in the last few years and better stability after the  financial crisis and political turmoil of the late 1990s.

"Jakarta is a growing city in a growing country. So we think the  market is now sufficient," said Jean Baptiste Giradet, marketing  manager of Buddha Bar, which is housed in a restored Dutch-era  mansion and former immigration building in the leafy Menteng  area of the city.

The Indonesian capital, usually more associated with loud hotel  bars, thumping nightclubs or karaoke joints, joins the likes of  London, New York and Dubai in hosting a Buddha Bar.

While neighbours such as Thailand have suffered a deepening  political crisis in the last three years, Indonesia's young  democracy has surprised many by its resilience, and the economy  has also benefited from a period of booming commodity prices.

New wine bars and bistros such as Cork & Screw, Loewy and  Birdcage have also sprung up to serve a growing middle class and  expatriates. Wine appreciation classes are also popular.

Harvey Nichols, the luxury U.K.-based retailer, opened its debut  store in the Indonesian capital in October with a floor housing  a trendy restaurant, bar and wine shop.

JAKARTA CAN BE FUN, TOO

In a country where around half the 226 million people live on  less than $2 a day, most of these places are clearly out of  reach for the majority of Indonesians.

But Giradet said Buddha Bar's target market was the local elite  and expatriates, and it also wants to attract business  travellers from places such as Singapore who might otherwise  just leave "because they think there is nothing to do in  Jakarta".

The bar, which has a dining room with a capacity of up to 200,  overlooked by a giant gold Buddha, has also not changed its  targets because of the global financial crisis.

"We have reasonable targets. We know that perhaps we will have  less business travellers," Giradet said, adding the bar was  ordering slightly less of the most expensive vintages that cost  more than 10 million rupiah ($816) a bottle.

The menu will also bow to local tastes by including the odd  Indonesian favourite such as nasi goreng, a fried rice dish.

JALANAN - A Musical Documentary

2008-11-13T07:42:00.001+07:00

Nice piece of real life from Jakarta. Looking forward to the release of the documentary

Holy cow....

2008-10-30T14:58:00.012+07:00

A few months ago in Bali, an elderly (albeit doubtfully wise) man got caught in the act of expressing his love for his cow in a way that is universally deemed a little too physical for morals: he raped the poor beast - without the aid of any type of blue pill, which is very surprising for a 70 year-old stallion. Now the village has to deal with his sin, that is unanimously frowned upon here like anywhere else. Their method is quite surprising though: they decided to drown the poor cow into the sea in order to cleanse the village from the sin; the rapist only had to throw away his clothes (as well as, I assume, his pride) in order to symbolically cleanse himself. More detail on a Jakarta Post article below.

What is especially weird, is to think that Bali is the only place with a hindu majority. Obviously the crow is not as sacred as in India... but this episode created big controversy and critics.

Cow drowned into the sea for being impregnated by human

Villagers from Julah in Tejakula, Buleleng, tow a pregnant cow behind a boat into open sea as part of a local traditional ritual.

The cow, which is five months pregnant, was thrown out to the sea about 3 kilometers from land Monday. The villagers believe the animal was impregnated by a village elder.

During the ritual the man, who was caught red-handed having sexual intercourse with the cow two months ago, joined the boat trip in order to throw away his clothes to to symbolize him discarding his sins.

Julah customary village head Ketut Sidemen said the ritual, called gamya gamana, or freak weeding, and had been conducted there for generations. The decision to perform the ritual was made a local residents meeting.

In line with customary regulations, the perpetrator, identified only as PS, 70, was sanctioned to fund the expensive ceremony, which aimed to cleanse him of any bad influences.

Luh Ketut Suryani, a professor and activist, deplored the sancation against PS.

She said drowning a cow was baseless because sexual intercourse between a human being and am animal could not cause pregnancy due to the different chromosomes and genes of the two.

"The cow is not guilty, why shoud it be drowned? Why don't just use a symbol like what was done by the perpetrator?" she said.

Suryani's said she was concerned dealt with the financial situation of the owner, who lives below the poverty line.

"The cow, which has a high price, had to be thrown away. It will be a pity for the owner, who is already poor and is now forced to lose his priceless belonging."

Rain check

2008-10-23T09:48:00.004+07:00

Below is a funny article published yesterday in the Jakarta Post by a Muslim author. Enjoy.

Op-Ed

In heaven and on earth: Breasts and thighs

Julia Suryakusuma, Jakarta

Surfing the net last week, I stumbled across the reason why so many Muslim terrorists are not afraid to die, long to be syahid and are willing to end it all in a homicidal suicide-bombing: Turns out they may just be sexually repressed lads desperate for a bit of nookie!

At least this was the only conclusion I could reach after watching a kooky video by Saudi cleric Omar Al-Sweilem. In the clip, he passionately extolled the breasts and thighs of the 72 black-eyed virgins promised to martyrs who make it to paradise (http://www.memritv.org/clip/en/1741.htm/). "Praised be He who created night and day. What hair! What a chest! What a mouth! What cheeks! What a figure! What breasts! What thighs! What legs! What whiteness! Wha softness!"

It seems good ol' Omar has got postmortem sex worked out in detail, right down to the last grope and squeeze.

"When they see you, they will push you onto your back, on (the) musk cushion ... place her mouth on yours. Do whatever you want. Another one would press her cheek against yours, yet another would press her chest against yours, and the others would await their turn ... one black-eyed virgin would give you a glass of wine as a reward for your good deeds. The wine of this world is destructive, but not the wine of the world to come."

Yes, Omar's message to the faithful is clear: It's perfectly all right to enjoy sensuous joys and erotic sexual pleasures --
including group sex and drunken orgies -- just so long as you're dead.

Omar's ravings also led me to realize that for his paradise to be appealing to naive, young, would-be terrorists wanting to get it on in the afterlife, there naturally has to be a contrasting prudish moral culture of sexual denial here on earth. Otherwise, why bother waiting for heavenly hookers? And that must partly explain why right-wing, conservative Muslims are so keen on strict moral laws banning all the enjoyable things in life.

Smell the roses

2008-10-22T04:59:00.014+07:00

One of the perks of being perched right on the Equator, is that you can sometimes take the time to smell the wonderful flowers that grow wild everywhere. Here is a little collection of tropical beauties.

White collar hero

2008-09-16T09:07:00.009+07:00

Today I met a hero. Not a pumped up blond guy who spends his time saving kittens from burning trees; no. A real hero. I mean, the real deal: a clean bureaucrat.

Believe me, those are a rare breed in Indonesia - almost as rare that flashes of genius briskly crossing George W.'s brain. Our beautiful country is plagued by widespread corruption, and routinely drags to the bottom of the list for clean-handed societies.

But what was surprising in meeting Agung Kuswandono was that I realized (poor Westerner) that all corrupt people are not nasty villains who are eager to drink the latest drop of blood off of their poor countrymen. Some are, sure; the country pays a heavy price in terms of missed opportunities because of this hord of rapacious bureaucrats and businessmen (foreigners are not all that clean either). But with Mas Agung's example I realized that there is usually a huge price to pay to not being corrupt.

Mas Agung is a customs officer. In Indonesian, that could translate as one of the worst breed of greed, roughly equal to policemen, judges and tax officials. But for him at least, there is only one thing that is important: to be honest in his job. So, when he was in charge of the customs office in Jakarta's airport he once impounded a load of helicopters that were to be imported into the country without the proper documentation - and, you'd have guessed, without paying the proper taxes. Most of Agung's colleagues would have requested a proportion of the taxes due for themselves and then laugh all the way to the mall with their pocket full of money. Not him. And it did not even matter that the owner of the illegal helicopters was the brother of the vice president himself.

After this episode Mas Agung won a kind of national fame, but he had to pay the price for it: not only he did not get rich doing a job that should have transformed him into a billionnaire (in rupiahs); he was harrassed at home and at the office, was threatened by mafia-like tough guys, and several of his employees were beaten up so bad they ended up in the hospital in critical position.

Luckily, the present government in committed to fight against corruption, and Mas Agung, despite his relatively young age, has progressed quickly through the ranks of the administration (this is rare, as if you're a corrupt boss you don't want to promote a young clean guy, because he will disturb your little traffic. Another reason for not being clean). He was in charge of reforming the customs department of the port of Jakarta, Tanjung Priok. Today there are still people hanging around there with thick wads of 1000 rupiahs bills: they are here to make the change for 100 000 roupiahs (around 10 dollars) so that you can spread around a bill here, a bill there to speed up the process of importing your merchandise. But thanks to people like Mas Agung, the big corruption has ebbed away.

Long live the Agungs!

Corruption is one of the main problems in the country, and also something people are very aware of, as seen on this T-Shirt that says "my money does not come from corruption, but from my hard work".

Wet feet

2008-09-01T08:31:00.008+07:00

I'm no blonde in a Chanel outfit in front of a blue screen, but I can tell you something: the rain season has started, on Saturday August 30th at exactly 12.36 PM (if you were standing on Jalan Ciputat Raya; might be a little different in other parts of Jakarta, like 12.24 or 13.01).

How dare I make such a sweeping judgment? Because I'm just one of those normal Jakarta residents who had the unfortunate experience of being on the road at the time. What it means concretely is that Matt, who was taking a taxi to go to a friend's place 15 minutes away, was stuck for 1.5 hours. In Kemang, the roads were not only totally jammed because

you have to go slowly when visibility is reduced to a minimum; but also, there were so many vehicules stranded in the middle of the street because they over evaluated their capacity to swim, and their engine ended up drowned (Blue Bird taxis are very good: my guy was a real champ' and it did not happen to us. Had my fingers crossed the whole time). At those moments, you'll always have a bunch of bare footed and chested young men - the only appropriate attire in these occasion - who would jump to the rescue of the poor rich guy stuck there, and push the car to the side.

Here we go for another 6 months.

Sigh.

Where the Hell is Matt? (2008)

2008-08-25T14:12:00.002+07:00

This is not about OUR Matt, but another Dude who thinks it is quite fun to travel the world dancing around. His latest video is awesome (we do miss dear Indonesia though)

Clear cut nemesis

2008-07-28T16:17:00.007+07:00

Indonesia may be the largest Muslim country in the planet, but its general take on Islam could not be further apart from the bogeyman image it has become in the West. For example, you still see little sidewalk restaurants open at noon time during the fasting month, you have girls here who sometimes wear the Muslim veil, sometimes don't - depending on whether it fits with their daily outfit or not...

On the other hand, Malaysia (aka Indonesia's archenemy ), has been experiencing a worrying islamization of its public life since the late 80's - worrying, because it creates a malaise within its important non-Muslim minorities.

I was struck by two parallel news on the issue today. On one hand, we have the PAS, a conservative Muslim party that controls one of Malaysia's northern states. On the other, we have Gus Dur, one of Indonesia's former president; today, he heads one of the two main Muslim organization in the country which, with its 40-something million members that including most of the islamic schools, might be one of the largest in the world.

Today an Islamic court in Malaysia has condemned 4 Muslim men to 7 days in jail for having taken part in a beauty pageant for transvestites. The same day, Gus Dur announced that he accepted to become one of the official counselor for an Indonesia transvestite organization.

Gotta love the contrast :-)

Another example of the relaxation of Indonesia's Islam can be seen in this picture, taken in Jakarta's Istiqlal mosque, the biggest in Southeast Asia. If you go there on Friday right after the biggest prayer, you'll find a lot of men just taking a little nap: one of the favorite activity in this type of climate at this hour of the day, and far more comfortable to be done here than at the office or while sitting in Parliament.

A step closer to the gods

2008-07-22T17:05:00.023+07:00

The picture below is of Mount Merapi. One of the most active volcanoes on Earth, it towers 3000 meters above the city of Jogjakarta, the cultural capital of Java. Its last eruption was in 1994: it spewed a little bit of lava, a little bit of hot gases - enough to burn alive 43 people who were too slow to flee its wrath.

As we're on nerdy holidays in Jogja, we decided to climb it.

The Mount Merapi climb is a staple of the travel agencies that dot the touristic city of Jogjakarta. At first, I figured that the word "climb" was just a product of the promotional spirit of the tour operators (for example, why do they feel like they have to say "visit beautiful Borodubur temple"? Is there an ugly version that is worth visiting too???). Alas! It is nothing of a nice hike, let alone a walk. That's a climb alright!

The program goes like this: a tour guide picks you up at your homestay or hotel in Jogjakarta around 10 PM. You arrive around midnight in Selo, the village that is the highest

on the slope of the volcano. You start the climb at 1 AM in order to schedule an arrival at the summit for sunrise. Sounds good doesn't it?

Well... They do say in the tourist brochures "not to underestimate the difficulty of the hike". We sure did. See where this picture has been taken? That's where you start, and you have to climb all the way up in just under 5 hours. Here, please read my words carefully: 5 hours is a LONG time. Long, very very long when you're sweating like you're in the Sahara desert without a Gatorade. Even longer when you think that afterwards you'll have to go down these slopes that are so steep that during the climb I was wary of just standing up straight for fear of falling down in the dark.

We departed on a beautifully chilly full moon night. The first part of the hike is a simple paved road, albeit quite steep. Pfff.... Easy. I am still pretty young, and if not in fantastic shape still not totally ridiculous at the gym. But after 30 minutes, huffpuff made a well noticed appearance. One hour later, and I started to pull myself along by clinging to the branches of trees along the way. At first it was discreet; I still mainly clung onto my superior bipedial status. But after an hour or so, all pride was shed: I used all seven tools at my disposal - feet, hands, knees and, yes, ass. All of them are useful when your climb mostly consists of big and small stones rolling beneath your feet, particularly treacherous when ascending at night, regardless of how bright the moon might be. Let me correct that though: I prefered the climbing at nighttime to the descent in the bright daylight, because the latter was the hardest part; the one where Ass was my most prized tool.

We eventually made it up to the summit; all 3000 meters of it, conquered just five minutes before the sun rose. It must have been 5 degrees Celsius up there, a far cry from warm enough to dry our clothes that were totally soaked with sweat. But then Nature's show started, and it was breathtaking; my crappy picture can not even begin to render 10% of its beauty.

Our magical new technologies can give you an idea of how something looks like, sometimes how it sounded like (although I did not record the faint traditional Javanese song we heard at 2 am rising up from the valley where a ceremony was taking place), maybe how it felt like (if I'm not too bad at telling the experience). But there is something though that simply cannot be shared: the smell of the volcano that sometimes hit our nostril during the climb, when the wind brought some of the white smoke that continously pours out of Merapi's crater.

But maybe it is a good thing. I quite like the fact that we had to sweat through our t-shirts, jumpers and windbreakers, even though it was so cold that we could see our breath; that afterwards we had to spend a mini fortune in "remedial massages" to get rid of the four-days long painful soreness that was the price to pay for this hike. Because as a reward, we got the privilege of knowing the primordial odour of the entrails of our planet.

I'll tell you what though: it kinda stinks.

This is a group of students from the military academy who climbed to the top the same day as we did. Here is a game: try to find who does not fit in the picture...

The best dish on Earth

2008-07-13T17:24:00.006+07:00

This is a picture we took from the menu of a fast-food restaurant of the international airport of Incheon in Seoul, South Korea.

Just in case the photo is too small for you to read, the name of the dish is: "Marsh snail Soup to Chase a Hangover".

I don't know how to even begin commenting on how funny this is. A "hangover chasing" soup? In plain display in an international airport (how often do you get hammered the day before you fly international)? The mere idea of a hangover being "chased" away? By a snail?????

It's simply delicious (the name, that is. I apparently was not drunk enough to give a go at the soup itself).

Good Food City

2008-06-08T09:33:00.019+07:00

I don't know if it's just a god-sent hazard, but I met in the last few days 3 people who admitted that the crazy city of Jakarta has transformed one of their long- favorite pastime into a real obsession: eating. Turns out, it's also one of my passions... and perhaps the most fulfilling (filling) actitity you can indulge in in the Indonesian capital.

This was pretty surprising for me at first, because our first encounter with Indonesian food was not the most thrilling. You have to understand: we were living in Thailand at the time, where cooking has been transformed into a God-inspired art. Then we went on holidays in the small (and poor) island of Flores, in Eastern Indonesia, where we thrived on nasi goreng and mie goreng (fried rice and fried noodle). It is the de facto national dish, but not that good when served for breakfast, lunch AND dinner in tiny restaurants where it is assumed that if you pay, you're supposed to have rich food, i.e. drowned in oil. Bof.

Then you arrive in Jakarta. As you're in Southeast Asia, everything is ridiculously cheap, therefore no restaurant is out of reach of your expat wallet. And good, classy, yummy restaurants abound.

Then recently I discovered a treasure of tantaliaing morsels: the Jakarta Good Food Guide: a truly independent guide, very well done and extremely complete. You eat its 611 pages without the slightest hint of indigestion. Bravo!

The author has even been through the trouble of sampling street food throughout the city. Because, as you would have no doubt already guessed, the average Indonesian cannot really afford French, Japanese, Morrocan, Indian, Turkish, Chinese, Thai, Italian... fine food every meal. Me neither, come to think of it. So you find at every street corner little eateries called "warung" who serve any dish from throughout the archipelago. And there are a LOT of different specialties, considering the vastness of the country and its varieties of culture.

Then you even have a kaki lima section. They are these little vendors who ply the streets of Jakarta with their carts, generally offering one specialty only: here on your right you have a gado-gado guy, an indonesian specialty of vegetables prepared with peanut sauce; just on my street, in a distance of approximately 200 meters, I have every day: a fried tofu vendor, fruit vendor, gado-gado, fried noodles, as well as a warung offering grilled fish.

There is only one problem with these guys: very often they don't help with the infamous traffic jam situation of the city; it is not rare to be stuck on a narrow street because a guy is walking in the middle while pushing his cart.

Even side walks are not really supposed to be for pedestrians to walk on. I met recently with the newly elected governor of Jakarta, who was apologizing for... well, a LOT of things that are not running smoothly in the city. He said for example that he had meetings with kaki lima guys, who insisted they wanted more sidewalks in the city - a rare commodity. But it's only because then it becomes a very conveninent spot for their shops. Adds to the city's local flavor too!

Gorgeous underwater pix

2008-05-30T15:13:00.006+07:00

You might have noticed through this or that previous post that we are avid amateur divers. Indonesia is the place to enjoy this "sport" (as far as I know, this is the only "sport" where the aim is to move and exert oneself as little as possible). We've heard people rave about the clear waters of the Red Sea, or about beautiful Maldives; sure, they must have their strengths, but Indonesia is, scientifically, the best place to be as it is located in the heart of the Coral Triangle, the most bio diverse place on Earth's seas. In a way, it's like saying that Canadian forests or Gabonese jungles are fantastic; you know they can't compete with the riches of the Amazon.

National Geographic magazine recently ran several stories about underwater in Indonesia. Their photographer is David Doubilet, whose pix are absolutely amazing. If you want to enjoy the magnificence of the underworld, go to his website.

I know I shouldn't do that, because I respect the work of professional, but I could not resist so I'm putting here one of his pix, stolen from the site.

Magical, isn't it?

Fresh weed ahead

2008-05-25T09:47:00.027+07:00

Welcome to Nusa Lembongan!

It is a small island off the coast of Bali, where we spent a couple days recently. People mainly come here for surfing (great waves, just off the beach, attract a crowd of cool guys from Australia) and the amazing diving. The water here is very cold because it is located on a deep strait; therefore the strong currents bring to the surface a crowd of cool creatures from the depths: manta rays, the odd whale shark, and, between August and October, the weird mola-mola fish. There are also lots of little colourful creatures to see, a requirement at any great dive site.

But on top of that, we found an exquisitely friendly island. It has to be said that Bali is one of the most charming places on Earth, absolutely amazing (do I use this word too much?); but in its South, where the tourism industry is most thriving, one can get tired of the touts. "Hello Mister! Transport? No? Tomorrow maybe?". Grrrrr. Well, you have to understand them: there are a lot of locals fighting for limited resources, but it does get tiring to be targetted as a walking wallet.

None of that in Nusa Lembongan. Made, a Balinese guy from the dive center where we were staying, put it this way: "In Bali, we depend exclusively on tourism, so you have to fight your friend in order to find a job. But you might lose it after few months because the competition is so tough. We know that tourists also get tired of this fierce battle between us. When I grew up in the village and I saw Bule (white people), I was always waving and saying "hello" to them, because I was curious and just wanted to be friendly. It's only when I moved to the biggest tourist regions that I understood why they rarely replied: they just thought I wanted to sell them stuff. It's very disappointing".

That's the reason why this young guy moved to Lembongan: here, there is still a village-life atmosphere, where people are friendly because that's what they are. One of the reasons is that their entire livelihood does not rely on tourism; the island produces seaweed that provides a decent income for the locals.

This is where the raw product from your beauty cream might come from. People farm it right on the beach that lays in front of the village, where the cheap hotels are. Apparently it is sold mostly to cosmetics companies, but it can also be eaten in deliciously salty salads. Try it, it's delicious.

Yum!

At certain times of the day, depending on the tide, you see the farmers doning their snorkeling gear and wading in the water to harvest the seaweed. It appears to be a family thing, with kids helping with the task - when they are not just playing around on the big buoys that hold the basket full of seaweed.

Then people sort it, dry it, and zou! it's sent in your Marine Spa bath salt or whatever it is you use to have a clean and smooth skin.

Maybe it was just the fact of being a lazy Bule on a week end, but it was very nice to see that life seemed to be so peaceful there. I swear, when we were walking on the beach at the time where people were working in the sea, we could hear laughter all the time. Granted, maybe they were just making fun of my crazy hair or not-smoothed-by-seaweed skin, whatever. That was a very nice moment.

You blog, you pay

2008-05-15T09:23:00.022+07:00

A blogger is facing prison. Well, this may not seem as super new news, except that he is not Chinese, or Burmese (do they even have blogs?); he's Malaysian.

The blogging community there is very lively, and their situation very special. You see, in the great Malaysian "democracy" the press, TV, radio etc is under a very tight leash; I was there during their elections last March, and reading the newspapers was a little surreal. Pure propaganda. But Internet remains free, because in 1999 the governement wanted to surf on the new tech wave and attract Internet investors in the country, so they had to promise not to practice their censorship talent on the web. As a result, a wave of bloggers swamped the internet landscape in Malaysia and it became the only place where you can have any alternative analysis on politics - it's online that you'll find the one and only good newspaper in the country.

But Kuala Lumpur retains a whole bunch of laws as a inheritance of periods of political instability that they did not bother scraping down; that's why Raja Petra Kamaruddin is facing a three year prison term. His trial will start October 6th...

If you're interested in Malaysian blogger community, this site is one of the tool they have created to organize themselves.

Watch your snores

2008-05-07T18:10:00.011+07:00

Gone are the good old times... Sitting at the Parliament and other official gatherings is not what it used to anymore. Oh!!!!!!.... Sigh. Bapak Presiden, who goes by the great name of Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono (such a delicacy for a foreigner's ears, isn't it?) is getting tough and not tolerating a good old nap anymore, as reporter Desy Nurhayati tells us today in the Jakarta Post.

"National Development Planning Board (Bappenas) chief Paskah Suzetta learned a lot from the embarrassing incident at the National Resilience Institute (Lemhannas) last month, when President Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono paused during his speech to rouse a regional official who had apparently dozed off.

The President went so far as to ask the Institute not to pass the official for failing to live up to his leadership standards, which included the ability to withstand sleepiness.

To ensure no repeats of the President's rebuke, Bappenas displayed a warning on the large screens on either side of the stage where the President would deliver his speech, just an hour before the opening ceremony. "During the President's address, participants and guests are not allowed to sleep, talk to each other or switch on their cell phones," read the reminder.

But apparently the warning was not enough.

Yudhoyono himself reminded the participating governors, regents and mayors from across the country to focus on the four-day event. "I know you may be physically tired, but please don't fall asleep. Even if you start to nod off, you have to wake yourself quickly because the people you lead want you to return home with a special gift, which is a better development program," the President said, to general applause from the floor.

Despite the warnings, more than one phone rang and several officials were seen closing their eyes during the President's speech. If the President had noticed these defiant few, his rage would have far exceeded the anger that marked the forum at Lemhannas."

Gotcha, golden pooper!

2008-05-06T09:13:00.011+07:00

Well, that's it. Our unwanted, noisy and, as I discovered today, amazingly stinky guest we already introduced you to, is finally gone. After four months, the pest control company has managed to get to him.

Cute, you think? Not that much, because apparently over years its pee could have seeped through our roof (i.e. his home) and delicately perfume our bedroom just below.

We could have chosen not to get rid of him though, and instead feed him ripe coffee beans, then brew the most expensive drink in the world. Forget about gold and bauxite, oil and nickel, coal and tin, and get acquainted with the newest high valued Indonesian commodity: cat poo. More precisely, the dejection of this little wild cat, the civet (called « luwak » here) after he went on the rampage on the coffee fields of the archipelago’s highlands.

The « kopi luwak », fragrant black drink obtained by roasting the coffee grains collected from the animal's poo, is the best coffee in the world – it is not I saying it, it is Science: a Canadian scientist has already done the required lab tests that prove it – therefore its price reaches the heights of its perfection: up to 3000 USD a kilo if purchased in a hip Balinese café. « It is good and it is rare, hence its price », says Wirawan, the owner of the café whom I've met few months ago. « But what we sell, it’s mostly a story ». The story of an inner voyage that produces a less bitter, quite chocolaty drink – and a nice slab of cash for whom knows how to market it.

I've had the chance of tasting the coffee - for free, one the perks of my job. It is indeed deliciously velvety and strong. I wouldn't pay the 20 dollars for an espresso cup though; and considering that our late guest would not have been able to produce that much poo to allow us delicious kopi luwak every breakfast, I won't regret him. Not one bit.

Hot, hot flame

2008-04-22T16:51:00.004+07:00

Today a historical event took place in Indonesia: for the first time ever, the country was a stop in the world relay of the Olympic Torch.

However, thanks to the quite relaxed atmosphere of the upcoming Games, the event was held under tight security. Only 5 000 carefully selected persons (a lot of them children) were invited to attend the ceremony. It took place in the confines of Jakarta's main stadium that's protected by high gates plus a few thousands extra policemen who were making sure all was smooth.

But still, the atmosphere was very much Indonesian style: laid-back.

This is one of the police corps, by the way.

Noah's rain

2008-04-20T09:21:00.037+07:00

When the rain arrives in Jakarta, and you want to judge how bad it's gonna get, one trick: look at the shoes of the jagas (the guards for parking lots, private houses, office buildings, you name it, everybody has one). If they've changed their boots for flip flops, be careful. It means business. Because there is one thing you need to know: when rain sounds like that, it is futile to try to fight against the mightiness of the monsoon. You'll be wet alright, might as well save your shoes.

Another example. See this nice scene of a bunch of happy young people playing volleyball on the beach? On the right side, it's the same beach with a little bit of a cloud in the distance (sorry, the picture is pretty bad but you might still have an idea of what I'm talking about). Well, when you see this, just know that if you're more than 50 meters from the nearest shelter, start running, otherwise you're going to be soaked. That's fast, man.

Mind you, there are some good thing about tropical downpours. First, it nurtures life. Lots, and lots of life. Second, you don't have to fill up your fish pond; it does it for you. Third, it cools down the air a little bit. Fourth, it provides some money for Jakarta's umbrella boys: when the rain starts, hundreds of colorfull umbrellas pop up out of nowhere, held up high by very small boys who earn a thousand rupiah or two to walk the rich people from the entrance of the mall to their cars. It's easy to recognize a good umbrella boy: he's soaked to the bone, because his job is to protect the rich lady's new perm from being disturbed by a drop of rain.

Come to think of it, I'm not sure we can really count this slave job of poor boys as a good side-effect of the rainy season...

Let's not fool ourselves: the rains are mostly an inconvenience. I will not even dwell on the most dreadful consequence of all, which is the proliferation of mosquitoes and the diseases they spread, particularly in poor neighborhoods (malaria, dengue fever...). Let's just focus on what might interest my readership: rich people stuff.

When you see rain coming (I mean, when you see dark clouds in the distance, because if you've already felt the first drop, it's over), try getting in a cab as fast as possible if you need one within the next hour. Last time, it started raining at 5 PM, right during rush hour, so when I called a taxi at 7 PM to go home I was very glad to hear the operator tell me I was number 98 on the waiting list (even though, despite what your evil - albeit often quite accurate - presuppositions might tell you, the taxi service in Jakarta is pretty good). And that's not the only drawback: it also brings the infamous traffic jams in Jakarta to new heights of horror when the streets get flooded within an hour.

Some find it fun, though.

Finally, here is an ad from the cigarette company Sampoerna. I've already posted another one; I like them because they do reflect some funny cultural aspects of the country. Here, you don't need to understand the dialogue, it's just a bunch of guys ready to go out (you notice it is something important because they all wear new shoes and nice batik shirts)... when the rain strikes.

Zip up, ladies!

2008-04-13T17:07:00.027+07:00

A local administration in East Java has recently come up with an idea of such brilliance that it forces you to sit back in awe when confronted with this genious. I think all the righteous fighters for good morality ought to intern for a while with this Enstein of behavioral science who gave birth to such a revolutionary concept.

Fact nb 1: prostitution is evil.
Fact nb 2: women are not much better.
Fact nb 3: the old tradition of massage can lead to funny business.
Fact nb 4: men can't resist temptation.

Solution: all masseuses in massage parlours have to wear a padlock on the zipper of their pants (or their skirts, for this matter, although I am still wondering how that would work).

Yes, it's a new regulation that was passed recently. Apparently, according to some reports, the cashier in the massage parlours keeps the keys (locked up, I guess) and may release them from time to time in order to allow the evil temptresses to visit the bathroom whenever nature calls. I read that they keep a second set of keys just in case there's a problem with the first ones. Losing the one and only set, you have to acknowledge, would be a major inconvenience for the girls.

Luckily enough, the decision has caused an outrage here: the minister for Women Affairs has slandered it, saying it is an insult to women, and it has become the subject of ridicule throughout the country. Which is a shame though, because I can think of plenty of other derivations of the philosophy that would make our lives so much more moral: think of using wooden spoons (and mittens of course) when touching the client's back, or imposing chastity belts in clubs. That'd be only for the females though, because you very well know that all males can remain Masters of their Domain as long as they know the sweets are on display only.

If not, they could be forced to wear the koteka, the traditional outfit of some of the tribes from the far-flung Indonesian region of Papua.

That ought to do it.

My Asian Heart

2008-04-12T10:22:00.003+07:00

Don't despair about the press; there still are some great people out there such as freelance photographer Philip Blenkinsop featured in this documentary, My Asian Heart.
Preview.

In the name of intellectual honesty

2008-04-05T17:10:00.005+07:00

Yesterday there was a demonstration in Jakarta – one more. A few hundred of students from the main universities gathered in front of the Constitutional Court, singing and chanting “Allahu Akbar” ("God is the greatest"). Well, what do you think? A bunch of bearded extremists whose sabers tingled with the desire to shed some of my Western blood? Think again.

Those kids were just protesting against the film Fitna that they judge insulting to their religion. (Just in case you’ve missed the news reports, Fitna is a Qu’ran-bashing documentary recently released by the Dutch politician Geert Wilders, whose main claim to glory is to have given racism a place in his national Parliament). They were sporting banners claiming “Islam is not fear”, “Islam = Love” or “If you take pieces of a book, what do you get? Pieces of information. If you take pieces of the Qu’ran, what do you get? Pieces of misunderstanding”.

The last one is my personal favorite, because if you live in Indonesia and you don’t want to succumb to the latest fad (running around scared of the “green fascism”) you quickly get really, really annoyed by the Muslim-bashing competition we see coming from the West.

I’m not a Muslim; actually, I don’t follow any religion. But I do understand the students who were protesting yesterday. Granted, there are extremists in Indonesia; they proved it this week when they choked themselves yelling their hate at the Dutch consulates and embassy here. Granted, too, there are passages in the Qu’ran that are quite chilling, and that’s what makes the Fitna documentary so efficient for the narrow-minded who’re willing to condemn a whole religion without bothering to try to get to know it.

But in my humble opinion, I doubt the hate potential of individual passages is the privilege of the Qu'ran. Check out this funny clip from the American TV show “West Wing” if you want a glimpse of what a Fitna film dedicated to the Bible could look like.

Damn liberals

Praise be to age

2008-03-31T20:13:00.007+07:00

In Indonesia, as well as in many other parts of Asia, age is not viewed as a debilitating sickness that ought to make you seek refuge in some random retirement house among your peers. Much to the contrary: it is what gives you your rightful place in society. This TV ad from a cigarette company (ok... sorry for the source) is a funny example of this cultural bias. You don't need to understand anything except for their tag line "Not old yet. Not yet allowed to talk".

I'm having some problems with Blogger apparently, so you can also watch it here

Visa on arrival

2008-03-25T10:38:00.005+07:00

Somewhere in Jakarta you'll find a frail old couple with broken hearts. Last Thursday, they were crushed by the mighty fist of the American law that forbids them to see their newly-wed daughter. She lives in the US with her Yankee husband, but her parents "are not qualified" to be granted a tourist visa and set foot onto the Land of the Free.

A friend of mine witnessed the scene, while she was quietly waiting at the American embassy for her 7 o'clock interview in order to get her own visa. She is a thirty-something professional, fluent in 4 languages including English and French, with a decent salary (and therefore a healthy bank account to show the autorities), and, last but not least, an American friend who voucher for her - this damn Yankee she fell in love with. She expected a longuish interview where she'd explain why she wanted to visit the US and display all the required documents that proves a single woman from the Thirld World can support herself in this rich country. Instead she had a couple minutes sliding the documents to a government agent, stiffly seated behind a glass window, while the 30 persons waiting their turn behind her were privy to the details of her personal life. And finally, she got a stamp: NO. Not qualified. End of the story. Next!

This made me think: when, ever, has a Westerner had to go through such a humiliating process in order to get the right to visit any country? In Indonesia, you fly in, wait in line, pay 25 bucks and you're good to go for a month. You might say, were you an American who desires to see the beloved land of North Korea, you'd have problems. Okay, but still. Take my case: while I was a student, I also fell for one of those God-damned Yanks. For three years I flew to the US far more often than my meager student allowance would allow (ah! Credit! Savior of fresh flame!) Believe me, I was a far bigger risk to become an illegal immigrant than my Indonesian friend. But I never had the need to even apply for a visa; I am French - and even that is more welcomed than a Muslim.

Orangutan life

2008-03-16T16:46:00.009+07:00

Here is an audio bit mentionned in the earlier post, Man, Forest, Man of the Forest.

You'll meet with Lone Nielsen, a blond Dane who lives in Central Kalimantan, in the Indonesian part of Borneo island, where she manages the orangutan rehabilitation center of a local NGO.

We talked in the little forest that borders her camp; it's the playground of the baby orangutans that she cares for. If you listen with good earphones, you might feel like you're there with us, in the rain forest...