Java Journeys – Day 3: Jakarta

My last day in Java was a Monday. No, I did not skip work or take a holiday: it was the Thai King’s birthday over the weekend, and everyone got the day off – including the staff at international organisations. I ate a leisurely breakfast and took the hotel’s shuttle to Yogyakarta Airport, leaving for Jakarta at 10 o’clock.

Despite the flight taking but one hour, I only made it to the centre of Jakarta after noon. The arrival halls at the Soekarno-Hatta airport are formidably long, and I ended up waiting a decent length of time for my Grab car. The drive, of course, took a while as well: Jakarta is a massive city with few lanes and little public transport, so even at midday the traffic can get quite heavy. My destination was the historical centre of erewhile Batavia, a tiny pedestrianised oasis in the middle of the chaotic capital. There is a cluster of colonial buildings around Fatahillah Square, including the Jakarta History Museum and the Museum of Fine Art and Ceramics. Almost all the tourists visiting Jakarta seem to be concentrated on the expansive square, which houses a few cafés and restaurants.

The western edge of this pedestrianised area is delineated by a river, whose banks are overshadowed by more ostentatiously Dutch buildings. Farther south, the road begins, going past the Museum Bank Indonesia and the Museum Mandiri. I followed this road all the way to Jakarta’s Chinatown, which lies about half a kilometre farther in the same direction. This area is known for its market, which lines the narrow alleyways and leaves only enough space for two people walking shoulder to shoulder. Some locals seem not very aware of this deficiency, though, and enjoy riding their motorcycles down the streets, forcing everyone to press themselves against the stalls to let them through.

The Jakarta Chinatown also houses the Dharma Bhakti Temple, an extensive house of worship in Chinese style. Most if not all deities there are labelled by Chinese inscriptions, which are transliterated based on the pronunciations of some southern dialect. The most interesting building, however, lies farther south of this tightly packed area. Walking along the broad Gajah Mada Road, I came across a tall building with a ramp for taxis and a café at the very front. Intrigued, I climbed up the ramp and found myself looking down a broad hallway, at the end of which stood a fancy old Chinese-style house. The mansion was surrounded by much taller modern buildings on all sides. As I walked through its silent rooms decorated with paintings and Chinese writing, I found I had wandered into the house of the Khouw family of Tamboen. A politically influential clan, the Khouws numbered many high-ranking administrators, including the last ‘Major of the Chinese’ under Dutch rule.

Back by the ramp, I hailed a taxi and proceeded to Monas, a giant flame-topped monument in the centre of a square park. Or at least, so I intended. Once I reached the gate of the park, a guard informed me that the whole area was closed for maintenance on Mondays. I already knew that practically all the museums would be closed that day, but it had not occurred to me that even a place like this would not welcome tourists. A little disappointed, I walked along the northern edge of the park, hoping to reach Istiqlal Mosque.

Despite being able to see the mosque at quite a distance, and despite reaching it within a reasonably long walk, it took me quite a while to actually find the entrance. I was turned away and sent farther around at every gate I approached, weaving my way past vendors of fruit, desserts, and stimulants in brightly coloured packets. The walk took me so long that I even reached the Cathedral before entering the mosque grounds.

It was then I learned that entering the mosque grounds was only half the battle. A guard sent me on a circuitous path towards the entrance of the building, but once I reached it, I was told that I would need to go back and register at the office – a task that was complicated by my not expecting it to be a bank building. I was truly surprised when, upon entering it, I found the room full of American tourists, the women wearing borrowed bright-coloured head covers and some of the men draping long cloths over their legs. They seemed to be much better informed than I was, telling me that they were waiting for the official guide; apparently, it is impossible to enter the mosque without one.

Fortunately, I had arrived just five minutes before the start of the official tour and soon found myself on the first floor of the building. The ground floor, we learned, was reserved for serious prayer, while the floor we were allowed to visit seemed to serve as more of a resting place. People were lying about on the carpet and talking to each other without any concern about the site’s main function. Seeing me drop a shoe while trying to take a picture – a mortifying mistake – a young lady kindly offered me a plastic bag, which I apologetically accepted.

I ordered a Grab car to the airport as soon as I left the mosque. I still had quite a few Rupiah left over, having wildly overestimated my expenses when I first arrived. In addition to the change left over from my payment for the on-arrival visa, I had exchanged 200 USD. Rather than exchanging them back and seeing how much I had lost in the pointless operation, I went ahead and exchanged the money for exactly 600 Ringgit in preparation for my next trip. Or rather, the worker at the exchange office could not be bothered to give me the 599 Ringgit I should have gotten and rounded up by one. Since I did not want to study the regulations on agricultural goods to declare, I then proceeded to gobble down the rest of my salak from yesterday.