The story begins with a roll of the dice.
3pm on a November afternoon: ‘Indonesian field school? Sure sounds interesting.’ I apply on a whim.
1 pm on a February afternoon: “ Japanese Encephalitis, earthquakes, tsunamis…. I can’t afford extensive vaccinations… Should I go?” I debate for the millionth time with my mom. My deadline for acceptance was approaching.
12 am on a February evening: I roll onto the floor and punch a foreign number into my phone. Why — are there so many digits?
“So I have the job in Singapore, right?” The other line crackles — and a muffled voice finally emerges from the speaker. “Pardon me?” I ask. The response lukewarm.
5 pm on a bus from the doctors office, a week later: I throw in the towel and buy tickets to both Singapore and Indonesia.
Several days before my trip, I throw together some doctor’s appointments, read up on travel insurance and fret over visas. I stock up on power bars, medications, and pants that can deal with sweaty thighs and mosquitoes.
And on at 10am on May 29th: I arrive in Jakarta. I turn down some dogged taxi dealers and flail around the airport parking lot, before hailing a Grab. Soon I find myself bumping down one of Jakarta’s highways. I turn to pull down my seat belt — which isn’t there — and my driver catches my eyes in the mirror and laughs softly. “ Oh, don’t worry about it,” he says.
As we pull into central Jakarta, he begins pointing out the landmarks of his city. I nod along, appreciating his effort but unable to comprehend any basic Bahasa yet. The buildings are huge, glass and cement, all covered in a thin layer of dust. Roadsides are packed with makeshift housing and checkered by tarps and cardboard boxes. I wonder if the slums will fade as we approach the center of the city. But as we putter through gridlocked traffic, I realize that the poverty is intensifying. We finally reach the hotel, supposedly only 30 minutes away from the airport in a record time of 1 hour and 30 minutes due to Java’s stunning traffic.
The hotel view
I take a walk out to exchange money and pop into a grocery store. I guard my bag carefully and walk confidently — though for what — I don’t know. Too many online horror stories make me skeptical of my surroundings (A lesson to be unlearned in the coming days). As I walk, I hop over holes in the pavement, step around cardboard box dwellings, stray cats and dodge a ruthless parade of motorbikes that find their way, growling and honking onto the pavement, whenever the street gets too crowded. Yet along these dusty, particulate heavy roadways, delicate purple violets and pink flowers smile from well maintained street gardens, unfazed by the pounding presence of Jakarta’s 9.6 million residents. Hedges are trimmed neatly and trees are relatively abundant. Despite Jakarta’s concrete Jungle facade, there is an interesting attention to maintaining its greenery.
As a girl from small orderly cities, Jakarta is a revelation.
