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...

Battle of the Bumis

2008-03-11T03:35:00.017+07:00

Hate Thy Neighbor. Quite a universal rule, isn't it? Well, if you live in Indonesia, your neighbor is Malaysia. And boy! Do you hate them.

It will hit you as soon as you arrive in the country, and it's all the weirder that both share more than a few commonalities. Most of the ethnic Malays from Malaysia migrated from the Indonesian archipelago some centuries ago, mostly from Sumatra and Sulawesi islands; so the language is very similar (just a few more differences than between American and British English), the cultural base pretty much the same, and the religion and customs, too. During the independence movement, there were even some people who were dreaming of creating a big Malay country that would join both of them (and some of today's radical Islamists are still hoping for it); they saw it as a mishap in history that Indonesia was ruled by the Dutch while Malaysia was part of Her Majesty's empire.

But things did not play that well - both countries actually fought a covert war just after Malaysia's independence. Since 2000, the latent hate has been livened by a series of rows that raged from outcries at the treatment of the Indonesian migrant workers in Malaysia to the scandal of the thieving of a song to the tensions over the sovereignity of the Sipadan islands (and the oil around it).

Indonesians see Malaysia as a fur-coated tart, whose only call to glory is that her husband's family trailer was luckily discovered sitting on an untapped oil field - the haughty Nouveau Riche syndrome. Malaysians see Indonesians as a bunch of hicks who are far too numerous for their own good - albeit quite useful as your underpaid maid.

What about us? Who's the best? I propose a poll (next column), where you can make up your mind based on the few points below comparing both countries. Please note that 1. I don't mean to tickle the nationalist pride of either of these people; I like 'em both and 2. it is a silly list compiled by a silly foreigner who don't know a damn about what she's talking about anyway.

- 1: Airports. A win for Malaysia - hands down. To its defense, Sukarno Hatta airport in Jakarta does have some local flavour, by which I mean a couple of traditional wood carvings and a javanese-shaped brown roof that provides some character. But that's all there is to it. As for KLIA... Ah!!!! KLIA. Marvel of new technology, beauty of steel engineering, free wifi everywhere, efficiency and logical organization (a rarely found quality, in my modest opinion). It's been voted several times best airport in the world/continent/region, and if you stop by around here, it's a nice choice for transit.

- 2: Taxi drivers. I'll have to give my vote to my dear country. Granted, sometimes Jakarta's taxi drivers can be a little too chatty, so if you want to read your book or listen to your Ipod podcast you have to resort to the old trick of pretending you don't understand a word they're saying: not very honest, but it spares the akwardness of dismissing friendly chatter. Whereas in KL (Kuala Lumpur, for the uninitiated) I've actually been yelled at by a taxi driver for not being able to give him directions to the street where I wanted to go to. No comment.

- 3: gruesome murders. That's a tough one. Munir's killing scenario, in Indonesia, was definitely worthy of a James Bond movie (the old ones): imagine a prominent human rights activist, very well known for uncovering foul play by the army and the dictatorship, poisoned with arsenic (arsenic!!!) while on board a Singapour-Amsterdam flight and found dead, foam on the side of the lips, at landing. That's a good one: guess who might be behind that? But Malaysia had the Altantuya Shaariibuu case: a beautiful model from Mongolia (yep), with political connections that went as high as the Deputy Prime Minister and Defense minister (or, shall I say if I do not want to be tried for diffamation, "are said to reach..."). She was shot dead, and afterwards some people thought they'd make her body disappear by blowing it up, using a type of explosive in service among the Malaysian security forces. Unluckily though, it did not dawn on them that pieces of flesh scattered on a few hundred meters perimeter might indeed attract attention. Hmmmmm.... Can't decide on who wins this battle.

- 4: civil society. Well, a big win for Indonesia, because although Malaysia is officially a democracy, wide range censorship and autocensorship does not really nurture a heathy debate in a country (with the notable exception of Malaysiakini), whereas Indonesia's is quite lively. So much so that I even heard not one, but several Malaysian activists saying that Indonesians are well ahead of them in terms of democratization. Please dwell for a minute on the impact of such a statement: it's huge. It's as if a Frenchman said that the United States have Culture: even though you might find some evidence of it, your sheer genes are preventing you from uttering such a blasphemy.

- 5: capital city. It's all linked to the fact that Malaysia is pretty rich, when Indonesia sadly remains a third world country. Jakarta is a mess: polluted, with a urbanization plan that is a challenge to any logical mind. KL is teeny tiny (in Asian standards), with a glorious public transportation system, pockets of green in its outskirts that remind you there's some jungle out there. Locals do complain about the traffic; that makes Jakartans scoff. And Ladies, in KL you can walk around in heels without fearing the treacherous pothole that is an ever-looming threat to your delicate ankles in Jakarta.

- 6: food. I personally love KL's food diversity that reflects the cultural variety of the country: 60% of Malays, 30% Chinese and 8% Indians. The chinese street food is fantastic, there are little Indian eateries everywhere, and of course all the traditional Malay fare. The mix of it all is a real pleasure. I have to say though, to come back to the issue of the nationalist arguments between the two countries, that I was shocked to be offered once in a restaurant a "traditional malaysian soup", called Soto Ayam Madura. Soto means "soup"; "ayam" is "chicken" and "Madura" is... an Indonesian island off of Java. So much for the "traditional Malaysian" label.

Now please, Ladies and Gentlemen, to your votes! You might argue that those random categories are not enough to judge the merits of the nations. Why not... but this is my blog, so I do whatever I want.

Just a bunch of normal people...

2008-03-02T15:55:00.017+07:00

I'm the kind of person who cannot help but look at those people with fascinating jobs as semi-gods: the UN guy (or girl) that dedicates his life to bring Human Rights and Democracy to oppressed people, the NGO girl (or guy) who spends months in the armpit of the world treating people so that their kids will not die of the first diarrhea that crosses their paths... Well, in the world we're living in now you have to realize this is quite a naive attitude ;-)

And it's not only because of the UN rape scandals or the plain stupidity of blindly dumb people (remember the Noah's Ark scandal? Those Frenchies who wanted to kidnap poor little African children on the generous - but false - premise that war left them orphans?). Some trips to East Timor made me realize that the semi-gods are just normal people. What a scoop.

First of all, let me apologize to the fans of East Timor - they are not that many, but they might be quite shocked that there could be an entry about this nation on a blog dedicated to Indonesia, the country that occupied it for two decades and was responsible for quite a few massacres there, not least during their forced departure from it (1999).

A friend once told me that the chance for Timor is that it has "East" in its name; that's the only way for the majority of the world to be able to place it roughly on a map, i.e. in Asia. (By the way, the spell check of Blogger does not even know the word "Timor"). So, for those who are not quite as familiar with East Timor, here you go: it's a tiny half island sandwiched between Indonesia and Australia with just under a million inhabitants, former Portuguese colony, poorest country in the region (apparently, right after Yemen, but it just depends on where you place Asia's limits, right?).

After Indonesia left in a bloodbath, destroying most of the buildings of Dili, the capital, East Timor was poised to become the success story of the United Nations, that undertook the huge task of building a new nation from scratch. Imagine: there was not a single trained judge or lawyer, most of the elementary school teachers had left, and even today in Dili it is very hard to find anyone who would be a proficient plumber, not even to mention a clerk or nurse - some Members of Parliament never graduated high school, I've been told... So the UN still have a very big - and visible - presence in the country.

Well, the armed forces is just a part of it, albeit the most visible one - and pretty necessary. But the UN is also doing a fantastic job, helping build the much-needed capacities of the Timorese, and this type of solidarity is definitely something that the international community should be proud of. It's way beyond the purpose of this blog to discuss the UN's results in the country; tons of experts are already working on that. Just a small thing though: it is very strange to realize how normal the UN employees are. They have their big white SUVs, hang out in cafés and sometimes get drunk. Nothing out of the ordinary... except that there is a whole segment of the national economy that is now solely working for the pleasure of those westerners, and far beyond the grasp of the Timorese.

Once last year I went to a party organized for the UN staff. It was a little outside of Dili, on the beach, with free flowing sangria, international music and some pretty serious dance-floor action (I remember this girl who was wearing a very flimsy white dress with a very small and visible g-string, for the big pleasure of the soldiers, who you can recognize because of their very short hair). What was strange, though, was when I realized that there was a couple of Timorese guys standing at a respectful distance from the dancing crowd of these "semi-gods". The guests were not at all willing to mix socially with the Timorese people, even though their sacred mission is to build a nation for them.

I don't want to blame the UN people: they're stuck in the country for months at a time, and a good old-fashioned, sangria-sponsored shindig is something I won't condemn. But it was eye-opening to witness the clash between groups that everything separates: culture, and especially money. Some of them were paid to do good; the others were waiting for the good to come out of the dancing crowd.

Other than that, East Timor is a fascinating country, very beautiful.

You can listen here to a song I recorded in an orphanage in Gleno, a small town perched on coffee-growing hills. Those kids were very moving.

I've stolen the pictures below from the website of a photographer, N. Rico. He has more, really nice!

Super-French cleaner

2008-03-02T15:33:00.008+07:00

My neighbour is the best cleaner ever - and he is nothing less than an Italian-trained cleaner. So if you really need to get this filthy stain out of your couch, go Jalan Bangka Raya, in the South of Jakarta (remember, when you smooshed down the big cockroach that was innocently hanging out there... Those stuff's innards leave a musty odor. Just kidding).

Anyway, I just love my cleaner's ad: he does it all. See? Dry Cleaning; laundry; and... wet cleaning technology. Weird... I've always thought the wet-cleaning technology was like that.

Beware! Europe shivers!!!!!

2008-02-27T16:11:00.007+07:00

Well, that really have to make you giggle. Or actually laugh, really. Out loud. Holding your ribs. A teeny tiny minuscule little tremor that makes jelly jive a bit in England actually makes the headlines throughout the world. Bewaaare!!! The plates are dancing the tektonik! So strong it could actually induce ripples into Her Majesty's tea. Dear God.

There are, in average, 1400 something earthquakes stronger than 5 on the Richter scale every year throughout the world. The one in Kent was 5.2 and it made some bricks fall on cars. May I remind you, dear reader, that the Richter is based on a logarithmic scale, which means that a magnitude 5 quake shakes the ground 10 times less than a magnitude 6, and it releases 32 times less energy. There was a quake a couple days ago in Sumatra, 7.2; I talked to few guys who lived close to it, they barely noticed it. Business as usual. Since the 2004 one that triggered the tsunami, we had 27 in Indonesia, that were above 6 on the Richter scale. Maybe more, don't take this stat as gospel.

So, I know, the effect of a quake all depends on how deep it is, and what type of quake it is, but come on, western media! Just be a little less self-centered.

Bathroom surprise

2008-02-26T04:50:00.008+07:00

You already had a previous post about the teeming life of an Indonesian household. Here is another one of our crawling guests. Cute, huh?

That's Third World, man...

2008-02-25T18:16:00.007+07:00

Living in a developing country brings some surprises. One of them is these filthy rich people.

No joke, when you go to Kem Chicks, a high end supermarket that sells items for expats in Jakarta (big choices of peanut butter, whole turkeys come Thanksgiving...), you actually have the choice between several types of outfits for your large house staff. Sometimes when you go to the restaurant you can also see rich people's kids in the corner, tended by their nannies while Mum and Dad enjoy care-free time with their friends. Life's sweet. Not always for the nanny.

Jakarta hotel shows kids how to make their own beds

JAKARTA, Feb 24 (Reuters Life!) - In a country where the rich rely heavily on servants to perform the most mundane household chores, being able to make one's own bed is something of a novelty. About 20 small children, Indonesians and Westerners, escorted by their nannies, took part in a training session on Sunday at the Ritz-Carlton in Jakarta, where they were shown how to make a bed properly.

In Indonesia, it is common for wealthy and many middle-class families to employ several servants including housemaids, nannies, drivers, and gardeners. When the servants take their annual holiday after the fasting month, some families complain of being unable to cope without their cleaners and cooks, and move into hotels for the duration.

Several of the children at Sunday's event, who ranged in age from two-and-a-half years to seven years, watched with interest as they were shown how to tuck a sheet under the mattress and fold tidy corners. "It's to show children that making the bed is part of the house chores. And we try to show them from an early age how to do it in the hope that they will do it themselves," said Gloria Vera Kristie, the Ritz-Carlton spokeswoman.

Most of the kids seemed to enjoy the training. Some preferred to just lie down on the bed, while a couple were less enthusiastic. "I don't want it. Murni does it," said one four-year-old, referring to her housecleaner. (Ade Mardiyati)

Penises And Prayer Mats: It's Sexual Healing, Indonesia Style

2008-02-23T08:54:00.014+07:00

A great story by Sébastien Blanc, from the Agence France Presse. He's the best ;-)

CARINGIN, Indonesia, Feb 22 (AFP) -- Three large wooden penises lie on a colourful batik prayer mat in the house of Mak Erot, Indonesia's legendary lengthener of male members, inviting customers to pick their new look. Mak Erot, the undisputed national expert in solving the self-image problems of Indonesian men, seems to have disappeared a long time ago but many believe she is still working her magic, perhaps from beyond the grave.

The craggy, betel nut-chewing woman with a distinctive brown birthmark on her cheek has spawned legions of imitators, while her legitimate heirs are keen to keep up the facade that she's alive lest business die with her. And it is a booming business -- as a glance at the classified pages of any Indonesian tabloid newspaper will attest, packed as they are with ads for "penile paranormals" all claiming to have been trained by Mak Erot. Jakarta, the nation's capital, even has a Mak Erot "clinic". She has made it into popular culture too, with the film "Extra Large: Between Me, You and Mak Erot" currently playing in cinemas.

Mak Erot's village of Caringin is at the end of a road that winds along the Indian Ocean coast in southwestern Java. Her white house sits in a region where farmers from Indonesia's Sundanese culture still incorporate their ancient animistic beliefs with Islam. As expected, the disciples at Mak Erot's house say she's still alive. "Mak Erot went to open an office in Medan (North Sumatra)," says a young man wearing a traditional Muslim beanie. "She's in a good shape. She still can walk."

He introduces himself as Haji Baban, Mak Erot's grandson, an inheritor of the old woman's esoteric powers and expertise in rare plants. "People from all over the world come here, from Arab countries, from China, Singapore, Korea, Malaysia, Taiwan," he says. "They want solutions to impotence or premature ejaculation, they ask to have a longer penis or bigger glans." According to the Kompas daily, Mak Erot passed on her "science" to her five children and sixteen grandchildren who account for her 21 true heirs, a select order of masters of male enhancement.

A consultation with Haji Baban is an encounter with the arcane. Sitting cross-legged in semi-darkness, the patient is asked to detail his wishes with the visual aid of a selection of carved wooden phalluses. Then comes the diagnosis, delivered after a contemplative silence.

Solemnly, Haji Baban intones that the client's appendage is "fairly average," and offers to conjour up a six-centimetre (2.3-inch) extension. The prescription for such whopping growth is a 10-day course of eating and drinking mystery concoctions and secret potions, with the first dose of bitter berries to be taken immediately, washed down with dark brown liquid. An assistant then brings a phallus-shaped bamboo tube containing a roll of sticky coconut rice that has to be swallowed whole to avoid what Haji Baban describes ominously as "terrible genital consequences". Haji Baban ends the consultation with a vegetable oil that the client must promise to apply daily with a specific hand action from base to tip. And no eating green bananas or citronella, he orders.

The daily cost for treatment is between 700,000 and one million rupees (70-100 dollars), depending on the options selected. This is a hefty sum for many in Indonesia but the imposing mansions being built around Caringin seem to indicate that plenty of men are willing to pay. A local motorcycle taxi driver gestures to the newly-built homes and says: "They belong to Mak Erot."

Erratum modificatorum

2008-02-18T17:45:00.001+07:00

They did it! They corrected their grammatical mistake! The "visit Indonesia 2008" campaign has now for a slogan "Celebrating 100 years of national awakening" (see previous post). Still amazingly sexy and that makes you want to come and visit, but at least now it does make sense. Kinda.

And if you're interested in this fascinating subject, here is a blog about it. Enjoy...

An old boy's dream house

2008-02-17T18:39:00.003+07:00

Isn't that funky? That's a villa we rented with friends for a 4 days week end (Happy Chinese New Year!) in a village around Pelabuhan Ratu.

Pelabuhan Ratu is a fishermen's town in the South coast of Java, well known for a late magical lady whose special power was to enlarge the manly attributes of any disgruntled macho. It is a mere 150 or so kilometers from the capital, which amounts to a 5 hours road trip when you have to face the week end traffic of Jakartans who want to escape the city, on a winding road dotted with local markets. Ah, life will be so sweet when Java will have toll roads everywhere...

Here's a view from the Pelabuhan Ratu bay. The currents and waves are very strong here, which makes for good surfing. Beware though; it is dangerous to wander around the beach wearing green. This is the color of Ratu Kidul, the mystical Queen of the South Sea, and if She sees you adorned with Her color She might want to take you into Her midst...

A whole other league

2008-02-04T08:58:00.001+07:00

There are only two things you can politely complain in public about the country: corruption, and macet. Those are so engrained in Jakartan daily life that it is in lesson 2 of my book “Teach yourself bahasa indonesia” – just after the standard “Hello my name is” – that I learned how to say: Maaf saya terlambat. Saya terjebak macet (sorry to be late, I was stuck in traffic).

In Jakarta, we don’t have traffic jams. We have macet (pronounce “matchet”). It’s just not the same thing. When you’re stuck in traffic, your finger taps the wheel wondering if you’ll make it home on time for the opening of American Idol or if the potatoes will already be cold. When you’re stuck in macet, you don’t know if you’ll make it home for dinner or breakfast.

In my experience, there are several explanations to macet (below is definitely not an exhaustive list) :

- just because

- someone is trying to turn right (we drive on the left side here) so he’s blocking your lane for 20 minutes, the time necessary for him to find a moron on the opposite lane willing to let him pass. The moron is screwed because generally a long line had time to form behind our first man, so it’s Moron's time to be stuck, while they all to pass in front of him (and you, by the way). No wonder nobody in their right mind ever lets a car cut a line, which explains why, if you have to take a right, you'll block everyone trying to squeeze in

- there’s a flood

- you’re on the lane waiting to make a U-turn. Jakarta is a marvel of urbanization, you often must drive several kilometers in the wrong direction just so that you can U-turn somewhere ;

- you’re on a road plyed by buses that stop anywhere to pick up and drop their passengers ;

- there are too many cars, too few roads throughout the whole city ;

- there’s a cop who, for an unknown reason, is blocking your lane branching into a flowing lane, in order to gesture to the passing cars that they can go. Oh they know they can, as they’ve been laughing at you when flying by. More to come on the Terus Guy

- there’s a demo (demonstration. Jakarta easily stands its ground with my native France in terms of numbers of street protests).

God bless the Ipod, podcasts, mobile internet and cell phones.

Man, Forest, Man of the Forest

2008-02-02T12:30:00.004+07:00

Orang outang: literally, that means “Man of the forest” (Orang Hutan). You can find them only in the island of Sumatra and Borneo, which is divided between Malaysia and Indonesia; the Indonesian part is called Kalimantan.

The local people of Kalimantan are called the Dayak. Solenn went to a Dayak village along a river. A wedding was in preparation, so food was served to the guest and a man was singing traditional songs.

We went there during the Lebaran, which is the holidays following the fasting month; pretty much the equivalent of Christmas. Solenn went first in order to report about deforestation there which is going at an amazing speed. Here is a little extract of a piece she wrote.

“You’re going to Borneo”. I immediately picture myself clinging onto a sweat-drenched machette, trying to hack a path through the thick jungle while ominous creatures (think: snakes) loom 30 meters above my head, just waiting to make their deadly drop. But last month I drove for 12 hours through Central Kalimantan province without seeing a single tree that could compare in mightiness to the old cherry tree that used to adorn the vegetable patch in my grand-mother’s garden. 30 years ago, the whole island of Borneo was covered by a dense tropical canopy but today its forest cover looks like the fur of a dog suffering from mange: half of its trees have already disappeared. Slashed, burnt, cut, hacked or transformed into the beautiful bed side table you noticed on page 42 of your favorite furniture shop’s catalogue.

Nature has taken over alright; it always does. But you’d have to be a very very small child with a very very big imagination to recall the Green Hell described by the first British adventurers who came out of it alive. Instead of the mighty trees, you can stand waist-deep in the middle of lush bushes that extend to the flat horizon. The monotony of the landscape is only broken by gloomy cadavers of burnt trees whose white carcasses all spell one word: GREED.

Let’s go back to 1985, when the World Bank pinned a medal on the chest of then-Indonesian president Suharto. He swelled with pride, with reason: in a mere 2 decades, he managed to lead his country through a Green Revolution that insured food self sufficiency. Ten years later, though, the rapid urbanization rate of the fertile volcanic island of Java had nibbled away a lot of agricultural land. Thus came what seemed a brilliant, albeit daring, idea: transform the useless forest of Kalimantan into the rice barn of Indonesia. For a year, the chainsaws roar throughout the province. One million hectares of virgin forest was opened. One million hectares: that’s the equivalent of the surface of a whole country like Lebanon. It’s been ten years. The first cup of rice is yet to be produced.

Jakarta’s bureaucrats overlooked one tiny complication: the area chosen for the so-called Mega-Rice project is way too acidic to be able to bear the brunt of a demanding crop like rice. “but I think they knew. The experts knew. I tell you: they were educated to be stupid” growls Yarden, a scientist in the university of Palangkaraya, the provincial capital. “So why they did it? Why?... They just wanted to take the wood. Money”.
…

Today, the main danger for the forests is palm oil. You know, the green fuel that is supposed to feed our SUVs when all the Arab oil has been drunk? Well, this is big business now, but plants require land in order to grow. Where do you find land? You cut down the forest. Now, this is the main danger for the orang-outang. You can find here the explanation from Lone Nielsen, a blonde Dane who manages a rehabilitation camp for the animal. Solenn went to visit her, and was taken in the back forest where baby apes are kept. (Note: the difficult thing is that orang outang are solitary animals, and the mother has to care about her baby until they are 7 years old, so their reproduction cycle is very slow). Wonderful experience, sometimes cut short when a curious baby would try to grab the microphone or just wanted some petting...

But the problem is not as simple as “these f… Indonesians are cutting down the lungs of the planet”. Because if you meet the local people, you change your perspective. Solenn went to a village that used to be in the forest and is now surrounded by palm oil plantations. However much you can think that the people are crying about their lost forest, you’re wrong. This village now has roads, cell phones, and in a few month will even count its first university graduate, a girl who will become a teacher. Better than to live naked in the jungle without so much as tubercolusis shots for your kids, don’t you think?

We went together on a trip to Tanjung Puting national park, where we took a three days boat trip in the jungle, stopping from time to time to meet with orang-outangs in feeding station (some of these animals are wild, some have been found in places where they were kept as pets and are now gradually put back in the wild). The females are 6 times stronger than a man, the males 8 times stronger… Impressive!

The best part was staying on the boat, though. We had the boat to ourselves, with a guide, a deckhand, and a cook. This is no luxury: we could only take one shower on the river in three days… but the reward is amazing: you wake up with the dawn at 5, hearing the gibbons’ song in the distance.

Bunaken (you have to go there!)

2008-02-02T11:43:00.001+07:00

Some pics of our holidays in Bunaken, North Sulawesi.

Just a 3 hours flight from Jakarta, you find a Mecca (ha!) of diving. We are in the Coral Triangle, an area that spreads from the Northern Philippines to Bali on the West, up to Papua and the Solomon Islands in the East. Here, you find about 600 types of coral, which is 75% of all the known species on the planet. There is no other place with the biggest marine biodiversity, and Bunaken is just in the middle of it. Amazing!

Surprisingly, the island, albeit well known to divers from all over the world, is far from being a resort area. There is no road, therefore no cars (a couple years ago the people started purchasing motorbike that are used as taxis). At its maximum, the island can have 300 tourists, so it’s far from crowded.

The village is very small, with very friendly people – the type who would just gesture you to come inside their house to share a cup of coffee while you’re just strolling through; naked kids who play on the beach at sunset. There is one church right at the pier, a mosque just a short walk away, and all is nice.

How did it all go wrong?

2008-02-02T11:39:00.000+07:00

Indonesia can sometimes be very frustrating. Another example recently is the new ad campaign “Visit Indonesia 2008”. Here we are in a 17,000 island archipelago blessed with the most amazing touristic potential anyone could ever dream of. You name it, they have it – save for skiing zones. Paradise beaches? Check: Maluku, white sand, crystal clear water and nothing but you and coconuts. Awesome natural sights? Check: Java volcanoes, full to the brim with mystical legends; the second largest rain forest after Brazil; Lombok rice terrasses. Fascinating local culture? Check: balinese rituals; World heritage Borobudur temples; sexy penis gourd people; crazy Toraja burial ceremonies. Once-in-a-lifetime experiences? Check: hanging out with wild orang-outang, poking Komodo dragons with a stick; sunrise on top of Kelimutu. Friendliest people on earth? Check: just about everywhere (more to come about that).

You’ve got it all. But less than 5 million people come every year to visit, when 30 million of them will be fooled to think Thailand is the place to go. Pfff… Several reasons: so many Westerners think Bali is an independent country, and most are afraid of the crazy Muslims and lack of infrastructures. Wrong on the first two assumption. The second is quite accurate though: the commoner’s idea of a paradise beach usually does not include squat toilets where if you forgot to bring your own toilet paper, you’re screwed.

So, there is a lot of work to do to attract people to the archipelago, and the genius Minister of Tourism decided he had to take the matter in his own hands – of course without wasting time hiring tourism and communication specialists to help him. He came up with a fantastic motto “celebrating 100 years of nation awakening” - yes, with the grammatical mistake now plastered on all Garuda Indonesia flights - and a pretty ridiculous ad campaign. ‘Cause you know, what is most important is to get back at the Malaysians, who last year celebrated their 50th anniversary of independence (in Indonesia, it is just compulsary to HATE Malaysia); so the officials decided they will have a 100th anniversary of some sort, that happened to be the creation of a nationalist party long gone that nobody has ever heard of. And that’s what is supposed to bring the crowds in the country? Sigh.

Rent to kill

2008-02-02T11:07:00.002+07:00

He’s back. I heard him against last night : a dull “thump” just above my head as I was quietly reading in bed. That could have been a thief (Indonesians rarely come in football player size), but I knew this was just our free boarder, the luwak.

You could say luwak is a decently small animal, but the first time we heard about its existence we asked a waitress at our local pub what is its name in English. She had to consult some of her friends and came back with the answer : “That’s a wolf”. What??? A wolf living in our roof?????? Turns out, it is more like a racoon, and we find them everywhere in Jakarta.

Now we just have to find a way of getting rid of him. Again. We’ve tried though : hiring an exterminator company (“rent to kill”, how cute a name) that charged us a ridiculously high price to free our house of all its animals, from roaches to mosquitoes, ants and geckos. 700 000 rp for the fogging! Well, that translates as 70 dollars, but this is the type of price you never pay for anything here, save a plane ticket to Bali when you’ve been dumb enough not booking in advance to get a good price. Anyway.

The problem is, we live in the tropics. A place where during the rainy season, some plants can grow 5 inches within a month ; the papaya tree in the garden already tripled its height since we moved in, six months ago. So it is inevitable you will live with a lot of unwanted guests.

“Roaches you said? Buuuuurrrrck!”. You might assume that if Solenn is solely in charge of the cleaning, the place is just disgusting. You could have been right ; but as we were blessed by the amazing chance of being born in Western countries, here we can afford the services of Super Supi, who keeps the house so clean you are blinded by the reflection of the sun on the white floor/white ceiling/white walls. So you just have to live with a positive attitude, and think of the roaches and geckos as cat toys – those come free.

As for the luwak, this is another story. We have to contract another killer to assassinate him. If we’re lucky, we will soon post his picture on this blog.