We went out of BBs, a bar in south Jakarta, a little exhausted from a potent combination of work and the city’s heat and pollution. Anja rightly remarked that in Jakarta, smoking is an unnecessary vice: the pollution gets into you, a lethal irritation that one has to accept, as if the city is a chain smoker too old, too stubborn to have its ways corrected.
In BBs, the food is great and the rats shameless – they scamper around, making their mock rallies in the wooden beams just below the ceiling and delivering their protest speeches just above our heads. We are in Jakarta’s well off neighborhood, and the vermins are there to openly defy the opulent houses, tall buildings and criss-crossing fly-overs that were built in one of the world’s most inequitable economic growth: they are there to remind us that not all forms of wealth can erase poverty and decay.
Lust, too, is nowhere to be found. Jakarta, despite being more metropolitan than the rest of Indonesia, is still largely an Islamic area. Lust, love, and intimacy are getting more invisible by the day. In the parliament, a proposed law against pornography is being pushed by conservative lawmakers. If it gets enacted, even corporal realities like the arms or the legs of women need to be hidden from sight to avoid tempting men.
But as in other cities, Jakarta’s charms and secrets can be found in unexpected places. This time, I found the most surprising thing in a street corner. Under the skilled hands of a vendor, I came upon the delicate art of moon-birthing: you just need a pan greased with about two tablespoons of oil, batter mixed with fragrant aromas and spices, melted chocolate or bits of cheese, and sweet butter. It is called martabak, or moonlight, a sweet cake that can give you celestial dreams. Just one bite and you get that strange feeling that the moon rises from your stomach.
xfullman 