Know Thyself
Welcome to my random musings about the world, on a weekly-to-occasional basis.
Where we are: We’re in Jakarta, Indonesia.
Know Thyself
Approximately a hundred years ago, when I was an undergrad, I watched The Year of Living Dangerously for a film class. It’s about an Australian journalist working in Jakarta in the mid-1960s, during the period of instability just before the coup that brought down the country’s first president. For some reason that I will never understand, the movie’s stylistic, shadowy depiction of such a far-away place made an indelible impression on me.
Fast-forward to last spring, when Lee and I were figuring out where to go after spending New Year’s in Bali: I suggested Jakarta. That movie has been stuck in my head for forty years, so I figured it was an itch that needed to be scratched. I knew we’d be well-rested after our Bali break, and thought it would be a good time to find out whether there were any traces left of the city I had imagined.
From the moment we got to Bali, every person we told about our next destination asked why. Even the people here in the city, since we arrived on Monday, have wanted to know why we’re here. The general manager of our hotel said they don’t really get foreign tourists. He says there’s no real tourism infrastructure in the city. The vast, vast majority of tourists to Indonesia go to the beaches, to lie on the sand and swim in the sea and get a taste of paradise. I get the feeling that visiting Jakarta is kind of like going to the Caribbean and visiting Kingstown, or Port-au-Prince. Jakarta—a city of nearly eleven million people—is the sprawling, gigantic capital of the fourth-most-populous country in the world. It’s definitely not a laid-back tropical paradise.
But I had that movie flickering in the back of my mind, so here we are. I mean, why not? Driving in from the airport, I wondered if we’d made a mistake—it is so, so hot and humid. Utterly miserable. We arrived at our hotel, and I announced that I would not be going out again. Excellent air-conditioning, a gym, a pool—I don’t need much else … but also? I could be anywhere. I rewatched the movie on our first evening, looking out over a view of the city I had found so intriguing in that long-ago film class. I broke out in a sweat just thinking about going outside, but I also really wanted to see what the streets are like nowadays, in 2025.
So Lee found and booked a 4-hour walking tour, which began at 11 am on Wednesday. I was dubious about that start time. The middle of the day is the hottest time, but realistically, when it’s this humid, the temperature only goes down about five degrees at night, so maybe it doesn’t actually make much difference.
We went. The guide walked our group of five through the thick air—I could feel my body temperature rising with every step. The first stop was the national mosque. The other woman in our group and I were outfitted with hooded abayas, while the men got sarongs to cover their knees. By the time we got across the courtyard and up three flights of stairs to the upper gallery of the ‘cooled by natural breezes’ space, I was really overheated.
Now, I totally understand and respect the importance of appropriate attire in a holy place, but as I slowly melted, all I could think was I need to get this off my body. It wasn’t worth it to me—I’m not sure anything is worth being that hot. I lasted about three minutes, managing to stay vertical while the guide took a group photo, then I ditched the group.
I had no idea how to find my way back to the room where we’d gotten the abayas—I needed to uncover myself, and I knew the room was at least somewhat air-conditioned. I went down the wrong stairs, inadvertently stepped into the men’s section of the prayer room, backed out and went down more stairs, then did a little contortionist climbing maneuver, abaya and all, through the slats of a barrier to get to an outer door. I was desperate to get outside.
Once I got out of the smothering polyester robe and had more-or-less cooled down, I was able to get through the rest of the tour, which was interesting enough that I’m glad I stuck with it. Here’s my pro tip, though: know your limits. Travel should be enjoyable, not an exercise in misery. Assume there will be another tour, another mosque, another cathedral, another chance. Know when to sit one out.
Forty years of cinematic daydreams led me to Jakarta. I was able to see traces of the past I had imagined, but only traces. Indonesia is growing and changing—like most of Asia—at warp speed. Still, I’m glad we came, if only because I realized that sometimes, the real adventure is deciding when to push through and when to get out of the heat.
And if Jakarta seems too far or too hot or too daunting, maybe just watch the film, and spend your next vacation going to the place that has been teasing the back of your brain for the last forty years.
Take care,
Lisa
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