April 5, 2024

The congenial owner of the Gold Coast apartment I am staying at in PIK has offered to take me to lunch with some of his associates, then drive around the periphery of PIK and show me the area. In the consummate jumble that comprises Jakarta, it is sometimes difficult to make out specific establishments, simply because there is such a vast amount of everything around you. Next to the cavernous Fresh Market that I have already visited is a formal Padang-style restaurant, although with a different presentation than I am used to see, with a heavily-laden warm buffet and large crowds of clients to assure constant turnover. Having already eaten breakfast in my apartment, I am not that hungry, and would really be happy with nothing more than a juice and a good coffee, which I know the cafes in the vicinity offer.

Customers at the Dapur Jum Padang restaurant can order from the extensive a la carte menu or make selections from the heaving buffet, their plates then weighed at the cash register. Large pictures line of the walls of items on the menu, of obvious assistance to those unfamiliar with their dishes. The buffet trays are laden with exotic dishes, mostly spicy, prepared in a variety of sambals, and all warm, unlike the cold and often dry offering provided in the typical Padang cohorts across the country.

Whole small fish basted in sambal, skewers with various types of meat and prawns, satay, yellow curry and white gravy, both with some sort of meat, chicken wings, an opaque broth with dumplings, deep-fried battered prawns, vegetable rice, curried rice, beef remdang, and so on. As this is an ethnically Chinese-oriented neighborhood, I wonder if the fare offered also varies accordingly from the classic Padang norms. One advantage of not eating here is that you save the headache of having to make selections from such a vast variety of foods. It is also worth noting that the indulgence offered by this restaurant is representative of life in the big city – later experiences in small towns will reveal how incredibly limited public food is in most of Indonesia.

Our goal is to drive onto the islands that are connected to the mainland via Jalan Pantai Indah Kapuk. Flat as a board, relatively characterless, with no natural features, and coated with new commercial and residential developments and mid- to upper range eateries; based on the people we see from the vehicle, oriented toward a largely wealthy hyphenated Chinese clientele. We drive some distance, then cross over to Si Mian Fo PIK (Riverwalk Island), and then further north onto the mainland again to PIK 2, a largely undeveloped stretch of open land immediately to the northwest of Soekarno–Hatta airport. With its sprawling terrain, we seem to drive for an extended period of time without arriving anywhere, although due to seeming confusion as to which unidirectional roads to take, we end up retracing our steps past the sprawling, half-completed complexes at a distance from the roadside. Judging the tenor of the conversation of the men in the car, it seems this is a prime area for land investment, each of the individuals having already bought property and houses here, and keenly interested in buying more.

My interest lies in the Indonesia Design District, a complex set to the side of one of the circular thoroughfares that loops around PIK 2, which, based on a brief description while passing by earlier on, appears to be home to an outdoor mall of fashionable design and furniture stores that could be fascinating to visit, at least from an aesthetic perspective. They are concerned for my ability to return to our apartment building, but I reassure them, thanks to the wonders of the car- and scooter-hailing apps, I should have no issue returning. Then I am always on a mission to take interesting photos, although the general blandness of the environment hardly lends itself to interesting photography, certainly not involving people.

Where so much of the Indonesian urban environment is bereft of any kind of design artifice, the Indonesia Design District is quite the opposite, the bulk of the grid of storefronts as well as the small plazas set in the alleys running through the area presenting a vision of what the country could offer – subject to the availability of far more resources and motivation. Around me, discrete banners suspended from iron rafters, announcing the regions of the country – and presumably evoking their concomitant design traditions – decorative friezes amending wall segments, traditional pitched thatch roofs with modernist dormers, stylish sculptures, and manicured rock gardens with imaginative reflecting pools.

And more: expansive window spaces clad in curtains of equidistant wooden slats, woven rattan screens, a striped woven rattan envelope in an apparent state of collapse around a palm tree, panels of equally-sized, single-toned ceramic plates, composed in artful mosaics of colour flow, mellifluous building walls adorned with tiling featuring grades of grey, giant, stylized wooden and plastic bugs on a playground, stylish lettering sculptures constructed in dissonant fonts, potted palms and geometrically-arrange ground cover providing an organic counterpoint to the cornucopia of human irreverence, and everywhere, workers busily crafting finishing touches on yet another architectural landmark.

On one plaza lies an exhibit of coffee machines, which offers some natural appeal to me – especially if there is an opportunity to imbibe in some delectable regional coffee. Which there is at an adjoining cafe, the outdoor tables flanked by stylized teal sculptures of partial human bodies, engaged in quotidian activities that mimic those of adjacent and largely oblivious humans. Other than the staff patiently waiting in the storefronts, there is almost no human presence, only a few visitors and myself, begging the question as to what the intent of the place is – and when the crowds are expected to appear and justify the tremendous cost outlay of the place. Or is this just another fantastical idea of some deep-pocketed developer whose dreams have little connection with reality? While there may be a lot of money in Jakarta, perhaps the households with copious amounts of money look for more prosaic ways of decorating their households?

Having walked through the entire complex, it is time to continue on to the next attraction. But what would that be? I could walk in the general direction of PIK, although that would simply be too far to walk in its entirety – and despite the at least immediate presence of sidewalks, hardly a very pedestrian-friendly experience. Beyond the IDD, the terrain feels abandoned and large bereft of much of a human footprint, which also makes me wonder as to whether there would be any safety issues walking along the relatively isolated road. While there is some amount of vehicular traffic, there is virtually no foot traffic. Looking at the map, it seems that I could walk toward the Aloha entertainment complex, for lack of any other significant attractions in the area.

I continue along Jalan Thamrin, over the bridge crossing the diminutive Sungai Tahang that flows into the open sea visible in the distance. From this vantage point, the oblique sheet of grey-blue water seems lifeless, surprising, considering that the coastline is completely exposed to the Java Sea. At the roundabout, tall, steel-and-glass structures that seem entirely detached from their environment, and oversized statues on a podium of two Indonesian men in traditional apparel, gazing impassively over the passing traffic. Not far beyond, Aloha, a gated enclosure that caters to children with its assorted play areas as well as visitors wanting to indulge in ebullient and colorful street fare. The complex is set close to the shore and configured with a simulacrum of a beach. Erected in a large pool marking the front of the complex, a large, undulating pink dragon with orange and yellow ribbing erupting from its back, presumably to mark the year of the Dragon.

There are many visitors when I arrive, mostly families, and happily, they aren’t particularly interested in paying attention to me, which is fairly liberating, considering the amount of attention often showered on westerners. At the back, a portal to the beachfront concourse in the form of a sand-coloured young woman bearing floral leis. While the beach area is covered with sand, the nature of the guests – and the society at large – precludes any kind of beach experience that would be enjoyed by westerners. The Malay women remain fully clad in their hijabs, the heat and humidity hardly a reason to disrobe, considering the climate never changes much here. Eateries and drink stalls abound, but everything here is clean, brightly-lit, and with whimsical decor, a far cry from their brethren lining the streets of the country.

Given the amount of choice, I simply feel too overwhelmed to want to choose anything in particular. Then if I was to eat anything, I would prefer food that is traditional and interesting, and much of what I see offered at the kiosks and on restaurant menus doesn’t seem to qualify. At the entrance, I am told not to take photos by one of the attendants, which seems utterly ludicrous, and which I simply ignore.

Dusk is setting in, and it is time to bring the day to an end; I call an ojek and return to a quiet and private evening in my small but posh apartment in the sky in the PIK district.