Traffic miracles do happen in Jl. Hayam Wuruk, Kota/Glodok, Jakarta's Chinatown. I was marching along the sacred avenue, heading to some portion of the yummy dimsum (albeit limited selection) at the end of the journey, amazed that the street - used to be choke-a-bloc with cars on business hours and beyond, pollutions and what have you - was total clear. Only happens in Sincia, so the local, indonesianized dialect (Hakka? Hokian?) for Mandarin 'Xin Nian'. This 'heaven' also is only possible since 1999, as Gus Dur (then the President) re-acknowledged the rights of the Chinese-Indonesians to express their cultural identity that had been discrimanated throughout Suharto's tenure. Two-day holiday in a row, a very long weekend indeed, and it turns this City to an amiable one-fourth-ghost town. Just like Beijing, at the same time of the year. Yet so pleasant (cos the shops remain open). It's just like Iedul Fitri - empty. All the holidaymakers seem to have flown off to Bali, Singapore or joined the traffic jam heading to the closest sea sides.
Kaliber (short version for Jl. Kali Besar Barat), is two streets separated by the black-watered, canal-like gutter in the middle. I wish I could possess one of the shop-houses - or offices - lining up in these streets, some are so dilapidated. In June 2003, some artists did an exhibition in the roof-less ruins, and I'd go, 'shit', if only... Imagine to have a contemporary dance centre there - with a programe so eclectic like The Place in London. I know that some young architects have been trying to generate fundings to save these once beautiful quarters, still, to no avail.
Yesterday, in the daylight, I failed to re-locate the first Kota club I visited back in 1999. I didn't even know the name. We - a bunch of people from different nationalities - got stranded to that place, first mistaking it for a dangdut disco. If you don't know what dangdut music is - well, it's your problem. Find out. I remember clearly that the lobby had a strange ambience. Kind of heavy decoration (some green velvet as the floor? ouch!) with nasty-looking bouncers looking at us as if we were some extraterrestials got lost on earth. The sounds thudding from inside floated some mysterious air, and the shock (mine!) came as soon as I entered the space.
What a music! High pitched, high bpm tacky house, banging so loud, almost bleeding my ears. The big hall - I could not see the borders - was almost pitch dark, only occasionally lighted by the laser lighting splashing from some points. It was packed with those nocturnals whose eyes were closed, and head shaking to right and left. Chinese descendants - yound and middle age. I just met insanity en face. As Sheryl Garratt says in her book, Adventures in Wonderland: A Decade of Club Culture, "this wasn't clubbing as a pastime, it was clubbing as a religion, a release, a way of life." But she here referred another intake of clubbing, the one in New York, early 1970s that is, and it's just so funny to compare both, which I will do soon in one of these days.
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