Since 2015, I’ve spent a fair amount of time in Southeast Asia. Every country is similar. The morning begins with Nescafe, powdered creamer and sugar. By 9, the heat burns through my clothes. Convenience stores have the same heavy glass doors, the same soft cakes and Milo cookies, the same instant noodles, the same air con that blasts onto the sidewalk, and the same cold bottled water I consume and sweat out gallons at a time.
The air smells of diesel and durian and incense. Being out on the narrow, uneven, broken walkways and streets with scooters and vendors and buses exhausts me.
Hotels are an oasis. The dollar is strong and labor is cheap, affording superior experiences at unreal prices. Nobody expects a tip, because tips do not sustain low-wage workers like in America. When you tip, you mean it, and it makes people feel they’ve done something exceptional to deserve it—the way tipping is supposed to work.
Every country is similar, and every country is different. Religion plays a large role in these differences, whether it’s Buddhism (Indochina), Catholicism (the Philippines), or Islam (Malaysia and Indonesia). Colonialism has made unique imprints, too. The French occupied Vietnam, and the bread is fantastic. Singapore and Malaysia have echoes of Britain, and 320 years of Dutch rule in Jakarta contributes to its fascinating, collapsing architecture.
Regardless of who colonized what part of Southeast Asia (except maybe for Singapore) western European “order” never took hold. A former traffic circle in Yogyakarta is now a chaotic, loud intersection. It’s a perfect metaphor. Were it a circle, traffic would flow. The problem is, a smooth flow doesn’t feel right, here.
I imagine European masters yelling about order, discipline, and “civilizing” the inhabitants. It’s not that the inhabitants are uncivilized. Somehow, everything works. It simply works in its own way, and on its own time.
We had not planned to meet Ardi’s family until we did. A trip to his school reconnected him to friends he hadn’t seen in 15 years, and a series of spontaneous reunions followed.
Ardi has a friend named Ardi. At 2 in the afternoon, they decided they could not meet. Two hours later, they sat together at a Krispy Kreme, chatting happily about high school. Plans change like the weather, and spontaneity is a part of life.
What makes Indonesia different?
Indonesia is ancient. In the 19th century, Eugene Dubois discovered hominid remains on Java that were a million years old. At various epochs in history, it belonged to other countries or kingdoms, its geographic boundaries always in flux. The Indonesia we know has existed only since 1945.
In Indonesia, I smelled far less incense than I’m used to smelling, and saw more minarets and prayer rooms than in other regions of Asia. While I might compare it to Malaysia, Malaysia was a British interest, and the Dutch governed differently.
The food is remarkable. The depth of flavor created with always-fresh spice is unlike anything I’ve experienced outside India. Ingredients like jackfruit, tempeh, glass noodles, sambal, and peanut sauce are unfamiliar to most Americans. It’s impossible to recreate the flavor in the United States. Noteworthy, too, are the number of restaurants owned by women. They brand their businesses with their photos, and they’re locally famous for their cooking. Their families continue their businesses long after they’re dead.
Remnants of Dutch colonialism remain in the food and beverage sector, too, but wane with passing time. In Malang, Toko Oen purports to make ice cream in the old Dutch style from a colonial Dutch storefront. The place was empty, dirty, and unfriendly. They were out of Spekulatius ice cream. The fading menu was the most wondrous thing about the place. Ardi remembers its heyday, a quarter-century ago, when lines ran out the door and people could not find seats.
Nearby, a beauty shop beneath a chipping facade provided orthodontic service. For a few hundred bucks, the owner fit braces alongside fake nails and hair extensions. For an instant, I considered coming home with a full set of bright-white veneers. Then I remembered an article I read about people going to Turkey for dental cosmetics and eating soup the rest of their lives.
A museum in Singapore, A museum in Indonesia
At the Asian Civilisations Museum in Singapore, there’s a tremendous wing containing Indonesian historical artifacts. It’s an immaculate, curated display. “If this display were in Indonesia,” said Ardi, “nobody would care. The lights would not work and broken cases would house the artifacts.”
He was correct. The museum in Singapore created a sense of pricelessness. Museums in Jakarta have holes in the floor, displays with no lights, and artifacts covered in dust. There’s an ongoing argument in the museum world about whether well-resourced nations should display or return priceless artifacts taken from other lands. I see the root of the argument but have no simple answers. Yet, I don’t want someone to curate and preserve old Batavia. A lack of maintenance adds to its charm and the feeling of a bygone era crumbling into the past.
Indonesia’s greatest museums aren’t the indoor types full of relics behind glass, anyway. Borobudur and Prambanan, two religious sites built by different dynasties in the 8th and 9th centuries, stand as testament. One is Buddhist, one is Hindu, and both exist in a now-Muslim nation. Borobudur is the largest Buddhist temple in the world; Prambanan the largest Hindu temple in Southeast Asia second only to Angkor Wat. As historians study them, both sites reveal new secrets. Etchings under ash. Buried relics. It’s living history.
From a train that traversed Java, I watched farmers working their rice fields. Scooters raced up and down rural streets. Tiny villages had grand masjids and monuments and cenotaphs. At a tiny station, a group of schoolkids on a field trip watched the trains come in and out and waved. A trip between Surabaya and Yogyakarta is about $16 in economy class. Many of the kids waving may never leave their villages to make the journey. People packed and unpacked boxcars in quick-time. The trains kept to schedule.
As we checked into our early-morning flight home, the clock struck 5:35. A chime sounded from the PA system, indicating an announcement. A muezzin sang the adhan—the call to sunrise prayer. When he finished several minutes later, the chime sounded again, as it might to bookend any other airport announcement.
In short, that’s Indonesia. Busy. Dirty. Developing. Equatorial. Wonderful.