If you’ve ever backpacked, you’ve probably had occasion to turn up at some far flung destination with no accommodation booked, to then have to search for a bed in earnest.  Such was the situation that had befallen a Swiss couple that I’d met today.

Like me they had arrived in Bandung, some three hours east of Jakarta, the night before, but unlike me they had no accommodation booked.  They searched for some two hours, and on their twelfth attempt, finally settled on their first available option.  However all was not as it seemed.  For having been allocated a room on the karaoke floor, it became apparent that whilst I was staying at a business hotel for business travellers, they were also staying at a ‘business’ hotel of sorts. Throughout the night, they were kept up by the raucous singing of the drunken men and working girls.  To add insult to injury, the room was only barely clean; the shower water was a little bit brown and only lukewarm; and the spaghetti bolognaise churned out by the hotel restaurant consisted of noodles with sliced vegetables and sweet and sour sauce.
 
We had met as all three of us were headed on a day tour of one of the tea plantations in the Bandung vicinity, to be followed by a visit to Volcano Papandayan.  On the advice of the tour operator through whom I’d booked this tour, I indulged in a hearty breakfast to prepare for the day’s adventures.  As a hotel catering predominantly to Indonesian business travellers, the breakfast was Indonesian as expected.  On the serving table were mie goreng (fried noodles), nasi goreng (fried rice) and Indonesian congee.  Like Chinese congee, the Indonesian version was made from rice, but unlike Chinese congee, this was much thicker and laden with stock.  The stock tasted as if from packet mix, but with a good quality broth, no doubt would have been delicious.  You could also garnish it as you liked, with peanuts, fried spring onions, etc.  Perhaps the idea of noodles, rice and congee for breakfast doesn’t cater to every Western palate, but I guess it certainly caters to that of Indonesian business people.

Indonesian congee

Today, I found my way to the Jakarta zoo (Ragunan), or rather the kindly taxi driver drove me there. He was pleasantly friendly, but despite all his efforts on the 45-minute journey, conversation proved futile on account of my inability to speak Indonesian. He was also a little lacking in stature, probably a head shorter than me, so it amazed me that he actually had a line of vision above the dashboard.

Ragunan boasts the largest collection of Indonesian animals in any zoo in Indonesia. I found it to be a pleasant surprise, in particularly the primate collection which included many endangered species. The quiet of Ragunan zoo almost provided a reprieve from the hustle and bustle of central Jakarta and the ever-so-slightly cooler clime was also a welcome relief from the sweltering heat that I had been enduring over the previous two days.

I had to confess however that the attractions of (Ragunan zoo) were not my only motivation for staying another night in Jakarta. For having frequented the Grand Café at the Grand Hyatt Hotel two nights earlier and perused their buffet selection, I had been salivating at the thought of their lobster ever since. Unable to resist the temptation, I finally succumbed, which was where I found myself this evening.

My lobster (and prawn and oyster) plate

I started with what I had come to the Grand Café for, the lobster, and along with that the prawns and oysters too. The lobster was fresh but cold, obviously having been cooked and then refrigerated prior to serving. I prefer lobster freshly cooked and there had been many an occasion when I had gone to the Fish Markets in Sydney and bought live lobsters which I cooked fresh (steamed, not boiled, to maintain all the flavour). This wasn’t quite as good but it didn’t stop me going back for seconds, for lobster is lobster.

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Colonial Jakarta

On account of the heat and jetlag yesterday, I had done little else but wander around the air-conditioned shopping malls.  So today was my first real sightseeing expedition of Jakarta. On the whole, it was a little lacklustre – a maze of traffic and chaos, a concrete jungle interspersed with shanty buildings. However, my visit to the Indonesian National Museum proved to be reasonably interesting.  There were cultural artefacts from around Indonesia on display and a collection of Chinese ceramics including some from the Han Dynasty.

Night traffic in Central Jakarta

This evening I decided to eat Indonesian street food, having started the day in such a fashion.  On all my travels throughout South East Asia, I generally haven’t been able to fault these vendors, in terms of flavour at least, although some were obviously better than others.  They were authentic, cheap and filling, and catered to local taste buds as well as wallets.  On occasions I found the food at these little one man mobile operations better than at some restaurants where you paid more, although you obviously compromised on service and ambience.  No doubt the key was to head for the busiest stall, the one with the most locals.

On a street around the corner from my hotel, there was an abundance of warungs (food vendors on mobile carts) dishing up an abundance of Indonesian specialties.  They offered a variety of local dishes including nasi goreng (fried rice), mie goreng (fried noodles), sates, curries and fried meats such as fish and chicken.  I headed for one of the busiest warungs I could find and ordered nasi goreng (about 60p).  It was mildly spicy and mixed with shredded chicken, finely diced beef, liver and spring onions and was suitably tasty, although it was missing a pan fried egg on top.  It also came with prawn crackers, which the Indonesians seemed to love as an accompaniment to their food, and of course the mandatory chillies. Also available on the table was sambal (a spicy Indonesian condiment) for those wanting that extra bit of kick.

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Realising I had missed breakfast this morning at the hotel, I suddenly developed a craving for pancakes. In a city such as Jakarta where pancakes are probably not the normal breakfast choice, I realised this was probably futile, and instead headed out to wander; ‘hunt and gather’ if you will. Stumbling upon a bakery, I proceeded to investigate. Not being sure whether the lady behind the counter could speak English or not, I tentatively made some inquiries about the items on display, whereupon her responses led me to make the following purchases:

My Indonesian breakfast

“Its egg, beef and mayonnaise” she said, referring to the item on the left. It turned out to be egg and ham. “Its chicken and potato” she said, referring to the item on the top right, but was actually beef and potato. “Its shrimp and chicken” she said in reference to the bottom right. No second guesses, but it turned out to be tofu with some indiscernible matter pasted on top. But they were all tasty and filling enough, and interestingly boxed with chillies, a mandatory Indonesian accompaniment. All this cost only about 60p.

One of my most enjoyable experiences of eating wagyu beef was a few years ago at Per Se, the New York City outpost of the illustrious chef Thomas Keller of French Laundry fame. The experience left me gasping. Deliciously fatty and tender, it was the most gratifying of oral experiences. Growing up in Australia, I was particularly proud that the wagyu was of Australian origin, but thereafter it prompted my boyfriend at the time to affectionately bestow the nickname of wagyu (Australian cow) on me. Well we are no more, and I have had wagyu many times since, including notably at one of London’s best Japanese restaurants, Umu. However nothing had ever come close to being as divine as that time at Per Se which will forever be etched deep in my memory as one of the most memorable dining highlights of my life.

Wagyu beef rendang with rice

For tonight’s dinner I chose one of the restaurants in the Grand Hyatt Hotel in Jakarta: the Grand Café. Essentially a buffet restaurant with a large capacity to feed the masses, the decor was designed for such a purpose in the style of unpretentious comfort. For about £12 it was also possible to have the buffet which appeared to be quite varied with seafood, Western and local dishes, and scrumptious looking desserts. Wines appeared to be available although these weren’t listed on a drink menu, which instead included soft drinks and cocktails.

However what had drawn me here was the wagyu beef rendang. Wagyu is such a fine piece of meat that to me it should be cooked medium rare. I was intrigued by how this dish would turn out as rendang involves the meat being slow cooked for several hours in coconut milk and spices till the spices are absorbed. However, with such a fine piece of meat, and rendang being an Indonesian specialty, I was hoping that the combination might unexpectedly work.

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The first thing that struck me as I tried to exit Jakarta’s International Airport late yesterday afternoon after clearing immigration was that there were no taxis. Not a single one. Perplexed I searched high and low with my very unyielding luggage trolley, attempting to gracefully dodge this scary looking man yelling at me in a language I could not understand. With no taxis in sight, was I meant to catch one of those packed buses with all the locals hanging out of the bus door? Surely Jakarta couldn’t be umm… this backwards? The yelling did not cease despite what I thought was my well judged inclination to ignore him, but eventually with his persistently wild gesticulating arms, I was made to realise that I had used the wrong exit, the workers exit, and I was to retrace my steps back through to the other end of the airport, to a more civilised arrival hall with ATM machines, foreigners, and taxis waiting.

One type of Jakartan transportation, the Bajai (auto rickshaw)

The first crisis over, I was swiftly faced with crisis number two. On attempting to withdraw cash, using both cash cards and in all five ATM machines three times over, I realised neither of my cards worked. With only the sum total of £5 in my pocket it was not enough for cab. So it was to be the bus after all. My thumbs were a blur as I sent frantic messages to my bank manager during the long bus ride into town, but it would be some four agonising hours before my account was “unlocked”.

Which was why that night, after all was resolved, in a ‘Ripley’s Believe It Or Not Moment’, I did not eat dinner, feeling all too exhausted and all too jetlagged. I woke up absolutely ravenous, but as I didn’t want to leave the air-conditioned comfort of my hotel room to brave the 35 degree heat, I only finally emerged at about lunchtime. By my count, this meant I had not eaten for some 26 hours since the noodles at the airport. Surely this justified some comfort eating once more.

I headed for the buffet at the Japanese restaurant, Keyaki, at the 5 star Sari Pan Pacific Hotel. Jakarta’s searing heat was like a surge of electricity to my system so the restaurant being air-conditioned was one irresistible draw card, that and the fact that it is rated by Indonesia Tatler as one of the best restaurants in Indonesia in both 2007 and 2008. It is styled in the usual Japanese fashion; glossy dark wood tables, lantern light fittings. Also, the presence of the atypical sushi bar is perhaps also a giveaway.

Sashimi and sushi selection

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Two dodgy aeroplane meals (bland chicken curry, soggy rice, overcooked vegetables, etc) and four movies later I arrived at the International Airport at Kuala Lumpur on route to my destination, Jakarta. As I stepped off the plane, I marvelled at how one moment you could be in one country and half a day later on the other side of the world. Attached to such mobility was a certain freedom of movement that struck me as somewhat surreal.

I was starkly reminded of where I was when I visited the facilities at Kuala Lumpur’s Low Cost Carrier (KLLC) Terminal at Kuala Lumpur’s International Airport and the first cubicle I encountered was a squat toilet. Not exactly to my preference, I visited another and it amused me no end when I discovered a warning sign advising those that custom this toilet not to squat on top of the toilet seat itself.

No squatting on the loo...

Clearly cultural differences infiltrated even at this level of everyday life. I guess there was a risk that one could fall in which would presumably not have been too pleasant. It reminded me of the occasion when one of my Japanese girlfriends went on a tour of a Sumo Stable (sumo training house) where unsurprisingly the toilets were also proportionally sumo sized. “It was this big,” she said, drawing a full circle around her petite size six frame as far as her arms would stretch. “I was so scared of falling in, I held onto the walls for dear life”.

Anyway, with four more hours to kill before my budget airline flight to Jakarta, I decided to eat, partly to fight fatigue, partly to ward off boredom. In an airport in the UK, this might have been Garfunkel’s. Here at Kuala Lumpur’s Low Cost Carrier Terminal was Asian Kitchen, which served noodles and rice dishes. For the bargain basement price of about £1.50, I ordered soup noodles with fish balls and dried pork rind, which reconstituted back to a soft mushy form on contact with the liquid. Overall the soup was decent and a good time killer.

Having unsuccessfully tried to convince the girl at the check-in desk that I was worthy of an upgrade to business class on my Malaysian airlines flight, I prayed; “Dear God, please: (1) let me have an entire row to myself; (2) if not, then at least let me sit next to some charming piece of eye candy that will flirt outrageously with me for the duration of the trip; (3) failing that, definitely no horizontally challenged person, so challenged they cannot fit in their seat without the armrest being up; and finally (4) no screaming babies located in the nearby vicinity.”

So it was with some relief that I found myself in an aisle seat with an empty space next to me. Crisis over, I turned my attention to the in-flight magazines. Devouring the list of movies on offer, I wondered whether the food would be any good.

The last time I flew it had been to New York City over a month ago on a paid-for business class trip – I’d been ever so excited about the prospect of Upper Class on Virgin Atlantic; the limo service, the lounge at Heathrow and especially the four-course meal on the flight! I hadn’t expected gourmet, but when the reality arrived I found the food to be disappointing, something closely resembling bad microwave dinners but served on plates with proper cutlery. Even the food in the lounge had not been up to par. Although the lounge was an icon of futuristic chic, modern, luxurious and fun, the cod I ordered from the menu tasted like it had been cooked from frozen. Dear Sir Richard Branson, for £3,500, even if it was someone else’s money, I had expected better.