Week One: A City Shaped by Gridlock

Eight thousand miles and several time zones later, my neighbor’s music woke me up. Back home, I was used to being woken up by the boys who lived downstairs. They had a habit of simultaneously playing drums and vacuuming early in the morning. This definitely wasn't them. It was religious music, haunting but beautiful, that accompanied my neighbor in her morning prayers.

After this unconventional wake-up call, I climbed out of bed and decided my morning mission was to stock my fridge. I put together the best conservative-but-still-suitable-for-95-degree-weather outfit I could find and headed outside. I rushed through the traffic that stops for no one to the convenience store across the street.

Roadside vendors in Central Jakarta

This city is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Jakarta’s fast-growing economy also creates fast growing divide among its people socioeconomically. This is true in a lot of cities in the world, but it shocks me to walk around a castle-like mall full of pristine designer stores, and ten minutes down the road there are men in torn clothes rolling carts down the streets selling bananas.

Fancy tea store in Plaza Senayan Mall

The traffic here is insane. It’s like a moving jigsaw puzzle of cars, bajajs, and motorcycles. My favorites are the gojek motorcycle taxis with dignified women riding on the back. These ladies sit sideways in their skirts while texting at 30 miles per hour. Its nearing the end of Ramadan and at sunset, people run through the halted gridlock to hand out snacks and water to drivers who have been fasting all day and haven’t reached their destination to break their fast.

The traffic also creates a weird sense of isolation. Sometimes I hesitate to go places because it takes so long to get through the maze of roundabout highways, one-way streets, and unwalkable sidewalks. The traffic shapes the way of life. People work certain hours to avoid being on the road, or they just work from home. Before I got here, my friends who knew Jakarta told me to “plan for Indonesian time.” They said this means plan to meet one to two hours later than scheduled, partially because it takes everyone so long to get anywhere.        

Communting in Bendunguan Hilir

But beyond the insane traffic and the hard-to-breathe air, this city has its charm. The hustle and bustle makes me appreciate the moments of quiet. I love the sound of pouring rain on my window and the twists and turns in the branches of the banyan trees that still find places to grow in the urban jungle. And the people I’ve met here are insanely nice: from my boss who picked me at the airport in the middle of the night, to my coworkers who helped me with literally everything, to the cab driver who spent an hour in traffic teaching me basic driving instructions in Indonesian (right, kanan, left, kiri, straight, lurus). It’s nice to feel welcome in a city where I know no one and don’t speak the language. There are so many different people, cultures, and religions here, I’m not sure if I’ll ever figure this place out, but in its own way, its beautiful. Here’s to nine more weeks.