A Night Spent in Jalan Jaksa

Andy Hill

I checked out where the “backpacker area” of Jakarta was before I went there. According to Wikitravel (my usual go-to), it was centered around a street called Jalan Jaksa. So, I decided to spend my only day in the city there.

It seemed far too easy, clichéd and obvious that I would automatically seek out the “backpacker area,” as if this were ever the most interesting part of any city.

A moral eclipse

Is it cheap and unimaginative to just slump into the part of town basically set aside for low-budget Westerners?

Yes, it is. But, I suppose these are the reasons why I went:

-I was only in the city for twenty four hours.

-I needed quick and easy information about the train situation.

-I needed the cheapest room I could find that offered Wi-Fi.

So I found my way to Jalan Jaksa and was surprised by how small it was for a city of Jakarta’s size. I chalked that up to the fact that Jakarta is not really a big destination for young foreign travelers. Tiny Bali receives far more visitors than Indonesia’s capital city, home to ten bazillion people.

I bought some street food and some coffee and found a room for 100,000 rupiah (the equivalent of $10) per night. I probably could have haggled for 80,000, but I was covered in sores and didn’t feel like it.

After dropping off my stuff, I went to explore Old Jakarta, or Kota Tua. You can read about that experience in another post here.

Life is grand

When I returned to my street around nine, completely exhausted from being awake for about 40 hours and walking all day, there was an outrageously loud party in the lobby of my tiny guesthouse.

The guy who checked me in that afternoon forgot to tell me about it. A stage had been erected and there were probably 50 people assembled there, kids running around, a band with a PA system, lights and food everywhere. Pictures of a young couple adorned the walls.

And God almighty was it loud. The reception guests were taking turns singing Indonesian pop songs which the band played, and the crowd was pretty lively for a wedding party with no alcohol. I really just wanted a quiet night in my room reading a book, to get some much needed sleep before waking at 5 a.m. to catch a nine hour train ride to Yogyakarta; but this would be impossible with the party going on.

“Life could be worse, though, couldn’t it?” I thought to myself.

I was quickly ushered to a table piled with food, given a plate and encouraged by gesture to eat like a pig. I took a seat next to some chain-smoking old guys who were getting downright rowdy listening to the music.

They offered me about nine hundred cigarettes.

An old woman kept bringing me warm cans of strawberry Fanta after she saw me pick one up when I walked in.

Little kids ran up to me, said “hello” and gave me high fives before running off laughing.  

I had an amazing conversation about indigenous Timorese spirituality with a man from Dili.

I was treated like part of the family, and it felt really good.

“Life is grand,” I kept thinking to myself.