Indian Food in Irish Pubs

My uber ride back home to West Jakarta across 35 kilometers of Jakarta traffic last night cost me 1 hour of my time and 90,000 rupiah (US$6.67). I’ve been debating whether I’ve wanted to lease or buy a car here, but the convenience of not having to deal with the stress of Jakarta traffic and responsibility of owning a car have prevented me from making any moves towards a future self with a car sidekick while here—something that really impresses the ladies, like a Toyota minivan.

Earlier in the day I met with Vara, an old friend that I had met at the very beginning of my time in Indonesia, in Kemang—an area in south Jakarta that is known for having fancy stores, great restaurants, and fun, expensive nightlife. She’s a dynamic, free-spirited, independent, and strong person. She has a beautiful smile, a heart that you can’t fit your arms around, and eyes that make men lose track of time.

After a traffic-delayed lunch and PG-13 drinks at a coffee shop across the street, we parted ways. I went to the gym to recollect myself and she went to meet some of her friends that had just finished a football (soccer) match. After my workout, I picked up a sub-par lamb gyro bowl on my way to meet with them. The GPS directions she gave me led me into the “slums” of Kemang. The locals would stop all activity and stare at me as I walked past them with my headphones plugged in my ears and my eyes glued on google maps from my Samsung Galaxy 6. When I looked up to meet their gazes, my smiles were met with curious stares, “what’s this ‘Bule’ (foreigner) doing here?” When I looked higher, I could peak through the low tin roofs to see lights emitting from the 24 storey “Estate” blocking any view of the sky. It’s not like we could see the stars anyway. Too much light and man-made pollution.

I finally found her and her friends at the most peculiar place: an Irish pub that serves Indian food. The pub was actually quite full; filled with ‘bule’ men and local girls. The two groups were constantly scanning the room trying to find the "exception." Her group was at a table near the bar. After introductions and some small talk, my friend and I went to the “family” portion of the restaurant to have dinner. I ordered a gin and tonic and we split naan and Chicken Tikka Masala.

Sandy, one of the guys from the football group hobbled over and joined us. He’s tall, kind of boyish, curly light brown hair, and quite young (possibly younger than me). He received the only red card in the football match and sprained his ankle.  It was a tough loss. As customary when you meet other foreigners, you ask questions to get the following information: [name] [where you’re from] [what are you doing here]. While it’s a bit repetitive, it helps you cater to your audience. It wasn’t too hard this time. From the get-go, it seemed pretty obvious that he wanted to talk about money.

Sandy’s company hired him to open their market in Indonesia by working with regulators to crack down on small-scale illegal importers that sell their goods over social media. It seemed like every sentence had a price-tag associated with it. You know how they say that you shouldn’t believe what you see in the movies? Well, I’m too cheap to go to the movies anyway.

Halfway through dinner, one of his friends stopped by the table and asked for the name of a massage place that’s known to have amazing “talent.” He wrote it down on a napkin and handed it to his friend. He told me his clients always look forward to going there, everything is a “10.” It’s not all fun and games though. Vendors leave keys to expensive hotels and vacations on his desk, but he’s not supposed to accept anything; it's tough to say no. Whatever. In a couple years he can retire: he sold his own company a while back and is due for a huge payout soon. At the end of dinner, he took the bill without hesitation. I think he was trying to impress Vara.

“No need to pay me back, it’s my company card. I don’t pay for anything here, it's pocket change anyway. Buy some drinks for others the next time you go out.”

I called my uber and offered to give him a ride back to his place since he had injured his foot.

“I’m fine, I live at the Estate next door…”

“ahhh”

I wonder what his view is like from up there. Does he ever look down? Or does he only look up? It doesn’t matter. He’s in the midst of moving to another hotel in the center of Jakarta. He transfers money directly to the hotel owner’s bank account next week. The parties there are going to be sick.

I had actually gotten in the wrong car initially. When I entered the correct uber, I found that Rafol, the driver, could speak English. Sigh. I had spent five minutes giving him really bad directions in broken Bahasa while I waited for him to arrive. I had a long way home, so I engaged in some small talk. Rafol had worked on a cruise ship for a while before losing his job. He starts another six month tour with another cruise company in August.

“The hours are long, but the money is much better than anything that would pay over here. I just kept searching and searching. Being out of work is much worse though. It’s been pretty tough, but it’ll get better.”

As I handed him some money to pay for the toll, I looked up at his eyes. I couldn’t tell if they were red and wet from a long day of work, or red and wet from all the stress he’s endured during his 1.5 years of unemployment. I feel like I see a lot of those eyes here. But they always come with such genuine smiles.

When I was younger I really enjoyed watching a short anime called “kino no tabi.” It follows a girl and her talking motorcycle as they traveled across the world visiting different cities. The premise of the anime was that “the world is not perfect, therefore it is beautiful.” I liked that. There’s good and bad, things that make you happy and sad. It’s hard to see its beauty past those red, wet eyes though. Medicated eye drops might help.

As I got down from the uber, I tipped Rafol 50,000 rupiah, bringing his net income from the one hour ride to 140,000 rupiah (US$ 10.37). He told me I was his last stop for the night. He had a 2 hour drive back to his home in East Jakarta. I think my tip might have covered the toll fees home.