Jakarta
- Mar 6
- 3 min read
an ode to a city of inner beauty
the world's Jakartas lure with love, not lust
Well, Jakarta, there is no easy way to say this, but you didn’t make my Top 10. Or the Top 50, or the top, or even just the list. But then again, you know that I disdain these lists and that I made this one up just to tease you. You’re alright Jakarta. Sure, you are no Paris, but why would you be, or want to be? I'm sorry if I'm getting under your skin here, but see, that's exactly where I want to be. For yours isn’t a superficial Paris-beauty; yours is an underneath-beauty. And those who peel back your layers with wandering curiosity and still patience, will find something more intimate and lasting than looks.
You are not a destination city, Jakarta. But hey, it isn't you. It's us. It's our shallow definition of destination that keeps you off the bucket list.
You are not a destination city, Jakarta. But hey, it isn't you. It's us. It's our shallow definition of destination that keeps you off the bucket list. The way I see it, the way I see you, there is something beautifully honest about how you decay there by the seaside, an air to how you let the elements have their way with you without fully giving in to them—chipping off layer by layer of your facade to unveil the flesh and bones and soul beneath. You mesmerize with your street life's funk, and you are at your prettiest amid those lovely people who call you home. The farther I drifted from where a good tourist was supposed to be, the friendlier they greeted me, threw me smiles and laughs and picture poses in front of crumbling walls.
And isn't that more than enough to make any place worthwhile—its characteristic culture, its true self? Cities are artificial by nature, but some more than others. You are as natural as they come, Jakarta, perfectly imperfect.
Why lie, Jakarta? Why pretend that you are easy on the eyes of strangers—checking you out for a one-night-two-days-stand, soon off to generic affairs on Bali? You are no beach babe like that Kuta with the sandy smile. You don’t wear makeup. And you don’t smell so nice either. You've seen better days. But you got character. And improbable stories. Javanese realities. Let the tourists find their inner selves and pleasures in Ubud’s yoga retreats, meditation centers, and ateliers. They are the ones missing out on something a little rawer and realer. The meditation that is the street. The retreat that is the buzz. Art created on sidewalks. Those who like friction value what's abrasive over what's smooth.
We all adore the world’s Venices, Grand Canyons, and Machu Picchus, while few postcards leave the Jakartas. But they are the places that grow on us, seep into us, and stay there.
You don't cater to the slim appetites of hasty tourists who munch on sun and fun and whatever is easy to digest. You serve big portions of what life is like in majority-Indonesia. Thanks for letting me in on your back-alley secrets, those tricks at the end of little lanes where I got that buzzcut and the avocado-chocolate shake.
Here's the thing, Jakarta. We all adore the world’s Venices, Grand Canyons, and Machu Picchus, while few postcards leave the Jakartas. But they are the places that grow on us, seep into us, and stay there. Cities like you—like India's Chennai or Bolivia's La Paz—might be an acquired taste for many foreigners, but we will acquire it if we don't up and run away screaming. If we swallow that first bump, we'll be infatuated after days, in love after weeks, and heartbroken when we part after months or years. There is a magic to feeling such charismatic urban beauty before you can see it. And when we see it, we see it plenty and profoundly, and the bond is strong beyond looks.
As for you and me Jakarta—we didn’t get to spend enough time. And that's the only reason I didn't fall for you. No doubt. I don't know what could have been. But one thing I do know: you have a new friend in me, if not a future lover.
