Jakarta: Commence the Culture Shock

My arrival to Indonesia was eventful to say the least.

The flight landed at 23:30 and I got to customs around midnight. The first thing I noticed was the Arabian passengers from another flight. All the women were dressed in traditional black niqabs (slightly different than burkas) and sat in groups on the floor along the walls while the men waited in the queue. Children waited with the women or ran amok around the airport. One boy about seven years old had a very realistic toy gun that he kept pointing at the other children and once even at the customs officer. I shook my head in disbelief because in the US (and many other countries), the airport would be in full lockdown.

Niqab vs. Burka
Image taken from Google images 

When I was in the queue to pay the $25USD visa fee an immigration officer waved me and a few others (including a Canadian and an English couple) to another, shorter line about 100 meters away meant to be solely for Indonesians. When the Canadian got to the front, he was told he needed to go back and pay for the visa. We all knew we needed to pay, but somehow overlooked the small cashier window. Back we went. By the time we all had our visa receipts in hand, waiting to get our passports stamped it was well after midnight. The four of us, and a few stragglers, were the final passengers. The queue was moving very slowly, but we couldn't change windows because by this time only a few were still open. I could only hear snippets of what was being said, but I could see...

The customs officer would slam his hand on the counter and point back to the arrivals gate, as if to say "Go back to your country!" The passenger would then bang his fist on the counter, wave his passport and ticket at the officer and shake his head no. The officer would say "Where is..." The passenger would answer, "I already told you... I don't have... No one told me I must..." From what I could gather, the man had no return/onward ticket from Indonesia nor any hotel accommodations. He kept gesturing for the officer to stamp his passport, but the officer kept refusing. Finally the officer relented a bit and told him to wait a moment and make a phone call. Then security came over and told the man he couldn't stand exactly where the officer had just told him to wait. By this point the man was nearly in tears from frustration. He said, "I am just waiting where he told me to wait. He said I could make a phone call..." At this point I could tell this window would not be moving along any time soon. Not to mention that I didn't want to deal with a customs officer in a bad mood. I moved to the next window.

The officer at this window helped one passenger, then put up a sign that said, "Closed. Go to next window." Behind me there were still three passengers. I waited until I could make eye contact with the officer to show him that the other window had problems and there were only a few passengers left. After a few minutes he looked up and asked, "How many more passengers?" I looked around and answered, "Five?" He reopened his window. The man in front of me, also Saudi, gave him two passports. The officer asked where the owner of the second passport was and the man gestured for his wife to step forward. The wife donned a niqab.The officer addressed the wife and told her he needed her to remove the face covering so he could verify her identity and the husband shook his head no. So the officer closed her passport and handed it back to the husband, unstamped. The husband gave it back to the officer, but the officer just shook his head. He said "I'm not going to stamp if if she won't show her face." The husband tried to argue, but the officer just told him to step aside and they would deal with it after he helped the remaining passengers.

I was the next passenger and oh was I looking forward to talking to this man, clearly already stressed out and pushed to his limits for the day. He told me I needed to fill out my departure card and I panicked becuase I had proof of my ticket to Perth, but not the flight number. I told him this and he said it was OK. Probably because right now that was the least of his worries. He stamped my passport and I was on my way. Well, sort of.

When I finally got through customs to the luggage carrousel my backpack and the Canadian's surfboard were the only pieces left, looking very lonely indeed in the middle of the floor. It was almost 1:00 when I exited the airport. I waited in queue for a taxi for nearly forty minutes and it barely moved. An Indonesian who looked uncannily like Mario from Super Mario Bros. kept asking me if I needed a taxi, but it was an unofficial one without a meter and it made me uncomfortable. I really hate getting taken advantage of. I was chatting with a Filipino guy behind me who was familiar with Jakarta. We figured that our destinations were close together, so we asked Mario if he could take us both. It was cheaper and quicker to split a cab, so off we went with Mario.

I had made a reservation at a hostel called Six Degrees. When I arrived around 2:00 the guy I had awoken told me the hostel was full. I told him I had a reservation, gave him my name, and waited while he pulled it up. It took a few minutes, but then we realized I had somehow made the reservation for two nights later. Great. So then I said to the guy, "OK. Well, now it's two in the morning and I'm in Jakarta with nowhere to sleep. Wanna help me out?" He advised that I go to Hunny Hostel, not too far away and about the same price as Six Degrees. We went out to the street and he helped me hail a cab. Well, he tried to anyway. About four cabs went by, all occupied. There were a few locals sitting around a small television watching a football match and the guy from reception started talking to them. Then he asked me if motorbike was OK. Realizing this was my only option I agreed.

A moment later one of the football fans rode up on a motorbike, gave me a helmet and told me to climb on back. I was a little worried because this was my first time as a passenger and I had my 13kg backpack, but the guy was a good driver. Hunny Hostel is not an easy place to find. We drove around the general area taking a couple wrong turns and asking for directions  before we found it. About 100 meters away a group of young children (seven to twelve years old) saw me with my backpack, clearly out of place in Jakarta, and yelled "Hunny! Hunny!" and pointed in the direction of the hostel.

I rang the bell a few times and was just beginning to think no one would answer when a sleepy guy, appearing no older than nineteen, unlocked the door. "You're lucky," he told me. I overpaid the ojek (motorbike) driver because I misunderstood the price and was extremely grateful. By the time I settled into bed at Hunny Hostel it was nearly 3:00AM.

Welcome to Jakarta, Indonesia.