Did ya kart her?

The Welcome Monument in Jakarta - a quiet observer of Indonesia's colourful political history.
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This journal entry brought to you by Marc...

Ahh, Jakarta, that city of wonders, the place where an Indonesian’s big dreams are made. And we certainly took our punt with the locals with delusions of grandeur just waiting to be realized!

We discovered the joys of shopping and Marc relished his zealous quest for stunning office attire. From  Sarinah to Plaza Indonesia to the dozens of little shops in Mangga Dua, we spent a whole day and a half sorting through Van Heusen shirts to the finer details of pin stripped suits and by the end of it we injected more than a million rupiah into Jakarta’s economy.

Decisions, decisions... which $3 shirt should I buy? I know - I'll take them all!
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Our long ‘debates’ over the merits and detriments of colonialism (Dutch and British colonialism in particular) reached its forte in the very fortress of Dutch colonialism: Café Batavia. With pictures of Elton John to Jawaharlal Nehru adorning the walls of this exclusive colonial club, we sipped our lattes and fresh juices in sartorial style and once again replenishing our delusions of post-colonial grandeur.

Grandeur aside, we felt much more in touch with ‘the people’ when we took one of several bajaj (pronounced ‘ba-jai’)- three wheeled metallic transport contraptions- to zip through the churning backstreets of Jakarta and had dinner on two occasions at one of our local warungs (street stalls) selling delicious mie goreng (fried noodles) and sate ayam (chicken satay). It seems the practice here is that buskers go to the people rather than people stumble across buskers (as in the practice in Sydney). Michael has a soft spot for musos and couldn’t resist their crooning charms whenever they ‘serenaded’ us for a spare thousand rupiah or so.