How to Ring in Ramadan

Ramadan starts on Thursday. Indonesia is home to the world’s largest Muslim population.

I know shamefully little about the Islamic tradition generally, and close to nothing about Ramadan specifically. I’ve never even had a Muslim friend who celebrated Ramadan, let alone lived in a city where the vast majority of people will be observing it. I don’t know what Jakarta will become in a matter of days.

But I hear stories.

The stories are conflicting—that the entire city shuts down completely; that everything stays open but restaurants pull down their curtains so fasting Muslims can’t see in; that bars close, and restaurants serve all alcoholic beverages in teacups and coffee mugs; that all the street food stands will be closed; that nothing but street food stands will be open; that traffic will increase exponentially; that the streets will be empty. But consensus seems to have been reached on one thing: namely, that bars and clubs will not be open.

My life in Jakarta has not included many crazy nights at clubs, so this news doesn’t weigh too heavy on my heart. But it did serve as sort of a challenge to squeeze all the party out of Jakarta before it dries up for a month. It meant that this past weekend carried the same hopeful nostalgia and anything-goes mentality of New Year’s Eve or Senior Week at college: this is the last chance, everything is about to change. The world is ending, and we have no use for caution or being reasonable.

That is to say, in the second shameful admission of this blog post, we used the impending sacred holiday as an excuse to party like Dionysus pledging a frat. And though it may have taken me three days to fully recover (I’m not the spry college girl that I once was, downing vodka shots and Tang), I don’t have any regrets. But believe me, I’m now welcoming a month of detox.

The way I see it, there are several bases that must be tagged in order to make a Saturday night in Jakarta a truly epic home run. If you ever find yourself in Jakarta in mid-late July, and feel a similar need to get all the party out of your system for a bit, feel free to adjust these guidelines to meet your particular needs, or use as is:

First Base: The pre-party. Obviously any real “going out” experience requires a pre-party in some form, but it takes on a new level of import in a Muslim country like Indonesia, where the drinks you’ll be forced to order when out have prices commensurate with the import tax on booze. Taking that economic tidbit under advisement, several friends and I indulged in a several-hours-long pre-party, during which Indonesian beers and Swedish vodkas were consumed, and American music and drinking games played. Note: the pre-party in Jakarta is also the essential time to get in any conversing with your friends that you may desire. Granted, clubs play music at a high volume worldwide, but the decibel level of audio accompaniment in Indonesia, regardless of venue (nice restaurants, cafes, wine bars), is baffling. M and I have yelled at each other through many a dinner, and we were not fighting. So if one of the things you like about your friends is the conversation they provide, take care of that during the pre-party.

The pre-party then segues into the drawn-out exit, which leads to the ride to the destination. The apartment-to-club commute in Jakarta is a more notable experience than it is in the States, partly because Jakarta is sprawling and traffic-filled, and partly because there are not really any discernible traffic laws here, both in terms of how a vehicle conducts itself on the road, and how its passengers conduct themselves inside. I will leave the details of this commute up to your imagination, as I value my mother’s heart health (JK mom!!! We all wore helmets and drove at 15 mph the whole time.).

Second Base: Some dirty, sketchy club. For my final weekend of partying in Jakarta, a friend promised me what he described as “a rude tour of Jakarta.” I felt that to be appropriate and agreed, and was thus conveyed to Club 36, a fine establishment featuring a rainbow-lit staircase, a midget doorman, clientele prone to vomiting, shot glasses in test-tube holders, and staff dancing on table- and bar-tops. Of course, there are classier places in Jakarta, lounges with table service and vomit-free floors, places filled with bule and rich Indonesians in Laboutin’s. Those places are not included on a rude tour of Jakarta.

Definitely not clutching the wall for support.

Third Base: Bang Roby. I don’t really know how to convey Bang Roby to readers outside of Indonesia who do not understand the wonder that is Jakarta street food. I suppose I can offer an explanation this way: Street food here is delicious. Bubur ayam (a rice porridge with chicken) is perhaps the most delicious type of street food*. Bang Roby has perhaps Jakarta’s best bubur ayam**. If you are anywhere within a 5 km radius of Bang Roby when you leave the club and don’t stop by for some bubur ayam, you’re doing it wrong.

Happily anticipating the bubur

The bubur. She may not be the prettiest girl at the party, but she sure knows what she’s doing.

*This is clearly a debatable issue, and there are times when I’m not in the mood for bubur and would prefer, say, nasi uduk or mie goreng. But bubur, maybe because it’s the most different from anything you can find in other countries, tops my list of Jakarta street food. It has a texture and taste completely its own; never has an egg yolk broken so beautifully and blended so sumptuously into its surrounding substance; never have krupuk been so perfectly employed to add crunch to the smoothness of the bubur; never has chicken skin been fried so crisply and used so judiciously to sharpen the dish’s creamy taste. Bubur ayam comes in all sorts of variations, with additions ranging from corned beef to cheese to lamb, though I opt for the classic.

**This point, too, is clearly debatable. In fact, I may even refute it myself, since there’s a great spot a little closer to our house that I’ve found fairly epic, and storied other bubur places scattered across the city. But Bang Roby carries an appeal that none else do. First of all, it’s only open during the hours of 10PM-6AM, approximately, meaning that it’s filled with people who have come straight from the bar, or people who are there to linger, for whom Bang Roby is the activity of the evening. It’s bigger, too, than most street food venues, with long wide tables that can accommodate dozens of rollicking, loud parties. It’s clearly family-owned, and the owners remember their clients. Though, given the state of many patrons when they stumble (ahem) upon Bang Roby, it’s unclear whether the reverse is true…

4) Home Plate: Morning call to prayer. Hearing those mournful notes peal out across the city’s loudspeakers, alerting the observant that it’s time to begin that day’s spiritual duties, while you’re just wrapping up the previous night’s decidedly non-spiritual exploits, is an experience so split between pride and shame that it’s not to be missed. The morning call to prayer usually occurs sometime between 5 and 6 AM. If you hear it while you’re, say, just paying your bill at Bang Roby, you’re doing your “rude tour” correctly. We were very correct this past weekend.

A related, but different experience: getting into a cab to go home after a long night out, and saying “Malam,” to the driver, only to be corrected by his response: “Tidak malam. Pagi.”

Grand Slam: Stadium. This last marker is only for pros, and I can’t claim to have hit it. Stadium is an infamous club in Jakarta. It can fit 2,000 people and is only open from Thursday night to Sunday night. Nonstop. They have rooms to rent so that you don’t have to leave. They sell synthetic drugs across the bar counter (so I hear). You likely won’t make it to Bang Roby before they close up shop if you go to Stadium. We started the evening with the intention of ending up there, but the night’s path took such turns as rendered that unfeasible. I suppose that one’s for next year’s pre-Ramadan rager.