There was a breaking point for Jakarta. Rainy days and years of torrential incompetent urban planning were about to pay a heavy terrible toll on the city. Daniel Pope recalls the flood.
Dusk established early in the Indonesian capital covered 15 January 2013. For days, the water was flowing in outlying hills. Drainage of the city system, clogged with tons of waste, could not cope. That night, rivers burst and overflowed valves.
The next morning, a strange silence hovering over Jakarta. Workplaces were empty. closed stores. The usual din of traffic was strangely absent. The walls were dappled with cockroaches hung above the waterline disorder where the bloated carcass bobbed rats. Dozens of people were dead - drowned or electrocuted. More than 10,000 residents of flooded areas were evacuated.
After a night in Menteng stranded upstairs in the house of a friend and a morning recovery with coffee, I was ready to try to go home, which was a rented room in west Jakarta. This meant finding a taxi predator enough to be in these conditions, the negotiation of a necessarily high price and looking for a dry process. The first two parts of the equation was relatively painless, not the third.
While trying to go through Tanah Abang, an area known for organized crime, we came to a man who has been usefully direct vehicles on a large, but not impenetrable, puddle. " Dua ribu (two thousand)!" He shouted. When I questioned without unlawful, he stuck his head out the window, noticed the color of my skin and yelled, " Sepuluh ribu (ten thousand)!"
On another day, I could have pretended not to understand Indonesia allows criminals to extort motorists. Instead, I paid up. We crossed the puddle, sailed on a slight rise, then discovered the enterprising thug directing traffic in an area submerged under four feet of water. I should have taken greater note of any decline cars. Other routes have proven equally impassable. Obviously, I would not go home.
It is said that English responds to adversity by making a cup of tea. But there is another type of English. When things get tough, he does not seek obediently the consolation of a cup of tea. He goes to the pub. Inside my local bar, the water was at the base, due to the building being located in a hollow. This created the impression that customers, happy to have been there since last night, floating on the water with their legs submerged. Certainly not the first time they were bowl. Customers were few, mind - only the most determined drinkers. The kind of guy you'd find make merry down the Apocalypse Arms, blissfully unaware of hellfire rain down around them.
I ordered breakfast - a large Bintang - took a sip, and surveyed the surroundings. I had not seen so much water in the wrong place my friend had cast his wooden cabin cruiser in the Thousand Islands. I took another sip and throws my mind to that fateful day.
The boat had just left Pulau Burung Indah, an island of large trees occupied by birds whose droppings sounded like the incessant patter of rain. We had on board two young Dutch tourists who had paid for a pleasure cruise weekend in this idyll of uninhabited islands for most private and set in crystal clear waters. Already annoyed at being dotted with bird droppings - Bird Island was an unscheduled stop -. They wondered if Judd, loud American skipper was really experienced seadog he claimed to be when they signed
Every time the boat left the harbor, it was largely filled with crates beer. He could easily be mistaken for a Bintang freighter. Only five hours into the trip, Judd was, to use a nautical sentence, three sheets to the wind. He was a competent crew of three local young men, who should have ensured a safe trip. But on this vessel skipper or publican - take your pick - had the last word at the wheel or behind the bar - again, choose. The crew could argue all they like that are originating in tropical waters, as opposed to the streets of Boston where Judd welcomed, made the best judges of navigational problems. It was during one of these potential mutinies, with Judd insisted the boat stay on the course he had set, the keel crunched into a reef and the ship began to sink.
Captain Judd gave the order to abandon ship. His own role in this process was to transfer all the remaining bottles of beer in big bags of transport, diving into the water with them, and waded toward the nearest shore, shouting: "Follow me" Despite reluctance to enter the sea, or to follow Judd anywhere further, tourists picked up their belongings and climbed over the side. Luckily, we went out on a populated island, which allows us to negotiate the passage to the mainland.
Splashing out of my reverie, I left the bar and noticed something special. my experience flooding, always water down shortly after the rain had stopped, but this time it was getting deeper. I quickly taught me the answer. a barrier had collapsed on the river Ciliwung bloating and more water was spitting in the city.
It seemed an abandon ship was called for. But how can we disembark from a sinking city that was riddled by decades of having too much Judds captain at the wheel? My first impulse was to wade back to the bar and do what Judd: save the beer. But the situation with the perilous search, I decided to stay sober. I also wanted a second attempt to get home before the boat rental has become the only option.
That day, the water actually increased to record levels, drowning all major roads and even the presidential palace. Nevertheless, I managed to do at home. How? Per move. As I waited for a taxi, a nice high and dry room to rent in some apartments caught my attention. It was furnished, so I paid the rent for one month and moved immediately. The next day I went to get my goods, most of them soggy and ruined my old house. Then, feeling tired Jakarta, I booked a trip to the Thousand Islands, a destination much drier.