jakarta’s coffee streets and midnight algae blooms

i woke up to the sound of something clattering in the street outside my goodbye. not sure if it was a sack of rice or a drunk guy trying to assemble a boombox. either way, the air was thick with that 24.89°f glug-glug of humidity. i checked my phone-temperature’s 23.91, pressure’s 1007, and the sea level’s creeping up like it’s judging my life choices. yeah, this place is a sauna. but hey, at least it’s not raining. yet.

so i grabbed my leather-bound coffee thermos-brand new, smelled like beans and regret-and sauntered into a café that looked like it was built by a secret society of narwhals. the barista, who I later learned was a full-timeounty woman named ila, handed me a ce HCl special. it tasted like burnt cinnamon and existential dread. fun! i spent an hour debating whether to add sugar or just let the bitter take over. ila winked and said, ‘if you cry, it’s on you.’ i didn’t. obviously.

the neighborhood here is a mystery. i’ve only met my next-door neighbor once. he’s a man in his 70s with a beard that’s clearly made of old newspapers and regret. he once tried to sell me a bag of ‘vegetables’ that looked like they’d been through a war. i’m pretty sure they were plastic. if you ask him about it, he just smiles and says, ‘it’s the culture here.’ i’m not sure i trust that. if you get bored, cities like bandung or borobudur are just a short drive away. no frills, no compliments. just a car and a map.

i heard that the market on jalan semanggi is haunted by a ghost vendor who only sells mangoes at 3am. i didn’t buy any, but some guy at the next table told me he once saw it. i laughed. he looked at me like i’d just confessed to stealing his soul. another local warned me about the rice stalls-someone told me they’re all run by a single guy who steals your money and gives you a stick. i didn’t check. i’m not that brave.

the weather’s this weird. it’s not hot, not cold. just… there. like the kind of day where you forget if you’re thirsty or just refusing to drink water. i spilled my coffee on my notebook. it’s now a modern art piece. the stain says, ‘i’m here, and i’m not impressed.’

someone told me that the local bakery’s cinnamon rolls are actually made from recycled tire parts. i didn’t believe it. but then i saw a kid eating one and smiling like it was a religious experience. i took a bite. it tasted like asphalt and hope. i’m not sure which is worse.

i checked the Yelp for nearby hotels and found a place called ‘the green halo’ that claims to have ‘eco-friendly vibes.’ packed my bags, but then realized i forgot my passport. again. classic. i had to bike to the nearest embassy, which was a 10-minute ride past a street artist painting a mural of a dancing banana. he was inconspicuous. i tipped him in candy. he didn’t take it. still, i felt good.

the pros? the coffee. the cons? the coffee. i realized i’ve been drinking three cups a day and still feel like a caffeine addict. ila told me to try a local blend called ‘lintel legacy.’ i did. it was like drinking soil after a rainstorm. not great. but it was authentic. i wrote a review on TripAdvisor called ‘flavor of regret.’ it now has 4 stars. some people say it’s fake. i say it’s true.

the neighbors here are interesting. last night, a group of teens practicing parkour in the alley outside my window. they were so focused on not falling, they didn’t notice me. i was too busy staring at the algae blooms in my fish tank. it’s a thing here. green, floating, and mildly sentient. i’m not sure if it’s a sign or just the ecosystem being jerks.

i heard that the beach three blocks away is used for secret rituals. someone told me that. i didn’t go. i’m not that brave. instead, i walked to the river and saw a man fishing with a spoon. he was serious. very serious. i asked him if it worked. he said, ‘it’s not about the catch. it’s about the silence.’ he was right. the river was loud with frogs and regret.

i’m leaving this place tomorrow. the algae in my tank is multiplying. i need fresh water. fresh coffee. fresh memories. i’ll link this post to a Yelp page for the green halo hotel and a TripAdvisor review of ila’s café. also, if you’re in this city and see a man in a banana costume, tell him i said hello. he deserves a treat. or at least a better coffee recipe.

p.s. the weather’s still 23.91. the pressure’s still 1007. i’m still here. maybe. maybe not. who knows?

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