Chinese Breath of Jakarta

Difficulty to cross the polluted street, steaming smoke of motor vehicles. Hundreds of cars queued in the clamorous crowd and a shocking motorbike appear from behind the big yellow truck. Picture of Glodok began reveal under the sting of sunlight.

Chinese herb shops stand in a row next to the pavement. Chinese calligraphy had written on the medicine cartons and rootlet stored well inside glassy jars. Stared at the Chinese ambiance, a gold Chinese calligraphy decorated a scarlet lantern, incense and its red box patched on the wall, the epitome of prayer and evict demons by a small octagon mirror above the front door shop.

Chinese influence on the moss roofs overarch the old Dutch buildings. Slowly but sure the iron railings going to rust enclosed the windows of Chinese life silent witness. Cadgers spread along the narrow sidewalk, messy but distinctive. Stalls of snacks until the duplicate keys. Typical Chinese look as a seller, count in a big calculator, often call their woman customer as “Ci”.

Heat brought me to trace the shady alley, followed by Chinese spices. Hundreds of ponkam oranges scattered at stalls like the beginning of Chinese new year. My step was stopped by “Pi-oh” stall, turtle soup. Sat on the plastic chair on the wayside of alley, discerned a gang’s bitter sweet life. Reddish brown broth burnt my appetite. Bit did not bold to eat, yet curiosity was paid by the turtle chewy meat, ended with douchi touch my tongue. Remembering me of survived Chinese culture for centuries in Indonesia. Ancestors degrade their recipes, also for “Liang tea”, freshened up the tropical air.

Outlook of Glodok momentarily change. Together with full of story alleys, adhered like a tattoo in my head. I looked behind. Irreplaceable culinary, row of beautiful lanterns, incense smell impaled, a friendly smile of Pi-Oh seller shaped as a crescent, and old scaffolds ate by ages. Sun color was all the more riping, accompany my trace as it sank slowly on the firmament.