We found ourselves a train ticket from Jakarta to Solo at 10 that night, so made our day up of waiting under the awning at the train station, laying on our packs, trying to catch some sleep. Around twilight we got ancy and took a cab out to the old Dutch plaza halfway across across the city.
The trip didn’t turn out as planned; As soon as we arrived it started to pour. We ran under the awning of the former capitol building. A group of Indonesian teenagers were slumped against the door, smoking cigarettes, playing guitars, nudging eachother and making eyes at us.
Tony wanted some coffee and we ran across the plaza to the Batavia Cafe, getting drenched. Turns out the cafe was a high-brow restaurant; the few people inside were wearing business suits and drinking fancy lattes. With our wet clothes and sopping packs, we decided we didnt belong, so we waited under the awning outside.
The rain continued to pour. Day turned to night. Lights in the plaza burned orange and green and reflected on the water. Thunder boomed and lightning flashed. Motorbikes zoomed across the plaza, spraying water in all directions. Two soaked indonesian boys offered the rare disgruntled tourist an umbrella for a fee. The
muslim call to prayer floated the plaza like a ghost. We ceased speaking and were overcome by the strangeness of the moment. It began to sink in that we really were on the other side of the planet. Everything felt different, and all of us were quieted by the rain.