Sniffing out new clubs in Big Durian

Sniffing out new clubs in Big Durian

Ah, The Big Durian, a metropolitan enigma wrapped in a riddle
of rat-runs and glitz, of plywood shanties and concrete
erections. By day it is, alas, too often chaos incarnate; a
choking haze of emerging office blocks and street-level smoke
from which sanctuary can only be found in cool but-otherwise-
unmemorable shopping malls.

However by night the old place does scrub up pretty well. The
streets calm down, temperatures and blood pressures drop and the
central business district sparkles in a way not dissimilar to
downtown Manhattan -- or so I thought after I put down my third
Heineken.

So, in an attempt to paint Jakarta in a more enticing light
than the daily stories of misery, evicted squatters, corporate
embezzlement and random violence that stud the tabloid pages like
so many black holes of newsprint, I sallied forth in order to
check out a couple of the city's newest and terminally hippest
clubs.

Mata Bar will not be a new name to many as the place has been
open for at least five years.

However, the old Eye Bar has just relocated to the seventh
floor of the new ITC Senayan, just next door to Plaza Senayan.
Pay your Rp 25,000 (cheaper than the old place, for now at least)
and step into a post-industrial TV studio-cum-dungeon of a club.

Huge metal chains hang ominously from the ceiling and the
interior is blacker than a Spinal Tap album cover. The new Mata
has been built around an interesting split-level design; girls on
a night out will be pleased to know this idea is more about
looking down on people's heads than up their skirts.

The Eye's "lens" -- a large central raised platform that looks
out toward the DJ booth and across to the dance floor a few feet
below -- also gives a superb view of Jl. Asia Afrika via a
massive window. Full marks to the bloke who designed the place
and his no-doubt plentiful supply of LSD. Mata Bar remains a
popular nouveau riche, teenage hangout despite the move, and on
my visit, a hip-hop night crowd had a great time flashing their
bling and wiggling booty; their BMWs in the car park striking
that authentic Pimp Your Ride note even if they couldn't always
pull it off on the dance floor. No doubt some of these jiggling
advertisements for Ritalin will be doing the same thing at the
Spin Doctors-Peterpan gig on Wednesday (Jakarta Convention
Center) -- better them than me.

Utopia is another brand-spanking-new club and can be found on
the top floor of the recently opened Setiabudi One plaza on Jl.
Rasuna Said. The plaza is a white-collar wonderland of
restaurants, gyms and pool halls and Utopia management is clearly
hoping to cash in on the CBD dollars floating around the place.
A slew of promotional fliers greets one upon arrival: The message
is clear: Spend ... and then spend some more, please.

Inside, a circular bar seems to hold the middle ground until
you check out the prices; the be-shirted willing pay for drinks
starting at $US9. I've often wondered why drinking in high-flying
Jakarta can be as expensive as it is in New York or London.
Perhaps it has something to do with all that money missing from
the 2003 state budget. Or all those trees disappearing from
Papua. Hang on, is that bar made out of merbau timber? No, it
seems, it isn't.

If you are short of pocket but want stay cool in classy
surroundings it helps if you can nurse a single drink here for
literally hours at a time.

The lucky ladies, however, can drink for free at Utopia on
Wednesdays; enough to turn one into a transvestite. Most
interestingly, ladies can always drink tequila for free at Mata
Bar. However, they must down their shots at the bar -- a move
that the management has no doubt devised in order to stop cheeky
young women collecting an armful of glasses and distributing them
among their gentleman friends skulking at the back of the club.

One happy couple I observed found a way around this draconian
ruling, involving frequent steamy mouth-to-mouth transfers of the
Mexican hooch. Made a mental note-to-self -- I must try that; a
good point, perhaps, at which to end this week's column.

--Simon Pitchforth