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