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| The boat back to Jakarta after Libertad Fest. |
I first heard about Libertad Festival from friends in Korea. An annual punk festival set on a tropical island north of Jakarta, Indonesia. When I arrived at Rumah Api in Kuala Lumpur, I found a bunch of people staying there were planning to go, and soon I was convinced that missing the festival would be a poor decision. So I went. And good thing I did.
A boat was due to go to the island at 5 AM on January 22 from Maura Angke, Jakarta's harbour. I arrived at the airport in Jakarta around 7 PM on January 21, the night before. Directions to the boat, accommodation, getting there, all of that would be a piece of cake as I had the contacts of three or four people going to the festival. That wouldn't be a problem.
I arrive at the airport (notably I sat next to a Malaysian Anthony Bourdain lookalike on the plane) and quickly realize that no one was getting my Facebook messages. Not even reading them, not being received; everyone was either outside of WIFI or en route to the festival already. There I was sat in the Jakarta airport wondering how I'm going to get to this festival. How was no one responding? Why didn't I get directions before I left on the plane?
I get an idea. Given that the attendance of the festival is a large portion of foreigners, maybe someone was arriving in Jakarta that night and could lead me in the right direction. Five minutes later I spot a girl walking out of the arrivals gate, clearly Indonesian and adorned with full sleeve tattoos. I literally run over to her, relieved and trying to make sure she's actually involved with this whole punk community somehow. I'm trying to communicate that I am going to Libertad Festival, but she doesn't understand any of it. Some broken English, a lot of hand gestures, nothing. And then I remember, everyone knows Diego and Fernanda from Colombia. I say their names and instantaneously she embraces me like an old friend.
She took me by the arm and led me outside the airport. She said her husband was waiting by the car for her. As we approached, I saw the outline from far away: mohawk, ripped jeans, big black boots. Face tattoos. Immediately any kind of intimidation was disarmed by his warm demeanour, an instant sense of belonging. He didn't know me, I didn't know him, but he knew that I knew people he knew, and he knew I was trying to go somewhere where he would belong too.
His truck was monstrous. It was big and black, like his boots, and has a decal across the top of the windshield: Masberto. Up until this point I hadn't heard of Masberto Kingdom, but I had heard of a few other collectives, squats, and so on in Jakarta. We tried to orientate ourselves with what was happening and what on Earth this white guy was trying to say. They had just returned from honeymoon in Bali.
In the spirit of urgency, he insisted we sit on the curb outside the airport and have some cigarettes. Soon he brought out a bottle of "Chioo" (spelling?), a potent fire water found throughout Indonesia. Over the following two months I indulged many, many times with the people I met; sometimes it's like a poor quality rum, sometimes it's full-on gasoline. Incidentally, many people have died from drinking bad moonshine in Indonesia.
We sat, he made a phone call. He was calling Bobby from Taring Babi, a squat in the south of Jakarta. Bobby spoke better English. Bobby told me to come to Taring Babi as some people staying over night were going to Libertad Festival in the morning.
I got in the vehicle of these total strangers-turned-friends, and they proceeded to drive literally across the city for an hour and a half to drop me off. We tried to make the best of a broken English conversation, I tried to get a grasp of who they were, where we were going, and what they do. I remember he tried to explain what pecelele was; finally I understood it was fried catfish, and how Diego was a bit fan of it. He said his main profession was selling this Chioo, the moonshine.
We arrive at Taring Babi. It's maybe 11 PM at this point, I'm at a punk house, I have no idea where I am or who I am with. But every single person at the house was friendly and welcoming and extremely hospitable; a girl helped me make noodles, my first meal in Indonesia. I bought some beers, we shared some drinks.
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| Taring Babi, Jakarta. |
At some point a girl mentioned that people were upstairs watching a movie. More than tipsy, I stumble upstairs and four men are sitting on the floor watching a James Brown biopic. Each of them fit a classic albeit very in-the-flesh punk aesthetic. But unlike counterparts in certain other parts of the world (see: America), their dedication and unwavering commitment to whatever they were doing was clearly evidenced by their appearance. You sort of seal your fate with face tattoos, mohawks and full punk regalia in Indonesia. Your choice is made.
This turned out to be Marjinal. They have been described several times to me as the most popular punk band in Southeast Asia, and here I was in their loft half drunk. Taring Babi is their house, and Bobbi, of Marjinal, was the one I talked to on the phone at the airport. Weird world.
Flash forward to 3:30 AM and everyone is waking up and crawling into a taxi. Blue hair from Germany, a middle class girl turned punk from Jakarta, a couple of Dutch vagabonds. Truly a motley crew. Veering into Maura Angke, Jakarta's principle port and probably it's main fish market, the smell was overwhelming and the sun had just risen over the horizon. We turn into a parking lot and witness one of the strangest sights I've ever seen: two chartered buses of punks disembarking and splaying themselves on the ground under an awning. Black clad, jean vested, patches aplenty, heaving attitude (sincere or superficial, who knows) and carefully walking down the steps of a chartered bus to go to a punk festival on an island. I should mention that half or over half of the people present were from Western countries. A punk holiday.
We crowded onto the boat and set off for three days in the sun. I didn't come prepared, so I quickly claimed my sleeping spot behind the drum kit. I moved the seat out of the way to sleep on the drum riser. Sure, the beer was expensive and I basically ate cup noodles all weekend, but God I'm glad I went. This single experience set in motion my entire time in Indonesia afterwards, meeting some of the best people ever and leading me to claim Indonesia as probably my best travel experience, period.
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| The island for Libertad Festival. |
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| Maura Angke, Jakarta. |
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| Sunset. |
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| Kontrasosial. |
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| Ayperos. |
