Blok M diary, February 2004

A bar is born

It’s a damp and squally Wednesday night, and the Reveller has just chomped his way through a plate of D’s solidly nourishing fish and chips when he receives a summons - an invitation to the VIP launch party for My Bar, no less. So after a few beers to lubricate the system, and a couple of games of pool to get into party mood, off he trots down the road to see what’s happening.

The first thing that hits him is the neon sign - it’s the brightest on the Blok, a brash in-your-face screamer of a sign that outshines all the others on the street put together. Not to be upstaged, the entrance is swamped with those massive and ornate "congratulations" bouquets that are de rigueur for all new business ventures here, and a table with three gorgeous young ladies doling out welcome packs of promotional stickers.

After signing the guest book the Reveller makes his debut and joins the throng. And what a throng! It’s the glitterati of the Blok, the crème de la crème, le tout Blok M. Everybody who is (or thinks they are) anybody is here, chatting animatedly and exuding that vacuous charm and overdone bonhomie that is the hallmark of receptions everywhere. Now the Reveller is a connoisseur of these occasions, having spent a quarter of a century officially representing his benighted country in all corners of the globe. The whole business was once neatly summed up for the Reveller by a long-suffering Belgian diplomat who plaintively remarked at a particularly turgid reception, "There should be a United Nations convention banning these events".

But this is Blok M, not a diplomatic cocktail shindig, and the tone quickly mellows and relaxes. The Reveller meets a few old friends he hasn’t seen for ages, other guys he’s vaguely familiar with, and is soon settled at the bar chatting away nineteen to the dozen. Ordering his Pernod, when it comes he’s amused to see that it’s been pre-mixed with soda water. A novel touch, and one that shows laudable (if misplaced) initiative - but understandable, and forgivable.

Then comes the food - lashings of it, an excellent spread. And it’s well organized - the Reveller joins that rare thing in Jakarta, a queue. Instead of the usual free-for-all, everyone is waiting patiently in line to get to the grub. Half wishing he’d not had the fish and chips earlier that evening, he tucks in with gusto and lip-smacks his way through a piled plateful of goodies.

But the Reveller doesn’t stay too long, because it’s getting uncomfortably hot. The AC isn’t doing its stuff, and there are murmurs from several quarters that they’d better get it fixed and working by the Friday opening. Now if there’s one thing that he likes in his late night haunts, it’s a cool place to sit and enjoy the action. If the owners don’t hit the ground running with the AC working effectively, it could be the proverbial ha’porth of tar that spoils the ship.

So having whetted the appetite, why not read the review and see the pictures of the Friday night grand opening!

Go with the flow

Friday was the day of the floods. Water, water everywhere - and the Reveller is almost cut off from a work assignment at the Elektrindo building by a flooded road. Neatly bypassing the police barricades, he gesticulates that he’s absolutely got to get through - so the cop who’s redirecting the traffic raises his eyebrows and shrugs his shoulders, as much as to say "well, it’s your funeral, mate", and waves him on.

The site of a six-foot-four bule on a bike churning through the murky torrent that sweeps across Jalan Tendean has the crowd of onlookers laughing and cheering, and a flotilla of little kids takes to the water with offers to push him through. Realising the disparity between their own size and the hulking great guy on his Honda, they turn their attentions instead to a little Vespa scooter that’s shipping water and keeling over - only to fall flat on their faces when the driver lurches forward before stalling his engine, then himself tumbles arse over elbow into the swirling flood.

The Reveller gets through, completes his assignment, then squelches home to dry out before the evening’s carousals.

Friday night fever

Fortunately for the Blok - and in particular, My Bar’s grand opening - the rain drizzles to a stop and the skies clear untidily by late afternoon. So the Reveller heads out to see how the new place is shaping up, and to put in some serious investigation. My Bar is a late night joint, so he dives into D’s Place and settles into his evening routine of drinks interspersed with games of pool.

Finally tearing himself away from his home base, the Reveller strolls down to My Bar. Yes, the Welcome Girls are still there sitting at the entrance, only this time they’re dishing out Lucky Draw tickets. Well, they say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, so it’s good to see the My Bar management taking a leaf out of the D’s Place book.

As is to be expected, there’s a large crowd of the Blok M Regulars already propping up the bar, and of course, there are girls. Lots of girls. Many of them are the Reveller’s old friends - some of the Top Gun beauties are there, a sprinkling of the Lintas Melawai girls, some he vaguely remembers having seen around the Blok from time to time, but quite a few are unfamiliar faces. There aren’t many young girls, indeed all too many are what the French delicately describe as dâmes d’une certaine age. An old buddy of the Reveller scans the scene and says "Blimey! It’s the girls from the Club!". And there they are, bless them, in all their finery - mutton dressed as the proverbial lamb.

Then, the dancing starts. As the lights and lasers begin to flash there’s a burst of smoke, and the dance floor looks as though a particularly old and decrepit city bus has just passed through. On come the girls, dancing in the swirling smoke. The Reveller turns to his fellow carousers and rather wickedly comments, "gorillas in the mist!".

The lighting is indeed spectacular, the sound system the best decibels that money can buy. The girls are certainly going to like dancing here, reflects the Reveller, and it’ll make a good floor show for the guys who just like to sit and watch as they drink.

Feeling a bit uncomfortably hot (no, of course they haven’t sorted out the AC problem!), the Reveller decides to go and see what effect My Bar is having on Top Gun, so he ups sticks and strolls across the road. There’s the usual small but loyal band of regulars in there, so the Reveller has a drink with a couple of old friends and is about to leave when one of the bar staff rushes up with a pool stick and urges him to have a game. Well, OK, why not? But as he lines up his first shot, another guy marches up and says he’s been told by another of the bar staff that he’s on for this game. The Reveller has a good chuckle at yet another example of the fine mess into which Top Gun has gotten itself, and reflects that they couldn’t organise a one-woman knocking-shop.

D’s Place has a goodly crowd, and it’s interesting to note that quite a few of the punters are splitting the evening between D’s and My Bar. There’s a fair number of guys and girls wandering up and down the street, something that’s been a rarity for quite some time. Everest looks a bit forlorn from the outside - the doorman half-heartedly invites the passers-by to come in, but there are no takers. It looks as though it’s been caught between the proverbial rock and a hard place - or more aptly, a rock and a D’s Place.

Popping his head round Sportsmans door, the Reveller sees the usual crowd in there - the business brigade, the guys who are out for a pint, a bite, and a chat with their mates. Yes, Sportsmans has established its own ecological niche on the Blok, and can only benefit from the passing trade that’s sure to be generated by its brasher neighbours.

As midnight approaches, the Reveller fires up his bike and chugs round to Lintas Melawai. But as he parks his bike outside the Melawai Hotel, he notices that the pavement is void of the usual gang of pirate CD sellers, ojek riders, girls having a breather, and the louche band of ill-favoured youths who hover round the girls. Entering the place the Reveller ominously observes that the cloakroom is shut - a bad sign. Even worse, the disco is almost empty, so he decides to have a quick beer then cut his losses and go back to Pelatehan. But chance would be a fine thing - there’s nobody serving at either bar in the disco! What can all this mean?

So back to D’s Place for a nightcap, a chat with the stalwarts who haven’t budged from there all night, and then home to reflect on the events of the day.

Web site news

Several of the Blok M aficionados have commented that there’s now so much stuff on the site it’s becoming increasingly difficult to find a particular page or reference without ploughing their way through it all. Ever responsive, the Reveller has provided a high-speed word finder and a site map. Try them out!

The site is currently averaging over 140 visitors - making around 3,000 hits - a day, and already this month there have been visits from 61 countries. The mind, as they say, boggles…