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Onto Jakarta.
For those of you who know Jakarta, either reminisce, or go and play with the cat for a while. For those who don't, let me slowly immerse you into the grimy world that is Jakarta. The capital with a crust on it. If it's painted, it's grimed and flaking. If it's metallic, it's grimed and rusted. If it's glass, it's grimed, broken and opaque. Latched onto the common denominator yet? Grafiti here is so thick, it actually holds the walls up. Drainage channels through the city are full of oil and stinking debris.
In short, a bloody good scrub and a hose down wouldn't go amiss.
In fact, apart form a small aspect of their driving, Jakarta could easily double for Delhi. The only difference is that, although both cities' inhabitants believe in close-quarter driving, Indonesians get it right, while Indians get the dents.
Anyway, arrived in Jakarta, and found my assigned customs broker, who'd been recommended/appointed by the Singaporean shipping agent. This was a similar recommendation as one to back a donkey in the Grand National. Knowing less about Jakarta customs formalities than caveman knew about hair gel, I played along with the charade for almost a week. Then, after accepting that she knew slightly less about legally getting my truck out of the port than your average giraffe does about water-skiing, the red card was issued.
Suitably sacked and a new broker recommended, the "wife" rolled out of the port the next working day.
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