Monday, April 20, 2009

Pop Gun

The next part of our tour involved crossing the road to a pub called Pop Gun. I could say that the decor looked refined, the oil men looked spotless, and the women were safely within their sell-by dates, but I might be lying. In fact the red walls, like the men and girls, were chipped and fading; the place had the simplicity of a Liverpool bus shelter.

"Makes me think of a bar in a film about Saigon," said Fergus, as we sat on bar stools with our backs to the bar.

"Mister," said a lady, as her hand brushed against my appendix scar.

I pushed her away. She was like a creature from scene one of ‘The Scottish Play.’

"She’s no spring-chicken," joked Fergus, who was being poked in the chest by a mini-skirted granny, the sort you see near Milan’s main railway station.

"You chaps enjoying yourselves?" asked Carmen.

"Well, it’s not quite the Sari Pacific," said Fergus. He didn’t look any more comfortable than I did. The plump, balding oil men were wearing T-shirts, trainers and jeans; Fergus had on dark glasses and was wearing shiny black shoes.

"OK," said Carmen after we had had a few sips of beer. "Now to the real night life. No expats apart from us.

"We’re off to Tanjung Priok," added Fergus, "to a little place Carmen was introduced to by some Indonesian student."

So we paid lots of rupiahs to a well-dressed urchin who had been guarding the Kijang and drove towards the docks and the Bintang Disco.

Gamesman's Bar
Pop Gun
The Bintang Disco
The Ranamok and the J Bar Bogor

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