In nineteenth century Paris, Charles Baudelaire would have called them flaneurs, the gentlemen strollers of the city’s streets, the detached observers of their surroundings. I found them on my night runs. Dozens of middle-aged men with their hands grasped at the smalls of their backs, wandering Jakarta’s streets quietly in the dark.
How is it that a place so infused with smog and mess could have produced such beautiful specimens of the city philosopher? (more…)