They say Jakarta is disappearing, and it’s true. Jakarta is the fastest sinking city in the world. But between the construction dust and the sinking ground, I took the train into the heart of it to see what’s left of the old city before the tide catches up.
I went to Kota Tua, Jakarta. If you follow my blog, you’ve probably noticed that I write a lot about this city. Jakarta is a place I love deeply, though it’s very much a love-hate relationship. Many things about this metropolis are far from pleasant, yet it carries a certain charm that’s hard to resist.
I arrived by train and decided to hit Glodok Chinatown first. From there, I walked toward Kota Tua. To be honest, the stroll was rough. The area is a massive construction site right now because of the new MRT lane. Between the dust, the heat, and the narrow paths, it is a struggle to navigate. Along the way, I passed several abandoned buildings. They just sit there, crumbling and empty in the middle of the city's chaos. It adds to that love-hate feeling because you see the potential of these old structures even as they are left behind for modernization.
So, what exactly is Jakarta? Since I’m talking about Kota Tua (literally "Old Town"), let’s start with history. Full disclosure: all of this is easily found on Wikipedia, so let's not overthink the scholarly depth here. First of all, this city wasn’t always called Jakarta. From what I’ve read, its original name was Sunda Kelapa. This port city played an important role in the Sunda Kingdom, an ancient Hindu-Buddhist kingdom in West Java. Later, the Portuguese arrived, only to be defeated by the Demak Sultanate, which then took control. The Sultanate renamed the city Jayakarta, a Sanskrit word meaning “victorious deeds.” A Portuguese sailor reportedly misheard the name and spelled it “Jacatra” or “Iacatra,” and that version spread across Europe.
They came here because this was an important port. Back then, trading spices like nutmeg and pepper was a massive business, almost as valuable as trading gold. It made sense that people would come here to trade, to rule, and to monopolize.
The name given by the Portuguese didn’t last long. The Dutch soon took power and renamed the city Batavia, a name that endured for about 300 years. In 1942, Japan occupied the city and renamed it Jakaruta Tokubetsu-shi (ジャカルタ特別市), meaning “Jakarta Special City,” bringing it closer to its earlier roots. After Japan’s surrender in 1945, the name changed to “Djakarta,” following the old Indonesian spelling system. Finally, in 1972, spelling reforms standardized the name as Jakarta, the name we know today.
What we see in Kota Tua was mainly how the Dutch built this city. It was inspired by Amsterdam since Jakarta shared similar geological conditions, specifically the fact that it sat below sea level.
From this history alone, we can see how layered this city is. It has been shaped by a Hindu-Buddhist kingdom, an Islamic sultanate, European colonizers, Japanese occupation, and finally reclaimed by its own people. It is complex, chaotic, and sometimes messy, but perhaps that’s exactly what makes Jakarta what it is.
Walking through Kota Tua, I feel all of this stacked on top of itself like sediment. The first thing I noticed is Gedoeng BNI. It’s a massive, blocky building that sits right at the edge of the old district, acting like a heavy wall between the modern city and the past.
I made my way to Kali Besar, the big canal the Dutch built to mimic Amsterdam. They’ve added floating walkways and concrete banks recently, making it look much cleaner. It is still a strange sight to see a European-style waterway sitting right in the middle of the humid tropics.
Right by the water, I found a monument that acts as a reality check. It’s a pole that marks where the ground level used to be back in the 70s. This is physical proof that Jakarta is the fastest-sinking city in the world. Standing there makes you realize the city is literally fighting to stay above the tide.
The streets nearby are a total contrast to that history. We have the Toko Merah (the Red Shop) with its iconic red bricks, surrounded by street vendors selling snacks and cold drinks. The area is packed with people, from families taking selfies to kids running around, all hanging out under the grey, heavy sky.
I also passed by the Hotel Tugu, which looks like it’s being slowly swallowed by trees and vines. It has an "abandoned palace" vibe that fits Kota Tua perfectly. Between the old white colonial walls and the bronze statues of traditional dancers, you see that while the Dutch built the shell of this place, the life here is entirely Indonesian.
We can find all these historical facts on Wikipedia, but being here feels different. It’s messy, it’s humid, and the ground is sinking fast, yet the place is stubbornly alive. You don’t need a history degree to feel the weight of it. You just need to walk the cobblestones, breathe in the dust, and notice that a city officially disappearing is still, somehow, too busy living to notice.
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