Jez O’Hare and his trike, at home in Bandung.

You’ve probably seen his photographs in magazines, perhaps in a coffee-table book on the Wallace Line or the Indonesian archipelago, maybe even in an advertisement for a high-definition television. They are those rare images that capture the essence of a place, showing us an aspect that is unique and rare; images that require not only passion, drive, planning, and courage, but also a piece of equipment that creates its own centrifugal force, called a gyro stabilizer, and a micro light aircraft. Jez O’Hare’s images from above inspire travel, exploration and poetry, offering us an escape into a world that we can’t quite make tangible and triggering a mind, heart and soul reaction of awe at the beauty of Indonesia.

Flying towards Bromo, East Java.

Driving through Bandung to meet Jez, it’s not hard to see why so many artists, architects and intellectuals have made this city their hub in Java. Dotted with ancient evergreens around winding roads wrapping up and down hills, I went past Indonesia’s most esteemed Universities and made my way through a residential neighborhood that ended on the edge of a valley. I could see a slice of the view behind what has been Jez’s home for the last 8 years.

Several dogs welcomed me with barks of varying tone and volume. Slowly a lean, Celtic-looking gentleman made his way through the canine mass and approached the large green wrought iron gate. “Hi Avi, have you had lunch?” he inquired softly as a boyish spark twinkled in his eyes. His accent was unusual; British grammar school mingled with soft hints of Indonesian. “I haven’t been speaking too much English these days, at least not with people who have English as their first language.”

Above the Kei Islands.

Still in his early forties, Jez has been capturing images of Indonesia for almost 25 years now. His family moved to Indonesia in early 1974, when his father took an expatriate position as a director of a major British safe manufacturer. His specialisation in photographing Indonesia was like a karmic calling when he was on holiday from university in the UK, where he was studying scientific illustration.

“I always thought photography was too difficult,” he said with a smile. “I was still a student and had some time off, that’s when I heard there were still some stone-age people living in Papua – Irian Jaya back then – and I couldn’t believe it.” Grabbing a couple of cameras and lenses, Jez set off on the Pelni at age 19. “I ended up staying for two months!” he grinned. “Then when I got back, my Dad’s secretary invited me to submit my images to a travel magazine, Suasana, now out of print. And I got the cover!” His excitement is still palpable.
At the heart of Jez’s photography is a deep passion for exploration. “It’s about getting that photograph that no one else has taken before.” And this, perhaps, leads me to the best way of describing Jez; an explorer with a desire to go where no one’s gone before.

Ngga Glacier, Papua.

Things started to move pretty quickly after that first publication. He worked with a film production company – “they threw me in the deep-end, and I was learning a lot,” – and continued developing his photography and exploring Indonesia. This took him on various aerial photography projects: “I figured, the only way to see Indonesia is to go by air.” Then, in 1995, he had a crash in a microlight “and I thought, shit, better I learn to fly myself.”.
Shortly after getting out of the hospital the first thing Jez did was to get flying lessons. Starting with a paramotor, flying with a parachute and a fan strapped to his back, he had to overcome the fear from his recent accident, learn to fly and “learn how to take photographs from the air while strapped to a parachute and motor.” The first two flights were “not so good,” but on the third, “it was at sunset and I was thinking to myself, ‘I’m flying!’” Eventually he moved on to a microlight aircraft, or trike, which he modified to make the seat lower so that he would have the freedom to use his camera.

Jez on his trike.

Jez is meticulous in his planning and self-discipline. “There’s basically three things, three conditions that you need to be sure of,” he explained as I learned what it took to get flying. “First, the condition of your craft; second your own condition and the third; the media – your runway, the weather. Don’t fly unless you’re sure about these three conditions.”

“I’ve got desalination tablets and a lifeboat on my trike, so it’s okay to fly over large expanses of water,” he added in a matter-of-fact tone.

In 2005, Jez took Indonesian citizenship. “I could spend the rest of my life photographing this place,” he told me. “And also, I just got tired of going to Immigration every year.”

And his next adventure? “My dream is to fly throughout Indonesia on my trike, starting from Java.” I’m already beginning to dream of where he’ll take us next.

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Their day begins as most of the city slips into slumber. The fishermen of Muara Karang have a schedule all their own. The fish market of Sunda Kelapa is their version of the business district although the dress policy may not reflect that of the ‘other’ CBD in downtown Jakarta.

If you have yet to visit the historic fish market, you truly are missing a plethora of sights and smells not seen many other places, even in The Big Durian. From what I’ve been told the district of Muara Karang has its own jurisdiction in a way, its own set of rules, and its own way of life. When entering this area, you certainly become aware of these notions.

Very fishy.

We maneuvered through the small, winding street filled with water from the heavy rains released in days prior. The streets here are prone to flooding in the rainy season, so it would be advisable to use an SUV of some sort if coming in those months. We easily found ample parking adjacent to the market. Stepping out of the car, the first observation wasn’t formed with my eyes, but rather my nose. It emits the permeating, raw stench of a working market; make no mistake, it’s not the most pleasant environment, but one worth experiencing first hand.

The rain soaked streets both absorbed and reflected the dazzling glow of the umbrellas lining the narrow path leading towards the market. Dozens of customers made their way from stall to stall perhaps searching for a fresher alternative to the grocery store, perhaps re-stocking their restaurant’s supplies, or maybe simply venturing through the market out of blatant curiosity like us.

Upon entering the warehouse-like main market, the sheer vastness of the place was nearly overwhelming. There must have been hundreds of fisherman and dockworkers engaged in the night’s work. Makeshift aisles separated each worker’s wares from another’s. From what I’ve heard, the fishermen make their way into shore in late evening, and continue to arrive well into the night. Those seeking the most action would be well advised to arrive somewhere between 8pm and 12am.

To say that the variety of sea life on display was phenomenal would be an understatement. The market was brimming with sea life so vibrant and multifarious that you can’t help but wonder how it’s possible to obtain such creatures from the murky depths of the waters surrounding Java. I won’t pretend to pull a Jaques Cousteau here – I truly couldn’t name, with any accuracy, more than a handful of the creatures on display. What I can do is provide a small amount of photography and let you figure out the rest. Shark, squid, eels, rays, and an array of fish of all colors, shapes, and sizes await those adventurous enough to enter this startling place.

A foreigner walking through this scene would undoubtedly attract attention. A foreigner walking through these aisles armed with a camera certainly attracts even more, and this is when the true characters come to life. Everywhere we went, fishermen would look around for the most gargantuan, impressive fish to represent their days’ labor and hold it up like a football star would hold a trophy; grinning and laughing the entire time. Occasionally, the odd joker would find the most meager of his lot and flaunt it with just as much pride creating waves of laughter from those around. There was a real sense of community emanating from these laughs; a zone of comfort and a sense that they were one large family.

As midnight approached, our energy waned as our appetites grew. Near the parking lot was a small warung, in front of which a makeshift grill offered welcome relief. The worker offered to cook over his hot coals, any seafood we chose from the market. The other option was even more enticing; he would choose some giant prawn himself and save us the task of bargaining. Within minutes he presented us with succulent prawn skewered and laden with a mouthwatering sauce unlike any I’ve ever had. Despite the fact that we were sitting on a picnic bench, eating on paper plates, I’ll gladly admit that it was some of the best prawn I’ve had in Indonesia. For three of us to let out another notch in out belt it cost us a grand total of Rp.70,000 including drinks!

Certainly, fishermen the world-over have a culture all their own, a language which outsiders are not privy to, and a sense of humor which may be defined by some as crude. Nonetheless, these men and women of the dock deserve respect for continuing a tradition that likely has not kept pace with the rest of Jakarta. The working conditions they endure, the night shift that keeps them from their families, and the overall tenacity of their lifestyle is something most of us will never properly relate to.

Looking for something different this weekend? Take a journey back in time, slow the pace for a while. The fish market of Sunda Kelapa is only minutes from Jakarta. Experience yet another part of what makes Jakarta special. Have a glimpse into the lives of these fishermen, have a laugh with them, and feast upon the pride of their efforts.

First published in Kabar 2006.

Write to Brandon Hoover at thejavajive@gmail.com, or visit www.thejavajive.com

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