Right now we are in the middle of Eid ul Fitri. This most holy of holidays marks the end of Ramadhan, the fasting month. Understandably, it’s a big deal.

The festivities begin on the last night of Ramadhan. After breaking fast for the last time, most people gather to participate in Takbiran, a parade with much drum banging. Then children let off fireworks to celebrate.

At this time of year I really feel like an outsider. That night, I lay in bed and listened to the drums and fireworks launched from just behind the wall separating my garden from the kampung. Awan had already gone back to Ketangungan to spend the holiday with his family, my maid, Jariyah, had already been gone for a week. Earlier that evening my driver had delivered a traditional Javanese dish of chicken and lontong, his wife apparently feeling sorry for the abandoned bule. But now the house was completely quiet. Even the cats had taken to cowering under furniture, frightened by the screaming rockets. I felt like a bit of a loser -like a kid stuck in bed sick on Guy Fawkes night.

The holiday has a particularly unique impact on Jakarta. In the week building up to the Eid ul Fitri holiday, Jakartans (at least, the Muslim ones) return to the villages where their families live, particularly their parents. This mass exodus causes unimaginable traffic chaos for the week leading up to the holiday. The airports and train stations are packed. The traffic jams are astounding. Last year it took Awan 18 hours to travel the 300 kilometres to his home village - a trip that usually takes about 4 hours.

TransTV runs a nightly news service, Pulang Kampung 2007, which purports to provide up to the minute information on congestion hot spots. Invariably all the show does it confirm what commuters already know (the traffic is terrible) and does little more than provide a nice advertising platform for its sponsors, Castrol and Telkomsel.

This great exodus pretty much leaves the city without its service infrastructure, causing Jakarta to shut down for a week. Those left behind are likely to do one of two things: head to Bali (which is predominantly Hindu and therefore open for business) or check into a hotel. I overheard an amusing exchange in the gym locker-room a couple of days before the holiday. One bloke expressed surprise at his friend coming to the gym twice in one day. His friend responded that on his first visit he had only come to use the gym’s shower and wash facilities. His maids had left a couple of days before and the family had run out of clean towels.

On Saturday the streets were eerily quiet. Friends had taken a villa on the outskirts of Tangerang, one of the cities that make up the metropolis. This would be my second time to the villa, so I felt quite confident making the trip without a driver. Nonetheless, it still took me longer to plan the trip than it did to drive there. While there was still a significant amount of traffic on the tollway, by Jakarta’s standards it was deathly quiet, a dream run. The last ten or so kilometres of the drive to the villa is along a pott-holed road winding through small villages. The last time I had taken the trip, the road was a hive of activity. Motorcycles, trucks, becek and pedestrians were everywhere, intermingling with no sense of order. This time I pretty much had the road to myself, only occasionally needing to slow for the odd motorcycle. The last leg of the trip is across an old abandoned air field. The now-buckled runway doubles as road, two old planes disintegrating in the scrub.

Not long after lunch, while dozing in the shade, Awan called. He would head back to Jakarta that night, much earlier than planned. Apparently, his would be suitor was using the holiday to her advantage and he couldn’t take the harassment. But that’s another story...