There was a time when Bogor Palace was a fun place. Indonesian President Sukarno would sweep in triumphantly from a hot-lipped harangue in downtown Djakarta, pull the black Moslem cap of leadership from his balding head, toss aside his girdle, and relax in sandals and slacks with his lovely Japanese wife Devi. The legion of servants, the carefree dinners, the delight of being on top —all of it made Bogor a pleasure dome beyond compare. Not any longer.
Last week at Bogor, a grim-faced Sukarno recalled a dolorous notion from Historian Arnold Toynbee....
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