Selamat pagi, keluarga & teman.
We send this dispatch from Yuli’s Homestay at Kuta, on the south central coast of the island of Lombok, just east of Bali, after 18 days in Indonesia. This recounting starts at the Gambir train station in Jakarta, West Java, awaiting our chariot to Central Java’s city of Yogyakarta (colloquially referred to as Jogja) on the 8:15 a.m. #10 Argo Dwipangga, a diesel locomotive train, riding on narrow gauge tracks (3.5 feet wide) with a scheduled arrival 7.5 hours and 512 km later. At the station, we felt the compulsion to question many different locals on Gambir’s 2nd level platform, showing them our ticket, to ensure we were in the right place, car #3, seats 6A & 6B. I know we are letting you down on this one, but we were in Eksecutif class, with air conditioning, which sounds better than it was. Forty year old train with shabby décor to show for it. Even though Dwipangga is named for an elephant which became the vehicle of the god Indra “in which the elephant with is a faithful ride and able to protect the rider in various conditions”, this didn’t quite happen for us.
Amazingly, the train left right on time, leaving behind the probable unhealthy air space, as evidenced by the percentage of pedestrians and motorcycle riders wearing colorful and trendily designed surgical masks. As we pulled away from station, we were leaving behind Indonesia’s capital which we had only scratched the surface of, having experienced up close and personal some of the grittier scenes over several days of walking around and now, more modern features during the taksi ride to Gambir, e.g., manicured parks, green & healthy trees, middle-class neighborhoods. As the train gained momentum, again we were treated to the “other side of the tracks”, eventually passing through to rural scenery, rife with small, clean rivers, rice paddies with Javanese bent over in the fields working with their water buffaloes, small brick country homes with red tiled roofs vs. the corrugated tin of the previous urban sprawl, with ducks floating on the ponds in their front yards. We were traveling through flat lands, the plains of Java, passing many small train stations, stopping at a few for only minutes.
Our hopes of arriving on time, and before dark, were dashed when we were stopped for what seemed an inordinate amount of time, eventually doing what everyone else was doing, walking to the breezeway between our car and the next one, getting away from the lack of air conditioning which works only when the train is engaged. One problem with this was that the smokers congregated there as well (75% of Indonesian men smoke according to one of our guides, who himself had started smoking at the age of 8!). We learned that the track we were on had problems and we were waiting for a westbound train to pass so that we could use its track. This cost us two hours and thus we were positively giddy when we started moving again. Unfortunately, that was short-lived. 30 minutes later we were stalled again. The short story is that when we arrived at one of the major stops where we could check time status, Cirebon, we were 3 hours behind schedule. What happened to our trusty elephant, Dwipangga?
Toward sunset, we were moving from the plains into the high plateaus, where the landscape turned luscious, with jungle-like growth, coconut palms, beautifully-tiered rice paddies, papaya trees, bamboo, and even rice fields that lapped at the sides of our railway tracks. This change in elevation also brought with it many curves tilting our car to one side or the other, the angle being obvious looking directly ahead and hearing the groaning of our car. I found that when this occurred, the older Muslim couple across the aisle were engaged in quiet prayer, their lips moving imperceptibly, something to have been cherished in retrospect after spending time in Central Java where the calls to prayer are announced and conveyed 5 times a day via loudspeakers perched 30-40 feet high next to masjids, or mosques, starting at 4 in the morning. Each of these events can last ½-2 hours! The mournful intonations of the Imam’s calling and praying we experienced later were somewhat eerie, especially given what is happening in the world today. Upon our descent back down to the plains, we caught sightings of goats and sheep and quite a number of kids flying kites in several different fields along the way, so high in the sky we could not see their distinguishing features.
Arriving in the dark at the Tugu train station in Jogja, at 7:45 p.m. we accepted the first taksi ride offered, as we were desperately tired and didn’t care what it cost to get to the Phoenix, our 1st 5 star hotel treat to ourselves. It was built in 1918 as a private residence, then became the Pensioner Hotel and now hosts 144 rooms which cater to corporate-backed expense accounts and upscale tourists. Nonetheless, we indulged ourselves to offset the meager (but homey) accommodations that we have had to this point. We feasted on the buffet breakfast bounty of all foods Indonesian (chicken bacon, yogurts and fruit compotes, steamed rice with local exotic toppings, traditional herbal/medicinal concoctions for things like “reduced cholesterol”, fresh fruit, soursop and mango juices, exotic pastries, croissants, bread pudding, small & fluffy pancakes). This was in stark contrast to our “exotic” dinner on the beach at Anak Krakatau, where we sat on coolers, using another cooler as our “table”, being served 2 Ikan Goreng fish (Moluccan snapper) complete with heads, 18 shrimp, ½ watermelon carved up, listening to the sounds of the Tonggerets (Cicada family insects) as we dined under the stars. Which one will we remember the most? Anak!
Our touristy efforts to visit the renowned Kraton (current Sultan of Yogyakarta’s Palace) were thwarted twice: once because it was Monday and there was a special ceremony and thus closed, and again on a Friday, because, unbeknownst to us, they close down early, 11:30 a.m. vs. 1:30 p.m. We fail miserably at being tourists! When dealt lemons, make lemonade, so we heeded a suggestion by a local bystander who witnessed our debacle and told us to be aware of the “Batik Mafia”, suggesting that we hire a becak (3-wheeled bicycle, 2 person carriage), for 10,000 Rupiah (about 90 cents, U.S.) and visit the Batik Art Group of Jakarta, which was off a back alleyway, someplace we would never have found on our own. We hired a becak and were impressed with the strength of this thin, sinewy driver, pedaling behind our combined 335 pounds, straining on some of the slight inclines but never faltering. The gallery was worth the visit, with both students’ and masters’ works available, and with scheduled pricing based upon size, fabric, complexity of design and experience level. We ended up purchasing two very nice Batik squares, which would travel easily in our limited luggage space, so the day was productive after all.
A little later we located (on our own) a hard-to-find “landmark” market, the Beringharjo, just off the main drag of Malioboro, which turned out to be a market for locals, plying them with cheap and gaudy goods and for us, people watching (and their viewing of us), along with the smells of the open bags of spices like nutmeg, cloves, and cinnamon. Returning to the Phoenix, we celebrated our 39th wedding anniversary with a very large bowl of Java chicken soup with vegetables, greens and some wine, sitting on a velvet settee in the Vino Bar.
Our final reportable experience in Central Java was at the site of the largest Buddhist monument in the world, the 9th century Borobodur, a UNESCO site, embedded in the middle of a predominantly Muslim country. We stayed at the Rumah Dharma, a set of 5 humble cottages amidst the green fields of the Barepan community, yielding tobacco, chili peppers, rice and a variety of unnamed vegetables, with these separate parcels owned by different villagers. Our Indonesian host, Medi, was a short, stout, fun-loving and playful character, either sleeping, playing the guitar and singing several decades old British pop tunes in his guttural soprano voice or exploding with his high pitched laughter. After settling in for our 3 night stay, we took two of the bicycles available and rode down the 8 foot wide earthen country lane along the side of our complex, through local settlements, making sure we stayed to the left as driving in Indonesia is the reverse of ours, something that we had to constantly keep in mind when crossing streets in the cities, with some very close calls earlier in our adventure looking in the wrong direction! On our ride, we came across school children yelling “hello” to us and, while crossing a bridge, spotted several women washing clothes in a river below with their naked children splashing in the water next to them.
The next day, as planned, we met outside Medi’s kitchen at 4:30 a.m. and, with a couple from Belgium (Kristof & Magali), got on our bicycles, pedaling a half mile in the dark to Manohara, the site of Borobodur, to view the sunrise. The climb to the top included mastering 1 foot high risers, but the breathtaking view was worth it as the sky began its slowly increasing soft red-hued glow. Clouds created a delay in the appearance of the sun, but at 5:40 our wait was rewarded, capturing some wonderful photos of what had only been silhouettes of the stupas (12 foot high bell ringer-shaped lava rocks with a Buddha figure ensconced inside, visible through one of the many diamond-shaped openings) and the 2,672 relief panels that held Buddhist history and mythology. Thanks go to our guide, Heru, for his infinitesimal knowledge and explanations which made this a valuable educational experience! Even here, as we later learned, current world issues had invaded our adventure. Our backpacks had been checked before we could enter the complex and we read online a few days later that ISISL had made a threat to destroy this religious icon.
Before our dinners here, Maggie and I would walk the dirt paths off our country lane in different directions, circling back to Rumah, walking on series of 1 foot wide berms defining the various planting sections. This balancing skill would come in handy our last full day when Aan drove us to a secluded Hindu temple, Candi Selogriyo, literally meaning temple of stone house. It is located near the village of Kembang Kuning (Yellow Flower), 1 hour NW of our homestay. Parking our car, we walked through the village where a loud wedding reception was in full swing, commencing our climb on a 2 foot wide brick path, breaking off at one point to traverse a 1 foot wide continuous berm in direct contact with crops and workers. Aan stopped several times to converse with the old women bent over, transplanting clumps of rice from nearby rice “nurseries”, smiling, toothless and speaking with Aan in old Javanese, versus the Indonesian norm, Bahasa. Off in the distance and deep in the valley lay a splendid view of lush, beautifully-tiered sections of rice paddies, soft geometrically shaped sections of other cultivations, banana trees, palms and a narrow river winding along the valley floor. This presented as a piece of artwork! In tandem with all this beauty, Aan shared his knowledge of all the plants, their medicinal uses, and spotted insects we would never have noticed, a special one being a shiny gold beetle, no more than ¼ the size of my thumbnail. He further regaled us with the aspects of “magic” provided by certain spiritual men for select maladies.
Our ascent culminated with climbing 150+ 8-12 inch risers to reach the small plateau housing this very small temple, adorned with sculptures of the god Shiva on all 4 sides, only one with a head. Unfortunately there is a market for these heads in places like Singapore, and sanctity takes a backseat to the desperation of poverty.
On our walk back, Aan pointed out an area with 4 bamboo poles, 20’ high, used for pigeon “racing”. This led to a conversation on the national taste for betting/gambling, which also includes cockfighting (illegal, but conducted in “secret”) and bird singing competitions. We topped off the day, stopping to sample Kopi Luwak, literally, coffee civet, otherwise known as “shit” coffee. The high cost of this coffee as we understand is that the Asian palm civets eat only the best coffee berries, defecate the beans after their digestive tract ferments them and then are processed by human hands. We bought ¼ pound of the cheapest, Robusta vs. Arabica, for $23 USD ($94/pound!). We leave you with this gift until next time when we report out on East Java, Lombok & Sulawesi.
Sampai jumpa!, S & M