Java

 

We left Sumatra on May 11 and flew to Jakarta, the city where Doug and his family lived for 5 years back in the early 70’s.  We only had one night there to form an opinion and we came up with:  Jakarta is the congested, non-pedestrian-friendly hub of Java.  Truth be told I was happy to get to the train station the next morning and see a Starbucks.  After weeks of having breakfast options mostly of nasi goreng (fried rice with an egg), white bread with sugary jelly, or a thin soup my heart soared when I saw a Starbucks almond croissant.

Planes, trains and automobiles

The train was was clean, very comfortable and didn’t disappoint, with both beautiful views of volcanoes and rice paddies, and interesting sights of villages and people.  It got us to Yogyjarkata (joag-jah-car-tah), home for the next four days.  We lucked out on a nice, spacious, inexpensive Airbnb where Doug’s cousin Jeff Flint joined us.  Having just completed a 7-month stint teaching English in a sterile office to Japanese adults, Jeff was eager to get into the “chaos” of Indonesia.  He reports it couldn’t be more different from the orderly, meticulous, groomed Osaka, and he and Doug were excited to photograph the alleyways, people, and graffiti of the city.

When we arrived in Jogja on Saturday night we walked to the lively Malioboro Street, filled with open markets, musicians, and vendors selling all kinds of strange looking foods.  It was hot, crowded, and overwhelming after a full day of travel, so we quickly found a quiet air-conditioned restaurant where we could sit down and have a beer!  Being able to have a beer felt novel after traveling in the conservative, alcohol-free Muslim areas of Sumatra.

The next day we caught an hour long ride to the Hindu temple of Prambanan for a stunning sunset experience.  Built in 900, Prambanan Temple suffered damage from various wars, earthquakes and looting, but is now fairly well preserved.  While photographing the beautiful stupas in a backdrop of mountain ranges, competing chants from Muslim mosques sounding their call to prayer filled our ears.  It was one of those many moments when we knew we’d traveled far from home.

 

Hindu temple Prambanan, Java

Borobudur is a more popular and touristed temple, so we went at the end of the day to avoid large crowds.  (Both  Borobudur and Prambanan temples attract 90% local and only 10% foreign tourists.)  Sadly many of the stone Buddha heads at Borobudur were cut off and stolen in the past for art/souvenirs, though this didn’t deter from the awesomeness of the temple as a whole.  Every stone wall’s beautiful carvings told stories of Buddha’s life.  Leaving Borobudur through the seemingly endless maze of vendors aggressively selling souvenirs brought “must exit through gift shop” to a whole new level.

Buddhist Borobudar Temple, Java

We left the city for the hills of central Java, where we spent three nights at the base of Candi Sukuh.  Candi (chandee) Sukuh is a 15th-century Javanese-Hindu temple located on the western slope of Mount Lawu between Central and East Java provinces.  We stayed at a small hillside hotel in varying degrees of fog, providing mainly views of the village and farmland stretching away below.  From our place we walked to two waterfalls, and were a short drive from the fabulous Hindu temples Candi Cetho and Candi Kethek.  The day we visited Cetho and Kethek temples was incredibly atmospheric, with fog enveloping us and the moss and lichen covered ancient figures.  Jeff pronounced it perhaps his best day of travel in his seven months abroad!

Candi Sukuh, Hindu temple in Java

Candi Cetho

Candi Kethek

Once again, the five of us crammed ourselves and our backpacks into a car and drove four hours north to Semarang, where we had two days visiting old family friends John and Retno Duewel.  Doug’s father hired John back in 1971, and John remembers babysitting Steve and Doug on occasion when they were young boys cavorting in rice paddies.  John and his lovely Javanese wife Retno lived briefly in Ohio, but primarily in Semarang these last 48 years.  Our first day, John brought us on one of his favorite walks up a sulfury smelling volcano to six small temples.

John and Retno are veteran organizers of the Hash House Harriers (though Retno no longer participates), a group of locals and ex-pats who are either “runners with a drinking problem” or “drinkers with a running problem”.  Doug and Ella joined this eclectic group of runners/joggers/walkers for a Saturday hash.  They got drenched in heavy rain during their 6K run, but came back happy and more worldly after the closing circle of silly announcements and irreverent name assigning.  Too fun.

On Sunday we enjoyed a big dim sum lunch with the Duewels before sending Jeff on his way to Mount Bromo, hugging our kind hosts good-bye and flying off to our next adventure in Makassar, Sulawesi!

Doug’s letter to family, May 26

“Hey family,

We’ve covered some ground since I last wrote 2 weeks ago.  I’m sitting on the porch of our bungalow on the southern tip of South Sulawesi, looking out at the Flores sea and generally contemplating my good fortune.  We are down the beach from a small community called Pantai Bira, about 200 km’s southeast of Makassar, staying at a simple eco-resort called the Bira Dive Camp.  This morning’s 2 dives were our first since Pulau Weh and in an area the Lonely Planet describes as some of the “sharkiest” waters in Indonesia.  Despite this reputation no sharks were spotted during our 2 hours underwater, though we did see a large eagle ray from a distance and on our 2^nd dive many, many (Helen counted 19) green turtles, several big as a fridge and close enough to touch.  We are here for the next 4 days and tomorrow’s dive site will be a wall famous for hammerheads, threshers and bull sharks.  Our dive master (Hannah, a marine biologist from Utah who if you just heard her voice you’d swear was really Rachel) says not a problem (being eaten-wise) as sharks seem to know we’re not on the menu, something to do with highly attuned bundles of sensory cells allowing them to instead lock in on agitated distress signals.  Best thing to do when confronting big sharks, Hannah says, is to take a deep breath and remain calm, as a shark will sense and can be interested in your racing heart.

When I last wrote 13 days ago, we’d just landed in Jakarta from Banda Aceh and were gliding though Java’s rice belt on a day train to Yogyakarta.  There Anna had arranged for a 3 night stay at a lovely Airbnb, a home in a warren-like neighborhood a short walk from the popular Jalan Malioboro area, Kraton and the Water Palace (Taman Sari).  Later that evening, arriving back at our place after a good family wander, who should be there to greet us but cousin Jeffrey, fresh off a flight in from Japan.  It was brilliant having Jeff join us for the next 10 days as we all explored a piece of Java together.  The girls both really warmed up to him, Jeff being such a funny, good guy and all, and he effortlessly assimilated into our family rhythm.  Our first morning together Jeff and I headed out into the streets of Yogya, Java’s cultural heart, armed with cameras and looking for street scenes possibly capturing the essence of the city.  I had a blast and so great to spend time hearing about some of Jeff’s adventures in the world, and the differences he noticed from his 7 months in Japan that were so in his face that day.  He described Japan as homogenous, sterile and refined, a jarring contrast to the colorful, messy and vibrant chaos of Indonesia.  I actually thought the streets of Yogyakarta were surprisingly clean.  Mostly everywhere we wandered the maze of small alleyways (too narrow for cars) were freshly swept and orchids, other flowers and bird cages hung outside almost every home.  On a similar outing the next morning we stumbled on a classic SE Asian market, a narrow, half kilometer long alley where we brushed between stalls selling all manner of vegetable, spice and animal body part, avoiding the bloody puddles and exchanging greetings with curious locals.

Of course during our stay in Yogya we spent consecutive afternoons visiting Prambanan and Borobudur, two of the great marvels of Indonesia and oh so photogenic through Jeff’s old Cannon.  We watched the sunset at both temples and I’d forgotten how mountainous the surroundings are, with 3000 meter Gunung Merapi looming just to the north of Prambanan, which most recently erupted in 2014.  I expected big crowds and was relieved at both locations.  Prambanan had a just a thin scattering of mostly domestic tourists spread through the multiple structures of the 9^th century Hindu complex.  At similarly aged Borobudur Helen, Anna and I were mostly by ourselves navigating the 9 levels in the recommended clockwise direction (Jeff and Ella took other routes) as we contemplated in stone relief the story of the life of Buddha, only encountering a small crowd at the top level stupas where all enjoyed the evening sunset.  Once again we saw mostly domestic tourists and there were many requests to join in group photos.  Also, a guard chatting with us showed a photo he’d taken on his phone of the whole Obama family taken during their visit to the site last year.

When told we’re Americans, Indonesians consistently beam and tell us how they love Barack Obama.  I wonder if Trump has any plans to visit here, or is it more likely he’s lumped Indonesia somewhere on his “shithole” list.  That said, it is interesting how this country has changed in the 30 years since I last visited, changes confirmed during our weekend visit with (old ex-pat friend) John Duewel in Semarang.  Historically, Islam in Indonesia has blended with Hindu culture and imagery and has been largely tolerant and inclusive.  John estimates there are now 5 times the number of mosques Steve and I would have seen on our last trip here, and all crank the volume on their minaret’s loud speakers for the 5 time daily call to prayer starting around 4:45 each morning.  John says many complain of the noise levels, and property values now go down in surrounding homes each time a new mosque opens but authorities are wary of interfering with the more strident religious element that continues to gain government influence.  He calls this trend the Arabification of Islam in Indonesia and described his staff driver’s account of his local village where at first only a few conservative Muslims gradually exerted more influence over their neighbors.  Most visible are the hijabs now worn by almost all Indonesian women we’ve seen on both Sumatra and now Java.  John’s driver watched his village’s quick transition when women were confronted by zealots and shamed into covering their heads which they did to avoid trouble, creating a domino effect so that now a bare Indonesian female head is noteworthy.  We have also found beer to be more scarce (gasp) than it was 30 years ago and John told us local convenience stores removed them from shelves just 2 years ago.  Most Indonesians would say these are mostly small concessions (as beer is not commonly drunk here anyway) but the conservative creep continues and it will be interesting to see if there’s an eventual backlash from moderates.

Islam has been on full display for us on Java and now Sulawesi with the start of Ramadan last week, a month long religious event where most Muslims fast from dawn to dusk, and the calls to prayer seem more amplified and insistent than ever.  Jeff, somehow, had never heard this prayer song live and it’s been fun listening to the calls with fresh ears.  I’ve always loved the sound, so evocative of the East and exotic to us Westerners.  Mostly everywhere we’ve stayed so far has had dueling mosques within ear shot of our accommodations so many nights we fall asleep (and wake up) to competing prayer songs entering different windows.  The first night of Ramadan was a bit much.  We were in a small hotel perched high on the edge Java’s most sacred Hindu mountain (Gunung Lawu) next to a 15^th century temple (Candi Sukuh, a fascinating old step pyramid you’d assume came straight from central casting in some South American jungle adventure) and at intervals all through that night mosques in the valley below belted out not just song but speeches or announcements, making for a patchy night’s rest.  We stayed next to the pyramid for 3 nights, a 6 hour drive east of Yogya and up about a thousand meters, making me glad of my little used flannel shirt, pants and socks.  We spent our days hiking on the mountain and visiting several area temples and waterfalls.  On day two we visited a Hindu temple (Candi Cetho) at 1500 meters, with first rain, then thick mist rolling in and out of the 15^th century complex.  This sent Jeff into a photographic ecstasy and we both took some pretty cool pictures, with Jeff later announcing that one shot captured was his top picture in Indonesia and among his favorite ever.  I was impressed, as Jeff has a great eye and fine camera.  Instagram is where he posts, incidentally, (flintmasterflex and photronic_) if you’ve yet to subscribe and view his work.

Then last Friday we had the same driver that brought us from Yogya pick us up again and drive us 5 hours north to the coastal city of Semarang (home these last 40 years to Retno and John) where we checked into a hotel 5 minutes from their residence.  It was great to visit with them both, Retno now recovering well after a stroke left her pretty incapacitated last August.  Largely in-tact once more, she’s still weak enough that she finds a wheelchair helpful while continuing to rebuild her strength.  John at 74 continues to defy his age and hikes and runs with his Hash House Harrier groups in both Jakarta (where he commutes to his World Bank office each Monday through Friday) and the larger Semarang group that he’s been in charge of (along with Retno) since their arrival in the city way back when.  Over all these years (the first Hash House opened in KL almost 60 years ago and chapters apparently exist in cities in many countries around the world) the debate rages on whether their members are runners with a drinking problem or the opposite, drinkers with a running problem.

After an impressive hike with John visiting 6 old Hindu temples perched on a volcano above Semarang our first afternoon there, on Saturday Ella and I accepted our host’s invitation and joined about 50 other Hash member on a 6K and 10K course winding around a lake and through a rubber tree plantation outside of town.  There was an initial gathering where the course and other particulars were explained, then 4 members were picked out of the group (including Ella and I) due to the new looking nature of our running shoes.  Ella and I don’t have running shoes with us, as such, and chose instead that day to run in our North Sumatra jungle shoes, simple rubber cleats fashioned from a single mold.  These shoes were a hit with the Hash group, as we had just been invited to join in an old tradition of drinking beer out of new shoes and ours appeared designed for the purpose.  So a song was sung (much like our Mexican sessions with the First Fleet, Steve) and at the finale the 4 of us lifted shoes to lips, drained our cleats and there was much rejoicing.

Shortly after, a leader (the hare) took off with a large bag of shredded paper that was used to further mark the course he had laid out the day before, lightly sprinkling a few shreds of (easily decomposable) paper along the route that the rest of us could follow.  At various intervals trail forks would be marked with a circle where runners were forced to scout both routes for signs of shredded paper that began about 100 meters up the correct path.  Further along, an intersection showed 2 arrows, the short one for the 6K route and a long arrow for the 10K.  Most of the group (Ella and I included) engaged in a civilized blend of slow jog and fast walk for the 6K route and we spent much of our time in conversation various ex-pats, including a friendly Kiwi dairy farmer working with a company educating locals on better cow husbandry.  Then about half way through the course the rain hit.  We could hear the noise up in the trees for at least 5 minutes before it finally reached us, a slow moving tropical downpour that quickly drenched us, transforming our trail into a stream that in places reached half way to our knees.  It was eerie sloshing through the misty forest in a driving rainstorm as light quickly faded towards dusk.  Back at the parking area with the rain still pounding down most participants quickly left, leaving a somewhat diminished circle of about 20 members to conclude the event with the time honored tradition of roasting and drinking, all formally done with songs and strict rules of comportment.  John and another Dutch guy ran the proceedings, both shouting to be heard over the roar of the rain.  This lasted for another hour and eventually the rain did quiet.  Still soaked (and shivering a little), John’s driver comforted us with newspaper laid out on the car seats, towels and dry t-shirts and our drive back to the city was cheerful indeed.

On Sunday Ella joined John and Retno for a Baptist church service, then we all met at a local restaurant to feast on dumplings and dim sums.  Jeff had taken advantage of the weekend wifi to sort out the next leg of his trip, a flight to Surabaya and bus ride over to a village near Bromo.  We’ve since heard he’s been spending time with a group of Canadians and happily posting epic images of smoldering Indonesian volcanos.  His flight out was mid-afternoon and the rest of us lingered at the Duewels’ place few hours longer before catching a 2 hour evening flight to the old port city of Makassar on Celebes, the orchid island.

And now it’s Saturday morning already, 6 days later.  We’re taking a break from diving this morning after 4 in the last 2 days and plan on walking into town later to see if we can purchase more data for Anna’s phone.  That, an afternoon beach cleanup and the girls’ plan to record a song with Hannah should make for a fine day indeed.  Yesterday’s dives were epic, though large waves kept us from diving the “great wall” on Goat island (Pulau Kambing), most famous for large sharks and other pelagic creatures.  At a more sheltered site around the corner we did spot several white tipped reef sharks, along with trevally, tuna, healthy corals and reef fish in their many tens of thousands.  And two banded coral snakes.  That was pretty special.  The only bummer part was a minor cold Anna woke up with which kept her from equalizing and forced her to remain on board while the rest of us gawked at all those crazy fishes beneath the waves.  Our hope is that by tomorrow she’ll be better and conditions will improve for one more crack at that wall.

Anna just told me you and Dad are heading up to the Lake for Memorial Day today, Mom.  I can imagine the spring scene you’ll find there, and perhaps a mysterious rainbow PACE flag fluttering above the dock.  I’ll write again soon of our continuing adventure as we head up to Tana Toraja and know that our hearts are with you this weekend in cozy Birdbox.  Love, love,

Doug”