Sunday, September 28
Yogyakarta, Java, Indonesia
I arrived in Yogyakarta, in central Java, in the early afternoon. It had been more than 36 hours since I first set foot on a plane. I changed aircraft in Japan, had a short night's rest in Bangkok and finally made a quick connection through Jakarta.

In the Yogyakarta arrival hall I hired a taxi and was quickly delivered to my hotel, the Duta Guest House. I checked in and, anxious to get started with my trip, I went looking for transportation to the local bird market.

The desk clerk suggested I take a becak. That, I found, was the standard form of transportation in Java. It's a three-wheeled rickshaw, peddled from the rear with the passenger riding over the front wheels. After a little bargaining I was driven about 10 minutes and dropped at the bird market.

It was getting late and the market was just starting to close, but still I could see lots of birds in bamboo cages. I talked to one vendor who named some of his birds. He told me that he had several kinds of roosters: some, he told me, were for looking at, some for singing, while others - he laughed - were to eat. I was a little taken aback by the singing - I had never thought of roosters as songbirds.

There were men racing pigeons in the narrow alley. They flew the birds by holding up a female pigeon as incentive for the males to make a quick return. The birds whizzed past my head and landed on the back of their out-held mates.

After exploring the market I started heading north. I wanted to walk the travel-kinks out of my back and figured I would head up to Malioboro, the main shopping street. Not exactly sure where I was, and too lazy to get out my map, I just started asking people, "Malioboro?" I walked in the direction they pointed.

Even though it was late it was still quite hot. The sidewalks were crowded with pedestrians and streets full of trucks, cars, becaks and even horse-carts. It was a fun place to walk with everybody quick to smile.

As some point I asked a young woman for directions and she started walking along with me. Her English was pretty good and she was pleasant to talk to. That said I'm always a little wary when locals want to accompany me. It's my experience that they usually want something in return for their company. As I had just arrived, I was a little less cautious than normal.

We walked north and quickly arrived at Malioboro. The crowded street was lined with tourist shops selling all sorts of souvenirs, such as, batik and woodcarvings. The sidewalk was filled with stands selling similar goods. There were clothing, food and appliance shops too.

With my companion Nona, I nosed around the shops and stalls for a while. Several times I attempted to dissuade her from following me, but I guess I didn't try very hard. Finally, I accepted her company and asked her to take me to an Internet shop. I had made my Java travel plans in less than two weeks and there were still a couple of details I needed to check on.

We walked to the far end of Malioboro, across from the train station, to an Internet place called Queens. Nona sat patiently while I read my email. That done, I sat thinking for a moment: what should I do about Nona? I was still concerned that at some point she would hit me up for money, and since I had encouraged her I would feel a little obliged. But right now I was too hungry to think about it. I needed to get something to eat first. I asked Nona if she wanted to join me and we went to a Chinese/Japanese restaurant.

Even though I was somewhat apprehensive, Nona stayed away from what I consider no-go areas: she hadn't asked where I was staying nor did she inquire about my travel plans. Either of these would have put me on guard.

Nona had been chattering pretty much from the minute I met her and by now I knew several things about her. First, her father lived in Sweden. Also, she was in nursing or medical school - it wasn't clear which. She also told me she wanted to marry an American. She gave me a big smile along with that last piece of information.

Nona ordered a meat/seafood combination that we cooked on a little griddle at the table. The food was good but the heat from the griddle made an already hot evening even hotter. Nona ate at a glacial pace and dinner seemed to take forever.

Finally I suggested we leave: it was stuffy and I had been sitting way too long. On the way out I thought to myself, "Ok, what will it be: goodbye or should we meet again?"

Outside in the cooler air, I realized I was tired. I told Nona I was going back to my hotel. Then impulsively I asked her if she wanted to meet for dinner the next day. She asked what I was doing during the next day but I just said I had plans. We agreed to meet at 7:00 next evening.

I walked a bit to cool off and then took a becak back to the hotel. It was about 10:00 and a cool breeze blew in the open lobby, so I got a beer and sat looking through the day's photos.

Monday, September 29
Yogyakarta, Java, Indonesia
About 9:00 the next morning I headed out with a car and driver I had hired from the hotel ($10). I had read about a cemetery south of Yogyakarta that contained the tomb of a 17th century Javanese king. What intrigued me was the line in my travel guide that read: "To enter the mausoleum you must don full Javanese court dress." What could that mean?

We quickly left the city and drove through the lovely, green countryside - the sky was blue and the sun already hot. There were small farms everywhere growing all kinds of tropical foodstuff: mango, banana, dates but mostly there was rice. Women in conical hats worked stooped over in the fields. There was also rice drying on tarps along the roadside.

It took about 30 minutes to reach the little village of Imogiri where the tomb were located. We stopped at the bottom of a hill. There was a long concrete staircase with a couple of men sitting at the bottom. After making a small donation, I walked up the 350 plus stairs to the top where I found several more men sitting in an open-sided building.

First, they asked me to sign their guest book and then, amidst much laughter, had me take off my shirt. Then one of the men helped me put on a sarong. He carefully arranged the pleats in the front. This apparently was "court dress." The other men were wearing similar sarongs but they also had on a short jacket. I was given the option of wearing a jacket too but, because of the heat, was glad to be shirtless.

Then the guy who helped me with the sarong asked if I wanted him to take my picture - I guess he had dealt with tourists before. After that I was repeatedly told that I wasn't allowed to take any photos inside the mausoleum.

About this time a couple more men showed up and we all, maybe 8 of us, set off up the hill. I was the only non-Javanese. Our little procession passed through several small courtyards, all the time climbing higher. Finally, we arrived at the apparent object of our journey: a dark, wooden building set in a brick-walled courtyard. There was a large overhang on one side where we all sat down.

Two of the men had been carrying trays covered with a red cloth. They now uncovered them and removed some kind dry vegetation, which they placed on two metal burners. When they lit it, the air quickly filled with fragrant smoke.

While this was going on the man next to me stated chanting. At the end of each chorus the other men would join in. The precise number of repetitions must have been important because he was counting them off on his fingers. This went on for about 10 minutes.

Finally, the guy next to me - I figured he was the head priest - got to his knees and removed the padlocks from two low doors. Then two other men bent over and crept inside, one in each door. Presently I could hear sweeping.

Shortly the priest crawled in and invited me after him. Inside the only light came from a few candles. In the center of the room was a simple stone tomb. The priest walked over and knelt down, placing his forehead on the stone floor. He held this pose for a few minutes - I assumed he was praying.

Next, he invited me to do the same. I wondered what to do and decided to give thanks for being allowed to make this trip and also to ask for a safe return to my home.

After this I left the mausoleum and I walked around the grounds for a while. Then, after asking permission, I took some photos of the lower building and the men who had accompanied me to the tomb. Everyone was very courteous and kind. I was glad that I had come to this interesting place and had witnessed this simple but elegant ceremony.

My driver took me back to the hotel. From there I took a becak to Malioboro, where I spent the afternoon checking the local crafts, taking photos and generally just nosing around. Finally, I headed back to the hotel for a shower (it was real hot) and a long nap.

In the early evening I took a becak back to the Queens Internet shop. Then I went looking for Nona. By the time we found each other it was fully dark. I asked her where she wanted to eat. She had two suggestions: either McDonald's, which she looked at longingly across the street, or the place we had visited the previous night. I opted for the previous night's place.

We were instantly recognized as old friends and given the same table. This time I ordered Chinese food. I don't remember what Nona had.

We talked until our food arrived. Near the end of the meal Nona reached across the table and took my hand. She put on her saddest face and started to tell me her problems. It seemed she was having money trouble - she needed a large amount to settle her school bill. I don't remember exactly how much. She looked directly at me and started to softly weep.

I felt both annoyance and sympathy in equal measure. Well, actually I felt more annoyance - I figured she was trying to soften me up. This was exactly what I had expected. I gently pulled my hand back and said something sympathetic. We finished our meal quietly and then I suggested we take a walk.

Outside I found a quiet place to sit. I told Nona I was sorry she was having money problems, but that I couldn't give her what she needed. I told her I was leaving the next day (a lie) and said good-bye. Then I pulled some cash out of my pocket and put it in her hand. She held it up to the streetlight so she could count it. I thought this extremely tacky. Finally, we exchanged email addresses and said good-bye. She insisted I kiss her cheek and gave me one in return.

I got up and walked into the cool night feeling relieved that I was rid of Nona. I walked until I felt relaxed and then took a becaks back to my hotel. I sat in the lobby and wrote the whole episode in my journal.

In Nona's defense I will say that she was good company and that I enjoyed our time together. I had known (or thought I knew) what was coming and had gone into it with my eyes wide open. I hadn't given her any more money that I wanted to. That said I still felt a little annoyed - I felt used. The real damage was that this business only reinforces my rather cynical view of local folk's motives.

Tuesday, September 30
Yogyakarta, Java, Indonesia
I woke early and sat in the garden in front of my room. It had a pond full of goldfish and potted staghorn ferns and orchards hanging from the palm trees. There were two buildings - two-story "cottages" with four rooms each - on opposite sides of the garden. At each end there were plant-covered walls. It was very quiet and peaceful. I could hear the distant sound of the street and occasionally the Muslin call to prayer.

I had a large room with windows overlooking the garden. My bathroom - which was attached to my room - had a little garden of it's own. It was open on two sides and also had a fishpond and potted plants. It was quite pleasant - something I have never said about a bathroom before. As this was low season I pretty much had the hotel to myself. My room was $23 a night.

At 6:00 I had breakfast by the hotel swimming pool and then walked down to a small produce market at the end of the street. There I saw all kinds of produce - coconut, pineapple, durian and lots of stuff I didn't recognize. Everyone seemed to enjoy having his or her picture taken. In fact, they would often wave me over hoping I would take their picture.

Back at the hotel I arranged for a car to take me to Prambanan ($12) to see some ancient Hindu temples. It was about 20 minutes east of Yogyakarta. The ride wasn't nearly as pleasant as the day before - we never really escaped the city. Instead of farms we passed places selling motorbikes and bottled gas, and others offering one-hour photo processing and photo copying - there wasn't a lot of open space.

The temples were also somewhat disappointing. Rows of souvenir stands, a museum and even a small zoo surrounded the site. The temples themselves were dark and hard to photograph being uniformly gray and too large to fit in the camera's frame. Plus, it was already hot making walking under the blazing sun an effort.

I spent about half an hour looking around and then we headed back. From the hotel I got a becaks back to Malioboro and did some more shopping. At a CD stand I started talking to a young woman about Indonesian music. At her suggestion I bought a couple of VCDs (video compact disks.)

One was by an Indonesian singer named Inul. It turned out that Inul is quite the rage right now. She is a very dynamic dancer having invented a fairly controversial (and mildly erotic) movement called "drilling." As she holds her arms above her head and swings her hips, she rotates - you really have to see it to appreciate it. She sings a style of Indonesian music called dangdut.

I was also pleasantly surprised how outgoing Indonesia woman were. In many predominately Muslin countries women are quite shy and retiring - but not Java. In Yogyakarta women would often strike up a conversation asking where I was from. It was a delight.

I spent the rest of the afternoon in my favorite pursuit: I walked around the neighborhoods, looked in all the shops and took loads of pictures. There is nothing I like better.

Wednesday, October 1
Yogyakarta, Java, Indonesia
After a quick breakfast, I took a taxi to the train station to catch the 6:30 to Solo. Also known as Surakarta, it's about 65 kilometers northeast of Yogyakarta. I had read about a temple outside Solo that sounded interesting and decided to make a day-trip of it.

The Yogyakarta station, like all train stations, was dingy and dirty. I stood around waiting with the rest of the passengers in the early morning gloom. When the train finally pulled in we all piled on. There were cute Muslin girls in headscarves, handsome young men in jeans and batik shirts, and businessmen with their mobile phones and brief cases.

The railroad car was dirty and dingy too. Most of the windows were closed despite the lack of air-conditioning and were almost too dirty to see out of. I found a seat and for the next hour rocked slowly past small rivers, banana plantations and rice fields.

At the Solo station I went looking for a taxi. None of the drivers spoke English - Solo is definitely not a tourist town - but the drivers managed to find a fellow who acted as translator. As all the other drivers circled around I bargained with one. He wanted about $25 for the three-hour round-trip to the temple, Candi Sukuh. I thought this high and we went back and forth until I finally gave in - much to the delight of all the drivers.

We jumped in his van and were quickly outside Solo. At first the land was flat and I saw peppers, corn and mangos growing, but mostly I saw rice. Every piece of ground, no matter how small, seemed to be planted with rice.

Soon we started to climb. The hills were terraced with more rice plots. In every direction it was lush green and soothing to the eye. Finally, the last few kilometers were up a very steep hill. Near the top we found a flat place to park.

The temple looked like some minor Mayan temple in Mexico with steep stair-stepped sides and a flat top. It was constructed of some dark (volcanic?) rock. It was, in fact, squat and ugly but it didn't matter - the drive out had been worth it.

The driver and I walked around for a while before starting back. Along the way I had him stop several times so I could take more pictures. He seemed as happy as I was to be out in the cool, green countryside and always managed to find some comfortable spot to sit while I was walking around with my camera.

Back in Solo I had him drop me at the antique market, but I was too hot and hungry to shop. Instead I headed toward the main shopping district. Along the way I found a place to eat. Then I found an Internet shop - they seem to be everywhere in Java. Finally, I found some shopping malls. The first was the stuffy, crowded kind that seems to be everywhere in Asia. The narrow, crowded aisles were just too claustrophobic so I moved on to a western style air-conditioned place where I spent the next hour looking around the shops and stalls.

In the center I found a stand selling stickers. I am always looking for stickers that say something about the place I'm visiting. Sometimes they will have pictures of local gods or politicians. Other times they will have some funny, mangled English text. As I was browsing I started talking to the two girls that ran the stand and then to three young men who were hanging around. The all spoke pretty good English. I asked them to translate the stickers that were written in Indonesian.

There were also several stickers that had pictures of Che Guevara, the Cuban revolutionary. I had seen his picture on tee shirts too, so I asked one of the guys if he knew who Che was. When he said no, I gave him a quick overview. I told him about Castro and the Cuban revolution; about Che being sent to Central America to foment revolution; and about the CIA having Che killed. This was all news to him. Then I asked why pictures of Che would be popular in Indonesia - he had no idea and neither do I.

Later I took a becak to the train station where I got on a painfully slow, hot train back to Yogyakarta. I fell asleep several times in the stuffy, hot car.

That evening I found an outdoor café near my hotel and sat drinking a cold beer while I editing the day's photographs. This was my last night in Yogyakarta - tomorrow I was heading north into the central Java highlands.

Yogyakarta had been a great place to visit. It had all the conveniences a traveler needs without having lost its character. I never felt like I was in some major tourist destination, which in fact is what Yogyakarta is. I really enjoyed my time there and was sad to leave. But, I was also very excited be on the go again.

Ann Arbor, Michigan
November 2003

Part Two: Wonosobo, Pangandaran and Jakarta

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