Vignettes of the World
By Andrea Hirata Laskar Pelangi, meaning the Rainbow Troops in Indonesian, is a title that conveys hope. In this autobiographical novel, Andrea Hirata tells readers about a childhood in the struggling village school of Muhammadiyah Elementary in Beilitong, an island province in Indonesia that had …
Dieng might not be a prime destination in Indonesia for foreign tourists. It may have to do more so with its smell than any other reason, as the mountainous region is known for its naturally occurring sulfur lakes. On our way we met many savoring …
We went to the Ketep pass for a view of Mount Merapi. The Merapi is still active today and we were advised not to climb it. The last eruption took place two years ago. The driver took us to see the face of the volcano at vista points. There was heavy rain, however, and we did not manage to see much of the view.
We then went to the awesome Moro Lejar (freshwater fish) restaurant for a grilled fish lunch. It was very nice watching the rain pouring down like drawn curtains around us whilst we ate. The bamboo-stilted quarters were set above water. At the ponds we saw the largest and fattest carps that I have ever seen in my life, so big they looked almost like mini-sharks. I wondered if the Indonesians eat them. The Chinese people certainly do not, since they are symbols of wealth and prosperity.
The sun was soon to set so we rushed to the village of Bebung to see the ruinous rubbles caused by the Merapi eruption two years ago. The village has been evacuated now, and it is fair to say that it was haunted. There were two volunteers who were buried in the bunker by the debris from the eruption. We walked around the barren landscape of a once populated village. Legend has it that the village heads of these villages relied on their visions to tell if eruptions would threaten the lives of the villagers. There was one miraculous time when the village head was right in predicting that the eruption would not touch the village and refused to evacuate. Yet the second time around, he was wrong and the village was completely destroyed.
Illan said that in the last eruption none of the villagers died, as they all evacuated on time, but the two volunteers did not survive. He also told us about the “hot clouds,” where clouds of hot dusts would move and devour everything along its path with heat. The Lonely Planet said that at time of the eruption, the lava could gush down at 300 km per hour. The place was haunting, not in the sense of the dead, but rather how ominous the mountain was, having the enormous power of destruction in its path throughout this area.
We left with an utmost feeling of eeriness and returned home.
The Borobodur temple complex is recognized as a world heritage by the UNESCO. Built in the 7th century (AD750-850), it is a Buddhist temple made wholly of stones. The complex is shaped in a square, with four levels and stone carved bas relief depicting each …
In Yogyakarta (known locally as Jogja) we decided to see the Taman Sari (the Water Castle) first. We entered the Castle through the local bird market. It used to sell exotic and illegal birds. There we climbed an old and decrepit wall. When we climbed …
Jakarta greeted us with that distinctive character of Southeast Asia, a dampened air mixed with the exhaust of diesel, a metropolis set in the tropical. Tee and Add came with their driver and we decided to go to Kota Dua first.
We saw a lot of local life on our way. We passed by a slum in relatively light traffic, which was supposed to be unusual, due to the holiday when everyone was out of town. There were houses made of metal sheets all dotting along the way. The face of poverty displayed itself, with little to mask its exceptional contrast to the bustle of the metropolis still set in the background.
We first visited the Cobberstone Square, the Taman Fatahillah. To my surprise, many Indonesians were hanging out: young and old, men and women, Muslim and not. Kids were playing and youngster were skateboarding. It certainly was not a tourist spot, but rather a gathering place for the locals. That was our first course in Indonesia.
Kota Dua used to be a treasured settlement area for the Dutch. Colonial style houses used to stand tall along the river in the area’s heyday. Much has degenerated into disrepair now, however, and decrepit houses were seen everywhere, as if history has left it behind in cruel abandonment, tragically forgotten. Seeing one house after another in a sorry state of semi-collapse, one is hard-pressed to imagine even a glimmer of the glamor that it once was capable of. Yet this scene instilled an unusual beauty, of an era bygone, like a queen losing her teeth and standing alone in self-pity. Children dressed in torn clothes ran in the streets, and Kota Dua, meaning old city, breathed, ever so steadily, the erosive power of time.
Before we visited the pier, we found a Pendang restaurant at a street corner and had a hearty lunch. We were served many small plates. The cost was to be calculated according to what we actually picked out from the plates. The curry was fantastic and I even had fried chicken despite the bird flu scare that so often plagued in Asia.
We drove over to the pier. The Lonely Planet called it “not worth the picture” but the ships there could be “photogenic.” It was about sunset and Add attended the mosque to pray. There was much activity at the dock, as many goods were being loaded. Like Kota, the pier appeared to be in disrepair and some work was being done for restoration. The sight revealed the menial side of Indonesia, and it impressed greatly upon me, for it was real and honest with no pretension. Staring at the silhouettes of old cargo ships against the setting sun, I wondered what it was that lies at the heart of Indonesia. Could it be religion, politics, history, the economy, or maybe even food?
We heard the chant of Arabic prayers humming through the dusk. I was unmistakably placed in a Southeast Asian, Muslim time and place. In an evening breeze we strolled back to the car and drove through Jakarta to go home.
Tee’s home was big and furnished with crafts and souvenirs of the world. Her mother offered a homemade Indonesian dinner for which we were thankful. After a cold shower we chatted in Tee’s room, until one moment our conversation dropped in silence. Jogja was the plan for the next day.
