Ask any Indonesian outside of Bali, and they’re likely to tell you that there are Indonesians, and then there are the ‘Balinese’.  Much like how London does not at all reflect the rest of the UK, and yet, it’s culture is what most tourists associate with life in Blightly – the sights, the noise, the bustle.  Little might they know that the UK sans London, is rather more quaint and a lot more authentic.

And so it is with Jogjakarta. Known more often as ‘that place whose name you’re mispronouncing’, or “no, not Jakarta – JOG ja-karta”, it might be known as the Angkor Wat of Indonesia’ , although there are actually two grand sites in Prambanan and Borobodur that would argue for that crown.

 

Day 1

I won’t lie and say that I didn’t feel at least a little smug about taking the public bus upon arrival at the airport. Aini had done a little research, and it turned out that the bus cost approximately half a peanut, and ran almost directly to our hotel. There was some slight apprehension (OK, and glee) on my part as we trudged away from the International Arrivals taxi stand (‘noo..’) and towards the Domestic Arrivals building. Around the corner, there were signs to the bus terminus or should I say, humble little bus shack.  With only a small amount of gesticulation, we bought two tickets (total of 7000 IDR – or 42 pence) to ‘Phoenix Hotel..?”.

Clerk: * hands us the tickets*

Aini: *takes the ticket *

Clerk: *gestures towards the turnstile*

Aini: *Rotates 90 degrees forward. Inserts ticket into slot. Pushes and steps forward into turnstile.*

And thus is the life’s purpose of Yogjakarta’s bus tickets. Destined only to be shoved into one’s sweaty palms, held for 2.5 seconds, before being shoved and discarded into a small dark hole, where the sad circle of life begins anew.

Anyway. As most superficial travellers know, the height of ‘hip’ is to be able to partake in local life – “do as the locals do”.  It’s because i’m so hip and smug that I can tell you that Yogja buses are pretty cool. Each bus terminus is effectively a raised shack with a roof (and a turnstile being fed some very unfufilled bus tickets). The buses come fast and with little warning – and occasionally requires you to take a running jump at the entrance. Luckily, the bus attendants are all very helpful and even if they don’t speak much English, do still recognise the distinct word(s) of “er..Phoenix?” and will gesture you to hop on or off the bus accordingly. The buses are clean and air conditioned, (which is great because personal space is not a thing during the peak hours) and come equipped with prayer booklets for every religion. It’s not often you’re looking for a bus map and you find the Lord’s Prayer instead. They could have also eased off a bit with the irritating little perfume dispenser thingy – as clean as the bus was, that was the single thing that evoked memories of a public bathroom.

With remarkable ease, we did get to the Phoenix Hotel. It’s a beautiful place and the most famous hotel in Jogja.

My rationale when we booked it – eh. birthday, why not. But like everything in Indonesia, the price was a steal and I’m glad we went for it. There were elaborate Javanese teak wood carvings, marble hallways, and very pleasant staff. Aini pointed out to me the Javanese theatre puppets (‘Wayang’) and a traditional child’s Malay ‘board games’ (‘Congkak’) they had on show.

As she attempted to explain the game to me, I grasped some vague awareness of the rules, and thus I describe herein – in the poorest way possible – that the game is deceptively simple and yet super strategic. Two players, a handful of seeds, or coffee beans, whatever is at hand, dotted across the pots – and using a set of moves, the player who manages to move all of his seeds or beans to the big pot  at the end – is the winner. Don’t ask me for anything more specific, you’ll realise i’ve been making it all up as I go. I’ve been made aware that ‘Congkak’ derives from a Malay word meaning ‘mental calculation’.  So yeah, that figures.

We had arrived at the hotel a couple of hours before check in, so off we went in search of day-time nourishment. We went to check out the House of Raminten, a nearby restaurant with good reviews and some rather eccentric decor. The restaurant is owned by a semi-famous retired TV actor, who played a character named Raminten on a soap opera. I can only guess that the soap was an Indonesian version of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert, because quite frankly Raminten looks like a drag queen you really wouldn’t wanna mess with in a dark alley.

Slightly conscious that we didn’t want to poison ourselves on our first day, (we were going to paraglide the next day! No in-flight spillages, please) we only opted for a couple of simple choices,  that weren’t really so special. It surprised us that there were so many rave reviews about this place, not least from our somewhat barmy driver, Teguh.  It was pleasant and all, but maybe we just didn’t pick the right choices. At least I can recommend you a Chocolate & Avocado shake next time (surprisingly good).

Whilst we waited check in time, we had a bit of a mini wander around the vicinity.

As with most SE Asian cities, in most of the city, there is very little ‘sidewalk’, though Malioboro had one of the wider stretches. Most of the roadsides were reserved for motorbikes  and cars, and occasionally where there was some space, they’d throw the pedestrians a bone and give them just enough pavement to avoid that severed limb out by the traffic.   Zebra crossings were also games of chicken, only to be overcome  by colossal amounts of human fortitude and hunger to reach the lunch place.

We had a bit of time still before being able to check in, so we squeezed in a look around Taman Sari, the old Sultan’s famed ‘Water Palace’. Given I orginally thought it was just a large building with a big wading pool in the middle, I was quite impressed.

The palace is a set of walkable grounds consisting of a couple of lake/pool side pavilions, bathing complexes and sauna(s), cooling underground pathways and a modest underground mosque culminating in the instagram-worthy site of “four staircases”.

We had accidentally picked up a guide at Taman Sari, in that way one accidentally picks up a lost chicken on a farm trail. You’re vaguely interested at first in the chicken’s presence and clucking, follow it a while, and then realise that it’s a ploy and you’re sort of stuck with it – thus needing to feed it at the end of the trail, to make a successful getaway.  In his defence, he didn’t cost much and was a helpful chap, even if we realised we had entered via the back entrance,  and could have seen the entire thing for free if he hadn’t started off led us diretly to the entrance ticket booth..

Our only concrete plan on Day 1 was to see the Rayamana Ballet (it’s pronounced Bal-lot, OK) by Prambanan Temple. Actually, the wishful thinking was to go see sunset at Prambanan, followed by the Ballet.  That really didn’t work out when the bus – yeah! we’re locals now remember! – chugged along at what felt like snail speed-  and then we ended up walking entirely the wrong way for 30 mins –  but after that minor hiccup we successfully made it in time for the venue’s dinner buffet (a classic tourist ploy of, you’re here and there’s nothing else to eat, suckahs), and also to be told that – as luck would have it – the ballet would be specially held outdoors this evening against the backdrop of Prambanan,  on account of the fine weather. Yey!

So after having a definitively ‘meh’ “dinner buffet” alongside all the other tourists unable to find a nearby meal, we settled to watch the ‘epic’ tale of Rama, the fearless Prince who vanquished his opponents and all his enemies to secure his beautiful bride, which, for reasons of dodgey ballet subtitling, I still don’t know the name of.

Synopsis: (I won’t be super mad if you think it’s TL:DR)

Old fashioned dad holds a competition for all the princes in the land to come to, in order to win the hand of his beautiful daughter. So far, so Disney. I think it’s a fighting competition (it’s sometimes hard to tell with all the dancing), because who better to marry your daughter than the one most able to beat you up eh. Anyway, Prince Rama, slightly tubbier than your average Prince Charming and wearing a whole lot more man-scara, comes out on top and he and the daughter (she starts off as Shinta) marry, or date, or whatever they did back in those days when people kill in order to get your attention.

There’s an evil dude called Rahwana however, who really wants Shinta. Because she reminds him of a Goddess he’s being stalking for years, so that’s OK. Rahwana has an obssesive swimfan/follower called Marica. He calls on her to ensnare Sita for him (yes, she’s called Sita now), so naturally he transforms her into a Golden Deer – and what a delightful Golden Deer she is.  Really though, the actress did a wonderful impression of swimfan-turned-manipulative-golden-deer that i’ve ever seen. Anyway.

Rama, Shinta (sure) and Rama’s annoyingly incompetent brother Laksmana are having a stroll in the forest. Golden Deer comes bounding along, and much like most Asian Princesses nowadays, dear Sita goes all ‘cha-chingggg’ and commands hubby to go fetch her a shiny new toy. Rama is all yeah alright fine, tells his brother to watch his bride, but because he doesn’t really trust him at all, casts a spell that protects her within a magic circle. Off he goes to appease her, and and pretty soon, dumb bro goes off to help too, as SwimDeer’s other talents include mimicking Rama’s voice, such that it sounded as if he was pleading for Laksmana’s help. So yeah, Sita’s all alone, sitting pretty bored in her not-so entertaining magic circle. God, some girls just can’t ever be satisfied can they?

Evil Antagonist Big Boss Rahwana creeps along gleefully and attempts to snatch Shinta, but he is foiled by the magic circle. But because he is an Evil Genius, and the play really couldn’t stretch to 2+hours otherwise, he transforms himself into a withered old begger instead, whom Sita takes pity on, meaning she steps out of the circle, only to be trapped into a GOTCHA moment and abducted away into an evil distant empire.

Anyway, the rest of the sub-plots were a little tedious and/or WTF to me, but broadly they included a giant man-bird who tries to do noble things but dies anyway, a ninja snow monkey who jump around and do a lot of roundhouse kicks, burning stacks of hay, a bunch of drunk minions who Rama ends up defeating with the help of ninja monkey, and finally ninja monkey dropping a mountain onto Rahwana. Actually, it isn’t clear whether he actually dropped him off a mountain, but the subtitle definitely said he dropped a mountain on Rahwana, so we’ll go with that.

To end the story, after Rama is finally reunited with his wife, he’s all, ‘well I got a monkey to drop a mountain on someone but nehh you’re damaged goods luv, don’t think I want you anymore’. So yeah, Rama’s a massive jerk.  And couldn’t he have figured this out 2 hours ago before my bum started to get sore on this stoney hard seat? Oh, but there’s one way for him to be convinced of her continuing ‘purity’, which is, as all true romantics know, is to set yourself on fire. If she burns, she is definitely tainted, mmmkay. If she is untouched by the flames, she is still pure. Sita, being the dumb Asian Princess that she is (what is life, if she can’t have a Golden Deer?), willingly sets herself on fire and lo and behold, the licks of flames simply bounce off of her. So and therein ends the story of the jerk misogynistic Prince, the dumb materialistic Princess with an identity crisis, and the mountain-dropping monkey.

Rama, who definitely knows how to aim his bow and arrow

All in all, I enjoy it but it was probably 30 mins too long and in this day and age, the “morals” of the story weren’t exactly very progressive. I really hope it is merely just a classic story you can do a nice song and dance to, as opposed to a parable , because if it was, it effectively promotes 1. Attempting to marry a brutal fighter, 2. Trying not to be sexually assaulted by your kidnapper 3. Self-immolation as a means to prove yourself unassaulted, and thus worthy to your fighter husband.  In any case, the backdrop was stunning and the live instrumental performance behind the actors were enchanting, probably the best part of the whole show.

Day 2

The next morning, we met our somewhat colorful and lovely driver, Teguh. He comes highly recommend on the interwebs, though admittedly he appears to be the only private driver in Jogja. Nevertheless, if you’re ever here and want to get around, he’s your man.

Teguh was interested in where we were from (Malaysians… bad.. Singaporeans..good! Indians – always thought everything was way too expensive – Scots – couldn’t understand a damn word they said), and was also intrigued at Aini’s Indonesian-but-Chinese-but-yes-Indonesian heritage. He spoke about how Bali was not really Indonesia (and therein I had the intro to my blog), and how Malay culture had effectively ripped off Indonesian culture. At one point, the subject randomly got onto the Teresa Teng classic, 月亮代表我的心  or ‘The Moon Represents My Heart’ which apparently had quite the following in Indonesia. (P.S I looked it up and you can view the Bahasa Indonesian version here.. And the beautiful original from Ms Teng right here.. aahhh, the feelz.)

We had told Teguh that we wanted to go to Timang Beach to ride the epic-looking rickety gondola (“eh.. low safety standards..it’s just a rope..when you get there, it’s just 2 mins and back and you’re done..but i’ll take you if you want”), as well as getting to Parangtritus Beach to try a spot of tandem Paragliding. After a bit of back-and-forth in the car, Teguh convinced us to head instead to the nearer site of Jomblang Caves (‘international safety standards!’), where we would be lowered into a valley crevice and see the famous “Heaven Of Light” amidst a whole lotta mud.

It was mucky, sweaty (or just wet, I can’t tell what the moisture was from) and slippery, but I thought it was super fun for it. Wearing my ill-fitting wellies and a helmet, in my shorts and sleeveless top (seriously, I must look like an absolute hussy in Indonesia), we were strapped into a harness and rappelled down past beauitful tree canopies into the valley (eek wedgie), after which we trekked and traversed down muddy paths and slopes clinging to a thin wire rope to see the Heaven of Light.  It was indeed a lovely sight, especially upon approach, where all you saw were the silhouettes of strangers, bathed in a glowing white light from above.

Once we had been hoisted back up the cliff and hosed ourselves down, it was off to Parangtritus. The paragliding site itself was perched atop a hill (I know this to be normal now.. of course it isn’t on a beach!), and upon arrival we were required to sign indemnity forms that basically said there was no insurance, so no blaming them if we die. Hokay then.

Pondering whether our deaths are really be worthless

Before we yomped onto the hillside, we were told that the wind was a bit flakey today (flakiness = my pet peeve) so it wasn’t clear how much air-time we’d get, if any. On a good day, a tandem paraglide can last over 20mins, today it might be 5. (I actually got what felt like 2mins,  but for 33 USD, it’s hard to complain).

I suited up first, and got hooked up onto my Mysteriously-Gravelly-Voiced-Pilot whose face I couldn’t see cos he had one of those balaclava things on.

I was told the simple instructions. When he says so, they’d fiddle and hoist the parachute up off the ground and we were to run. Don’t stop. Don’t sit. Don’t jump. Just keep running. Off the side of the hill. OK. I waited. The wind wasn’t being cooperative, and with a small audience of locals who were obviously curious to see how these lovably dumb tourists might float up onto the air, I kept waiting.

Finally, the wind turned and the pilot yelled at me to run. I tell you, it’s not easy to run “in tandem” whilst strapped onto a guy, but you don’t really get much choice. I ran, but we then had to abort halfway and i crumpled into a heap on the grassy hill. Bummer.

Well at least I had plenty of time to enjoy the view

Anyway, to cut the story short, I ran, stopped and crumpled another four times, managing to sustain a rather deep gash right across my thigh, before he gave up and Aini’s own pilot decided to strut to the hillside, and show us how it’s done. And of course, they caught the wind and took off first time. But of course they did.

I eventually took off successfully the sixth time, and it was awesome. I initially was a little nervous, but not so much,  given I was harnessed in and “sitting”, much like ziplining,  which I really enjoy too.  We angled down the hill across the beach, where there was a lazy sun shining, almost ready to set. The shimmer of water, a stretch of sandy beach, and a long expanse of fields and greenery, and in my head I was going “wheeee”.  Unfortunately, the ride was too short owing to the pathetic amount of wind in the air, so we gently eased down onto the beach and I bid farewell to my Gravelly voice chaperone.

We spent the next hour or so relaxing at a nearby beach, where Teguh bought us a giant coconut, wrapped his shirt around his head, and proceeded to tell us about the hardships of women and/or marriage (he was divorced) and how he eventually wanted to save enough so that his three year old daughter could grow up to study in either Singapore or the UK. We were young, he said – we had time, and we should enjoy our freedom! And then, as if ocean had enough of our tedious “h2h” moment, a freak tide came in, ruined my giant coconut and only narrowly missed drenching us with its sneaky, salty reach.

We got into the car, and Teguh cast a weary eye from the driver’s seat back at the gash I had sustained on my thigh,  during my failed paragliding attempts. He told us how he prided himself on taking care of all his customers, including one time when a family’s kid got an asthma attack and he accompanied them all the way to the hospital and stayed with them to make sure he was OK.  And with that , he popped out a small bottle of  Iodine,  leapt across the back seat, told me ‘DON’T CRY!’ and launched into a rendition of Moon Represents My Heart whilst liberally pasting the Iodine onto the wound – all the while,  with me sitting there stunned with the equivalent of speechless emoji face and Aini finding the whole thing hilarious and attempting to record the surreal sight in front of her.  I will never be able to hear Teresa Teng again in the same way again.

That night, dinner was at Mediterranea. I won’t say much, because not much can really happen at dinner, except:

1. Teguh randomly rocked up and sat down at our table for a few minutes (Aini: “oh..hi! you’re here!”) before taking his hot beverage back by the waiting car;
2. The food was really quite excellent for the price you pay, and the tripadvisor reviews are correctly fabulous;
3. I’m still torn as to whether I find it incredibly amusing/a stroke of genius that one can extricate marrow through a straw..

Part two coming up – featuring temples,  castles, more temples, and Indo mee!