I left Taiwan for Indonesia the night after my first attempt at direction of an Xtreme play, which really didn’t need any direction, I had a great cast. A fun Christmas leaving, that was for certain. This being my first travel experience alone, I was excited for the possibilities. And they came. Within two hours of landing, I had made my first friend, Rizal, who was a couple of years younger than me, and was eating delicious sate (aka satay), a plateful of which could be bought for about $1CDN, and drinking avocado smoothies. I also met Charles, whom I sat up with until 3 am, chatting, smoking, and drinking with. Indonesian people are, without a doubt, the friendliest people I have ever met in the world.
Jakarta was…interesting. A little big for me, and for exploring, really. Well, when you’re carrying a large backpack, anyway. I did see a couple of sights, including a metric tonne of barbed wire and the third largest mosque in the world. One quickly adjusts to the call to prayer, but as the first tones of Allah u Akbar, Allah u Akbar ring out over the cityscape, you cannot escape the fact that you are a foreigner in this country, despite the welcome you may receive and the friendliness the people exude. And with all the calls to be included in a photograph I received, that was a lot of amity.
A night train brought me to Yogyakarta (pronounced Jojakarta) in Central Java, in time for me to wander around town (a personal town greeting I’ve taken to) with time to catch the sunrise and watch the city wake up. I ended up down along a river, wandering amongst the dwellings of the folk of the country, in the best sense of the word. Giant families in tiny quarters, bird cages, food preparation, wells, communal toilets… This was my first visit to a third-world country, and my first experience of the side not presented to, and not often seen by, tourists. Wow. I got the feeling that many eyes gazing on me had not seen many, if any, foreigners before, especially in their neighbourhood. My own eyes saw such raw beauty and happiness here and in other places that it made later events even harder to swallow. Many Indonesians, like other cultures I’ve read about and experienced, are fiercely proud of what they have, because sometimes it isn’t much. Living in Taiwan and experience the difference in attitude between here and there and talking with those here has brought truth to the observation that as money comes, happiness drops.
My time in Yogya was a real experience of Indonesian culture at its best. Jakarta is a typical international city – they all look the same, really – and Bali is a tourist pull. I saw a Hindu dance that was centuries old, explaining so many personalities in the religion’s mythology, explained in a wonderfully complex story and a rainbow of costume. It was performed at the accompanying Hindu temple (Prambanan) that dates back over a millenium itself – 1200 years, with accompanying hand-carved statues. I saw Borobudur, the age-matched Buddist temple not far away, deemed one of the top Buddhist temples in the world. It is actually one of the Forgotten Ancient Wonders of the World. Unsurprising, once you’ve stood in its silent shadow, misty mountains offering their comfort through strength behind.
Batik, the local art form, which some of you received as a kaleidoscope of a present for Christmas, was everywhere. One could easily watch its creation, which is a neat process involving wax and dye and time and creativeness. And galleries everywhere, a sale on, TODAY ONLY, JUST FOR YOU, a cultural peg in and of themselves. I saw a fashion show, almost the height of right place/right time meetings (there was a later incident which beat it) – one person telling me to see the Princess’ palace during a tour of a different palace, another person offering to show me where it was, and later sneaking me into a closed event (the Elite Model Fashion Show), my meeting of a judge for the show, who showed me and bade me eat free food, then inviting me to sit with his family. Puppet shows (shadow (wayang kulit) and the more solid type (wayand golek)).
People everywhere. In the markets, I became a bargainer extraordinaire, with its accompanying moral morass (it’s all so cheap, will the difference I’m arguing for make that much of a difference to me?), acquiring a djembe drum, clothing, batik, and more. I met students who asked me to come to their English class, which I did for a couple of hours, driving through the pouring rains (it was the rainy season, lending rain to my experience every day) on the back of a motorcycle whose driver’s helmet read DANGER Death To The Competition. Some places were blissfully quiet and empty, such as the trip up Mt. Merapi, an active volcano, with a couple of other guys and a guide named Superman. Such views have not been seen with these eyes (see the pictures).
And then the earthquake. I was actually unaware of it for a couple of days, being on a mountain in East Java, a couple of thousand kilometers away from the epicentre, but that did not stop the effect from being seen. Flags at half mast for the rest of my trip, groups setting up tents, spending all their waking ours collecting donations for the victims, the number of which increased daily. I didn’t even see any moving images (they covered the print, though) until I was on the plane home the following Friday. And I wept. To see these horrible occurrences affecting these wonderful, inspiring people… I ask of you, as someone who has been in that country, though it has been five weeks and the stories have slid off of the front page, don’t forget these people. They need your help and mine, and they are still there, whether you turn off the TV or not. Even in Taiwan, it’s easy to forget about them, but knowing these people, having friends who experienced a tsunami in the water, friends of friends who are still missing… we share this earth together.
Though a bit of a cloud hung over the rest of the trip, I still managed to keep on and enjoy what I saw. Another active volcano in East Java. A cultural performance by children in Bandung. A local bus ride, full of surprises, music, and the sale of almost anything you wouldn’t expect on a bus (knives, sauces, school supplies, books, toys, pipes…) A botanical garden (Fun Fact: Indonesia is the world’s leading producer of nutmeg!) with a spider as big as my hand – close up, indeed – and the legendary Corpse Flower (wasn’t in bloom then, though). A tour of a neighbourhood by a local wonderful person who’d traveled the world (hi Mul!) and come home. Skating at the largest skating rink in SE Asia – who needs cold weather to skate? – an opportunity provide by the same wonderful person.
The last two things in this mini-essay are the people and the food of Indonesia. I ate at restaurants maybe three times the whole trip. Why? Well, living in Taiwan has rid me of street-eating cautions, and these local warungs (little restaurants) and carts offer the best food and are a rich collection of interesting people. Everyone was friendly, angle or not, and everything I ate was delicious, be it sate, an entire deep-fried bird that I ate with my hands, or the avocado juice I drank at any opportunity. The children were always chasing me, asking to have their picture taken, or loving the fact that a ‘bu le’ was around them, interested in them, in their neighbourhood. A digital camera was priceless – to see themselves tickled these kids endlessly, regardless of age. I sat with people who didn’t speak English, sharing tea, soup, cigarettes, beer, whatever, and re-discovered that language is only a barrier if you let it be.
What can I say to wrap all this up? There is a whole world out there waiting for you. What an age we live in, when everything you thought you knew is wrong. I hope to continue to give you a small window into something so different you can’t imagine it until you’re there. I couldn’t. And once you’re there, your imagination is the limit of what you can experience. Learn it, live it, love it.
