bulanbiru: December 2017

I'm about two weeks away from a trip to Jogjakarta. Or Jogyakarta. Or Yogyakarta. Or Djokdjakarta, if you're a romantic rat.

We'd settle for Jogja.

I'm veering away from the time-tested way of travel writing. Instead of writing after my travel, I'm writing before and after my travel. Why? For fun, and with a faint hope that my tactical shift would inspire our PM to dump GST.

We'll be going to Jogja and we'll be there for five days, from 5 to 9 December. When I said "we", guess how many of us? Five? Nine? Wrong. Nineteen. Strange number. I read somewhere that odd numbers like nineteen are considered "masculine" or "male", like Awie, Ustaz Don and the rest.

Nineteen of us will be touring Jogja and the good news is we won't be joining any tour group. We've sworn off extortionate packaged tours and travel guides since Shenzhen and Felix the Cat in August last year. Travel is the only industry where you've to tip for bad service. This time around we decided to go indie. We booked flights, accommodation, transport, driver and insurance, all on our own.

You've read heart-warming stories about random FB friends and followers who travelled together and met for the first time at the departure hall. Well, we're not this intrepid type. We're all family and related and we've met more than two hundred times: wife, daughter, two brothers-in-laws and their wives and two daughters, five sisters-laws and three daughters and two sons. If you count 18, you've left me out. Our base is crammed and cosmopolitan Kg Pandan.

But if you're already in Kg Pandan, why fly to Indonesia? You ask. Good question. With plenty of Javanese craft and culture already on offer in Kg Pandan, it makes no sense to head for Jogja.

But the joy of travel is not just in getting to the place, but the simple thrill of getting off and getting lost. Shakespeare wrote many years ago " Journeys end in lovers meeting". For us, journeys are lovers meeting.

Day 1: Omah Lawas

KLIA 2 early morning looked and felt like wet market on steroids. People were rushing and crashing into each other. We joined the action at 7 am, well ahead of the AK 346 flight at 9.20. Self check-in and bag-drops for all nineteen of us required lots of shuffling and shouting to keep the total checked-in bags within the 75 kg we bought online. We tallied up 74 kg and jumped with joy. The last thing we'd want was to pay excess baggage and give more money to Tony and wife from Busan.

Finally the boarding announcement came on. It caught me cold. "Calling all passengers on flight AK 346 to Jogyakarta.........please proceed to Gate L4. Happy Journey". The repeat announcement again concluded with "Happy Journey". What's going on here? I've heard of "ciao", "so long" and "hasta la vista, baby". But "Happy Journey"? Utterly unimaginative and absolutely annoying. Please, Malaysia Airports, if you want to be trendy and hippish just cut this "Happy Journey" crap, and use "Bye, 'wak".

We were seated all over, from row 8 all the way to 31. It's Tony's revenge on those who didn't pay and prebook seats. A brother-in-law and loving wife had to sit separately for the first time in their life. What's more cruel this.

Jogja's Adisucipto Airport had no jet bridges, so we'd to walk to the terminal building, quite a feat after prolonged sitting and aging. As we emerged from the arrival hall, the taxi touts swooped in. Despite our best efforts to appear like locals from Batam, they somehow knew we were from Kg Pandan. We just kept our cool and staged a group discussion, while brother-in-law and loving wife were consoling each other, happily reunited after a long two hours away from each other. I bought taxi coupons at the counter for three Avanzas, and we were good to go.

After a smooth, half an hour ride, we finally found ourselves lusciously looking at Omah Lawas. No, it's not our lunch. It's our homestay.

What a joy. I'd been at the wrong end on many online deals, falling for glossy write-ups and rave ratings of 3 or 4-star hotels only to find the reception staff speaking only Nepalese and the aircond purring like turbines. But not this time. Omah Lawas delivered beyond its promise. The space, set-up and settees reminded me of the wealthy family mansion in Sangam or Bobby. Spiral staircase, high ceiling and all.

Omah is Rumah, I'm sure. Lawas should mean spacious, which was a blatant understatement. The living area was bigger than a basketball court. It could easily fit in all nineteen of us, and nineteen more. A small prayer room inside was a nice touch, and a subtle reminder. The kitchen was sufficiently stocked for quick cooking. And garden at the back, if you need to write poems.

Our location was slightly off-city centre, but closely bordering Jalan Prawirotaman, Jogja's major tourist artery. A bustling morning market, a mosque, a bakpia outlet and a nasi padang joint were only five minutes walk. The earlier apprehension about a homestay in Jogja turned out to be a brilliant idea. The quaint dynamism of Omah Lawas should triumph over the humdrum predictability of a city hotel any day.

Day 2: Puro Mangkunegaran

Breakfast was soto sapi, compliments of Omah Lawas. Rice soaked in beef soup was simply out of this world and reminded me of the riverside nasi air in Kota Bharu.

Our tour of Jogja started with a day out in Solo, also known as Surakarta. Solo wasn't part of Jogja. It was a separate city, about 70 km from Jogja. Jokowi was mayor of Solo before he went rogue to become President of Indonesia. But why go Solo? Probably the lure of that song.

The 20-seater mini bus was too small and it had about enough air for nineteen people to breath for two hours. Our driver or supir was one Pak Dakir, a dark, smallish local guy with standard Javanese looks and demeanour. Not exactly Zul Ariffin, but he knew the way to Solo.

Solo turned out to be as unremarkable as, say, Kota Bharu. There were no standout sights to whet the wanderlust, no great wall or leaning tower to drool over. But if you were already in Solo, you've to drop by Pasar Klewer. The market was busy and brimming with two major merchandise items: batik and batik. None of us had a strong partiality for batik stuff, but my wife and her five sisters somehow managed to draw on their female flair and instincts to still find something to splurge on. I suspect they loved the thrill of paying in 100,000 rupiah notes.

Next was Pasar Triwindu, a flea market, which was a complete disappointment. It lacked the chaotic and disorderly feel of a flea market. The antique items looked fresh and spic and span and available everyday at Tesco. But to be fair, if you'd expect it to be crowded and cluttered like Portobello, then don't come to Triwindu. Go to Portobello.

Our final stop was Puro Mangkunegaran. What? It was a Kraton. Ok, ok, it was a palace. Solo is, notionally, ruled by a Sultan. What's left of the sultan is his title (Sri Paduka Mangkunegara) and this sad Kraton cum museum. He still lived and cooked here. It was closing time but a kindly guide took us around for a very brief tour. This property certainly had seen better days and needed plenty of paint job.

We rounded off with quick stop at Universitas Surakarta and Universitas Sebelas Maret. The youngest sister-in-law wanted to shoot some photos for her FB and to compare them with UPM (her alma mater, her husband's alma mater, her daughter's future alma mater, and her current employer).

And, finally, the river, Bengawan Solo. Apparently the best way to view the river was from a bridge that spanned it. We did just that: crossed the bridge and looked downward. How best to describe this living and flowing legend? Muddy and shabby. I guess the songwriter wasn't fully awake when he penned those lasting lines:

Mata airmu dari Solo
Terkurung gunung seribu
Air meluap sampai jauh
Akhirnya ke laut.

Day 3: Jurang Tembelan

We had Nasi Gudeg for breakfast, again courtesy of the homestay. It's a Javanese cuisine made of rice with jackfruit, some spices, sugar and brown eggs. If your breakfast variety for the past 50 years consisted of only Roti Canai, you'd find this sweet stuff difficult to understand.

The day's itinerary read like a page out of Indiana Jones's playbook: a mountain, a cliff, and a forest. But we were always flexible and dynamic. If half the way we felt that we were not up to it, we could always come back to Omah Lawas and finish off Nasi Gudeg. If we were game for more, we'd add a cave or a desert into the agenda.

We'd to split into two mini buses, with all the above-50's in one bus, and the rest in the other. We had more space and air today. The two drivers, Zul and Heryo, looked younger and healthier than the Solo supir.

On the way to Gunung Merapi, we'd to make a snap stopover just outside Universitas Gadjah Mada (UGM) to (again) let the youngest sister-in-law (yes) take some shots for a UGM v UPM match-up. If you, like me, were a history freak, this prestigious campus should remind you of Patih Gadjah Mada, the legendary Javanese warrior. According to Hikayat Hang Tuah (my Form Six text), Gadjah Mada tried steal Keris Taming Sari from his arch-adversary Hang Tuah. He tricked Hang Tuah into drinking some spiked beverage to get him intoxicated. Hang Tuah somehow didn't fall off and could correctly count to ten. If anybody deserved to have a university in his name, it's Hang Tuah, not Lim Kok Wing.

Merapi Lava Tour was a two-hour bone-breaking jeep ride on hilly and rugged terrain around Gunung Merapi. It was quite an experience, and panning the volcano from the highest vantage point was truly exhilarating. The sweeping scenery should make a stunning backdrop for low-budget movies, sinetron etc (see pic above). Everyone of us was just happy to come out in one piece, and the under-50's were already screaming for lunch.

With the mountain done, we were all set for the forest. Jurang Tembelan, Hutan Pinus and Kebun Buah Mangunan were clustered in Mangunan, about 40 km from Merapi. The road wasn't that long but winding, and nobody wanted to talk.

The view from Jurang Tembelan could, figuratively, blow you away, and literally (if you were not careful). I'd to catch my breath at the sight of a river cutting deep down the gorge. It brought back the fading memory my tour of the Grand Canyon in 1983, with wife and our (then) one-year old baby. The industrious Mangunan men had built a boat-shaped platform hanging and jutting out precariously into what looked like the outer space. I wasn't sure of the health and safety standards used here, but this thing could take only two people at one time for photos, selfies, photobombs etc. I dared not even look.

Kebun Buah Mangunan was quite similar to Jurang Tembelan but friendlier without that evil-hanging-boat-shaped-in-outer-space-structure.

Hutan Pinus was a pretty pine forest. I'm not sure how these pine trees got to be here. They were supposed to be in Sweden or somewhere. But here they were, dark and real, with barks and cones. The late afternoon sun seeping though the sharp foliage and tall conifers rendered a bit of colour and romance to the whole spectacle. We had a dandy time here. Even the quietest of the six sisters joined in this forest frolic. We would remember this place for a long time.

Day 4: Sri Sultan Hamengkubuwono X

We'd purposely left Day 4 open. We'd decide what to do or where to go in the morning. During breakfast, we finally agreed to visit Kraton in the morning, and would decide again what to do or where to go after that. Like I said, we were dynamic.

How did we get to Kraton? We hailed Grab cars. Grab was so easy, fast and cheap here. Only 15,000 rupiah or RM5 for a six-seater Avanza to city centre.

This Kraton was different from the Kraton we saw in Solo, but it was still a Kraton. A Kraton is a Kraton is a Kraton. This one was much bigger, more elaborate and better-kept. It belonged to Sultan Hamengkubuwono X, who still lived here as a pseudo-Sultan and real Governor of Jogja.

According our guide, the Sultan was protected by 1,000 hulubalangs. I forgot to ask "protected" from what. These hulubalangs were unarmed and clad in batik sarong. You'd love these guys. They were a friendly and good-looking lot, unlike the villainous archetypes you saw in old Malay movies, played by Allahyarham Husein Abu Hasan. They not only worked for free but also on shift (No pay, no shift allowance). I wouldn't be surprised if some of them were probably Grab drivers when they were not performing these hulubalang gigs. I mean, people have to eat.

If I'm honest, this Kraton didn't overly excite me. The structure and architecture were old enough but nothing exceptional. Garden was patchy and half-hearted. On the way out, we regrouped and boldly decided to walk to nearby Jalan Malioboro, Jogja's main shopping strip. After about 10 metres, only five of us were left walking, the rest decided to take becaks. So dynamic.

Day 4: Borobudur

Not all of us made it to Borobudur. Only me, daughter Sarah, brother-in-law and daughter Irina, and niece Yasmin (daughter of the youngest sister-in-law and UPM alumnus). Just five of us. The rest were held up at Jalan Malioboro, with millions of rupiahs to burn.

Borobudur was in Magelang, about two hours from Jogja city. We reached the place at about 4.30 and were hit with a RM110 per head entrance fee. I thought this was borderline oppression. At this rate, this 1000-year old structure would remain Indonesia's number one cash cow for another 1000 years.

For all the good money, we had only one hour to explore and understand the whole temple and culture before its 5.30 closing. After a long walk around endless gardens and trees and tourists, I finally came face to face with Borobudur, and gasped. Man, what a sight. I was instantly struck by the symmetry and composition of this exquisite work of art. The dark theme and stone structure was intriguing and uncannily immaculate. You'd run out of compliments for the early planners and engineers. The corrupt contractors who built the crumbling stadium, mosque and airport in Trengganu could learn a thing or two from these people.

As I was climbing up my way to the top, I could hear something creaking. I thought it was the floor. It was my knees. The topmost platform allowed me an expansive view of the surrounding, mostly farms and small villages with unmistakable mosques and minarets. It's hard not to reflect on how Islam in its full glory and intensity had made inroads into this former Buddhist bastion and completely overran it.

Day 5: Sampai Jumpa Lagi

We rode Grab cars to the airport for our return flight at 10.20 am. The flight was an hour late, and again we were seated everywhere. I'd prebooked inflight meal for everybody and they were very happy with my choice of Thai Green Curry. It was already late afternoon. They'd be happy to eat even black curry.

Goodbye, Jogja.

Final Word

It's been a most fulfilling five days. Everyone has enjoyed their time in Jogja, and has found something to take home and to give away, from batik to bakpia. How do I know this? The checked-in luggage has increased from 75 kg to 125 kg, that's how. That's 50 kg of loot. We'll treasure the memory of this simple outing, until we decide to come again, you'll never know.

My only sense of misgiving is the limited time I had to explore Jalan Malioboro's high culture, especially in the evening, when it really beats and vibrates. I know I've not done enough because for the first time in my travel I didn't hear people behind me speak Kelantanese.

Jogja's diverse and colourful sights and scenes have truly fired up our senses. But, for me, just hanging around the dining table at Omah Lawas waiting for everybody else to come out for breakfast was equally rewarding. Travel is lovers meeting.

Scroll down for more photos, and a vlog by Yasmin at the end. Her raspy vocals and American accent are real.

Happy Journey, ha ha ha !