New Year 1428

Photos of My bike, my trad Java garb and Priyo's mum's house in the hills




20 Jan



Riding the bike back to the village the previous night after the party I was surprised by the number of people wandering about late at night, even when I got into the countryside. My first night time drive though so maybe its normal or perhaps they were all out to celebrate the New Year (Islamic calendar 1428 I think). In the morning Priyo was surprised to see me but ready to set of as arranged to visit his home village near Klaten about an hours ride away.

Despite my biking proficiency Priyo felt it safer for me to ride pillion, probably right and of course he knew where we were going. We went past the Prambanan temple previously visited but made a diversion to see a the lesser but still several acres of the Plaosan Buddhist temple that seems to have been even more seriously crumbled in the earthquake. The landscape remained deceptively flat although we must have been rising gradually as the paddy fields became sugar fields and the heat reduced somewhat. As we approached the village (Karangnongo) we entered the wooded hills, crossing rushing streams. The village, maybe 2000 people seemed quiet although there was a large covered market, which must cater for several villages around. Priyo’s mother’s house just off the main street, a bungalow like almost everyone else but with even more int the way of flowering plants which apparently is her main interest. She was out at the time though; down at the river washing the clothes so we walked down to meet her at the small river where the water seemed clear and fresh, not like the Mandungan river. Back at the house I see the well, must be 30 feet deep with a bucket but now with a water pump too for most of the time to fill the water tank. The kitchen is a simple bamboo shed in the garden, with a brick floor and ample space for everything but it must be difficult to keep clean and the insects at bay. Her floral garden attracts large numbers of brightly coloured butterflies and sitting on the veranda life seems pretty good. Priyo gives a younger brother a good talking to, he clearly sees himself as the father figure in the house with his own father having left to remarry in Jakarta. We look in on other relatives who all seem to be engaged in horticulture, growing shrubs, orchids and the like before we set of with a nephew to a swimming pool in a neighbouring village. The pool, open air of course and with a faded lido character is qite large and with a constant supply of fresh water being fed in and, surprisingly with many fish, goldfish and others of various sizes happily swimming about too – you would need to be pretty good to catch one though I guess. Priyo is a competent swimmer, he must have learnt here in his youth, his nephew less confident but capable. No towels but dry out in the warm air, still no sunshine today. The pool seems popular with many bikes and pedal bikes outside, the girls some with swimming trousers and none with any cleavage or exposed midriffs. A snack bar inside is kept busy and the bigger boys show off on the diving tower where the actual springboard is broken or missing. After returning to the village we decide to visit other relatives further up the mountain with steeper roads, damaged by the many trucks running to and from the quarries. The farm when we get there is attractive in stone within a wooded garden area. They have cows, like their neighbours and which are not let out to pasture but fed in their stalls till big enough to sell for their meat. The few, small fields are devoted to maize, presumably mostly for cattle feed and the garden trees are being assiduously looked after for the various fruit with people climbing up to protect the fruit with bags or to pick them. Only the tall coconut trees seem to be left alone to drop their crop when they choose. The farmer, a wizened old guy is cheerful and makes a good effort to understand my Bahasa Indonesian. He is a couple of years older than me and has lived here all his life. The house has security bars on the windows, no glazing but shutters for the evening and for when it gets cool at night. The views across the small valley are attractive as is (so I’m told) the view of Merapi when the cloud rises. Back home to Mandungan with plants from Priyo’s mum for Ibu T.O. before sunset ready for a fresh cauliflower soup and an early bed.

A one-horse town

Godean Market
The happy couple
Band at the wedding

16 Jan


Godean is a one-horse town, 50 yards from the cross roads and you are virtually in the open countryside but it does have a large covered market justifying its important status locally. The market is loade with vegetables, fruit, meat, farm implements and toys. Not much in the way of spices or herbs and certainly no beer. Out on the street a couple of small supermarkets but still no beer and no fruit juices without tons of ‘healthy’ additives. Asking for an internet café, assistants in two shops declared that I would have to go down the road towards Jogyakarta (probably to the café I normally use), two others did not know what I was talking about but at a telephone top-up kiosk I was directed to a small establishment on the outskirts with the usual group of teenagers conducting virtual chats with others through Yahoo, or playing games or searching for porn. A good connection though and a pleasant hi-jabbed girl in control. A couple of people in the street recognise me ‘hello mr Patrik’ clearly my fame has spread! Last Sunday I was invited to the wedding of my employer Pak T.O.’s brother (age 27, the youngest of seven) in Godean. The local street was closed with half a dozen canopies ( for protection from the sun and any rain). Immediate relatives had 100 seats reserved and then the groom and bride each had 250 seats for invited guests, and interlopers like me. The groom with ceremonial gear, a bare chest and a blue fez, the bride equally decorated but more convent ally, sitting quietly on their throne throughout. Live music provided by xylophone and drums and further entertainment from singers and dancers including brother Bowo on his ukulele type thing that he plays on local TV. The hot tea and three course meal all served to the seats by it must have been 20 waiters and waitresses. Speeches, in Javanese by friends of the bride and groom’s parents, local big-wigs, the whole proceedings held together by two jovial MCs. Bothe the groom and the bride came from these streets which must have helped with the arrangements with different houses being used for preparation of different courses, washing up, the sound system and so on. At 1.30 I shook the happy couple’s hands and returned to Mandungan with other villagers and pirate Priyo in the ageing people carrier leaving T.O.,sons and family to continue with the show.

Muslim scientists

Pictures of office building damaged in earthquake and that church again

Thurs 11 Jan


No word from Thomas about the meeting that Pak Biwa is said to have arranged for today so I send a text to Biwa and then phone to find that the meeting is on, and at 7pm though by my misunderstanding I take it to be an alarming 9 pm. I walk round to the second bamboo house under construction for specialist Pak Paidi but he’s said to be at a third site, nobody there but chat to the neighbour whose brick and concrete house is speeding ahead – he also has detailed plans for a toilet to be added on as soon as the scaffolding is down and describes the route of the soakaway. My host Pak Hari has described how to find the new church at Bantul so I sketch out a road map as a guide, make sandwiches and set off with my rucksack, computer and ‘western expert’ clothes for the evening meeting. Get across country in the morning sunshine ( the alleged rainy season just hasn’t taken off yet for some reason) to Bantul and find the church with a little help from a biker at a telephone shop who guides me the last half kilometre. The church is the large bamboo one which I visited before but a difficult structure to photograph and with an exterior surprisingly hidden by trees and other buildings. Nevertheless I get a good collection of pictures and set of for Jogyakarta. After a few miles with the nearest mountains visible on the wrong side of the road I stop to ask the way and have to retrace my steps. Sweating from the heat (I’m wearing a jacket to reduce skin damage in the event of an accident) and travelling a long way around the ring road that must surely rival the M25 for distance, I arrive at the Hostel where Thomas is preparing the cafeteria for the meeting. Alice after another falling out with Wati is packing her bags for a journey home to Sumatra, her mother has sent money for the tickets. There is a good excuse of a couple of funerals but Ibu Wati has still to be approached for approval. Not a good moment to discuss my speech for which Thomas will be interpreting. I get a cooling cold shower and make of on the bike to the nearby internet café but there are problems with the hotmail connection so hsve to give up and return to the hostel for Thomas to use the bike to take Alice and Michelle to the coach station Just as helmets are being donned Biwa and Wati appear and Wati drives them in her car. Life seems to be in a state of limbo, and too for Andrew who is now out of pain from his shoulder injury but unable to use his bike for a couple of weeks and is having problems finding suitable accommodation for his two year placement. Thomas has no time to worry about his family as he prepares a wall poster for the meeting, gets mats arranged for seating, raids rooms for light bulbs and drinking glasses, cooks the rice, makes the tea and repares the food brought in for serving at the right moment. The meeting, programmed for 7 pm makes a hesitant start at 8 pm and some of the heavyweights arrive at close to 8.30. Altogether there are 36 people present including just two women – all of them seem to be lecturers or researchers at one or another university in Jogya so inevitably they rambled on for ages with a single break for the food. Most of the speeches seemed to be in the Java language, though I fool myself to think that Bahasia Indonesian would be any more comprehensible. It seems that the group is a Muslim scientists collection (no doubt as anachronistic as Christian scientists) out to revive Indonesia’s fortunes through a revivalist sense of jingoistic pride and including moving the capital from Jakarta to Jogyakarta. It may be just as well that there was no time for my speech on my philosophy of design as applied to heroic national landmark buildings out to rival the Statue of Liberty and the Sydney Opera House. Ultimately I helped Thomas clean up the debris and we share a bottle of beer provided by Biwa while speculating on the prospects of him finding another job to get Alice back from her parents and away from the hostel and Ibu Wati without having to end his relationship with Biwa – all looks pretty bleak and I would not be too hopeful of a solution being found let alone implemented.

Thurs 3 Jan Dislocated shoulder

Photos of Boxing night party in village, a local road seen from the office sidecar and the local primary school

Thurs 3 Jan

8 o’clock start inevitably becomes 8.30 by the time tall lanky Jonathon arrives from his village in a borrowed jeep type thing. With T.O. packed in the back we set off for the Magelang area up between Merapi and another lager but inactive volcano Sumbing. Beautiful scenery as we climb up into the wooded hills, and cooler too – we can have the windows open to enjoy the breeze. Eventually arrive at the village meeting hall in Gumbelan where I’m shown off to the farmers from all around the Pakis district who have gathered for a meeting before they get their business under way. The meeting is conducted in the Java language and I slip off to wander round the village admiring the traditional buildings, contrasting with the few modern flamboyant concrete and brick ones. The older buildings are simple with sawn timber framing, clay pantiles (like Bridgwater) and bamboo infilling. All low under their expansive roves which spread out to protect the walls and give shade to the old folk sitting outside. Am made welcome and offered a variety of food and drinks most of which I am politely able to refuse. Good too to be at an elevation where the grass can be used as a proper lawn and the temperature is like a good summer’s day. The downside I guess is Merapi smoking away just 12 km from the village but at that distance surely you just have to keep an eye on the wind direction when she erupts? A text message from Andrew the Kenyan giant to say he is in hospital with a dislocated shoulder after a m’bike accident. Marie has him, and the hospital organised though and I get his surname and ward number so I can visit tomorrow. We get back to the ranch at sunset where I’m able to make a salad and chips meal prior to a village meeting that has been called to discuss the re-building programme. The meeting is lead by T.O. with the backing af Hidiyat (the mayor) and Ratiman (T.O.’s hit man). I am wearing a sarong like most of the men. The women, about a third of the audience and only one with her hair covered, sit to one side but fully participating. The meeting has been advertised as starting at 8 but the hall is thick with cigarette smoke by the time things get under way at 8.45. T.O. handles the meeting as the inveterate MC and performer that he is while tea a nd refreshments are served (by the men – maybe because there are no women on the committee , but lets not be uncharitable!). The half dozen caged birds are uncharacteristically quiet though whether due to the cigarette smoke of the time of day I have no idea. After about half an hour of Bahasa Java (though I guess Indonesian might be just as incomprehensible for me) I give my apologies to the Dukuh and retire.

The best laid plans

Photos of Andrew and me and three of gumelen village

Sat 30 Dec

Breakfast at six, on the terrace as usual waving to the children on their way to school “Hello Mr. Patrik!” but with the thought of going to Jogya on the motorbike for the first time I pack everything into the rucksack, tidy up and set off. All goes smoothly up to the ring road so I carry straight on instead of the planned long route around the ring road. The road I take goes straight through the city to the Janti road that I want. First off I get in the wrong lane and am swept to the left with all the surrounding traffic but manage a U turn on the busy street and get back to my route. Then the direct route becomes one-way, the other way! Diversion threads its way around a maze of streets and junctions but eventually by good luck (must have the right god with me today) I recognise a river crossing and get to the familiar hostel at 8.30 for a welcome glass of hot tea with Alice and Michelle. Thomas has gone out with Marie, the vso from the Filipines to borrow another bike for a planned trip to Borobudor but a torrential tropical rainstorm hits us and delays them and puts paid to their plans. After the storm I prepare to go to the wi-fi café but Pak Biwa insists on taking me in the car, Thomas can collect me later. Biwa is planning to climb Merapi volcano on the night of New Year’s Eve. With the changeable weather, this week’s report of increasing activity by Merapi and the lack of any walking shoes I feel able to decline an offer to join him – I’m not June from Bridgwater. At the café the electricity is off, so is the Internet connection but they come on again just as I text Thomas for a lift. Get the virus protection updated and find, and save the Google earth view of Mandungan village. Thomas turns up and surfs the net while I go upstairs to get some photos printed from the USB ‘flash’ thing – with only a fifty percent success rate due to a faulty printer but manage to negotiate a reduced price successfully on my own. Thomas tells me that Ibu Wati (the owner of the hostel) is not happy with Alice’s contribution to running the hostel and Alice has decided to join a relative in Solo or to go back ‘home’ to Sumatra. T is clearly upset, he doesn’t want to lose his mentor and father figure of Pak Biwa any more than losing his wife but recognises that he will have to find new accommodation outside the hostel if the family is to remain united. How this can be achieved financially and if a new job is needed too all has to be resolved so out of the window go my plans to push him into getting some paper qualifications to match his English skills that I could pay for and we simply take back some chicken sandwiches back to the hostel for lunch. I suggest a trip to a shopping mall before Biwa returns in the evening and everyone agrees, T and family along with Andrew from Kenya, Marie, myself and visiting Judith the physio from Essex all go, part in taxi, T and self on the bike. I buy a rain cape having lost the previous somewhere and Michelle finds the noisy play area on the top floor and clearly believes she is in heaven. We get a supply of beer to have with a game of cards in the evening while Thomas and Alice are ensconced in a discussion with Biwa – who presumably has some influence with his partner Ibu Wati who is missing this evening.