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.
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.
posted by bairuide | 6:08 am
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