Purwokerto (1-22)

After breakfast Wednesday morning I had the receptionist call a taxi to take me to the bus station. He was very friendly and spoke English well enough for us to converse a little. In one village, he pointed out the street to his house, and he showed me a photo of his younger son. When I said I would go to Wonosobo on Thursday, he said there isn’t a train, and we discussed my taking a bus. In town, he took me to the station, which was the train station. I clarified that I wanted to go to the bus station to buy a ticket. He replied, “Bus terminal.” Thus I learned that “station” is for trains and “terminal” is for buses. He suggested that I take a minibus and even took me to the minibus office to check the schedule. I was given a brochure to use so I could return there on Friday.

The hotel receptionist was very friendly with limited English, but he tried and was helpful. When I asked where I could walk to see some of Purwokerto, he directed me to Moro, which from his description sounded like a market but turned out to be a shopping center. 

Two floors are a department store that is like department stores everywhere other than the manikins wearing head coverings. The third is a “Fun Floor” with lots of arcades. 

The top floor is a food court, and I decided to eat lunch there. At the third food stall I looked at, the woman spoke to me in good English, which almost always gets my business. I had her explain two of her dishes and chose the gado-gado. The name had seemed familiar to me, but I didn’t remember what it is until she said she covers it with peanut sauce. So that was my lunch.

After lunch, I walked for a while. As in the village in Baturraden, some of the houses are bright colors. 

I enjoyed looking down some of the residential side streets. When I was in the taxi, I’d seen several venders selling rambutans and wanted some; so I was happy when I came across a vender. 

After a while I had no idea where I was in relation to the hotel and hired a trishaw to take me to the hotel. These have a seat in front of a bicycle and are the main “taxis” in the city. I showed the man the paper with the hotel’s name and address. He didn’t speak English, but he talked to his friend who also didn’t speak English but understood a little. The friend motioned for me to get in told me the price—Rp20,000. Ten minutes later we arrived at a different hotel. I showed him the paper again, and he said “Tiara Hotel,” indicated that it was far, and indicated that the fare would be 50,000. I said “20,000,” figuring it wasn’t my fault he went to the wrong hotel first. When he dropped me off, I gave him 30,000.

After a short break in my room, I decided to ask if there are any historical buildings I could visit. Since the receptionist didn’t quite understand, he called a woman who came to talk to me in quite good English. She suggested the Bank Museum, saying it is the first bank in Indonesia. So the man called a taxi to take me there.

The museum is very small and doesn’t have much; so I finished quickly. 

The most interesting section is a display of pottery banks. There are some dioramas, but since the signs were only in Indonesian, I didn’t understand what they were depicting. 

As I had suspected, when I exited, there were no metered taxis in the area. I saw several trishaws, but I decided to walk down the road toward the hotel for a while. 

I enjoyed the red roofs on houses along the river below. I passed a school with students standing by the road waiting for minibuses to go home. The girls stood on one side of the driveway; boys on the other. A few of the girls bravely spoke to me, which was fun. 

After half an hour, I came to ChocoKat (or something like that), a café specializing in chocolate sweets and drinks and decided to treat myself to a cold chocolate drink. It was delicious.

Then it was time for a trishaw to the hotel. Two drivers were chatting when I approached them. I showed them the paper about the hotel and said the name. The younger man said he knows it and spoke to the older man who would be my driver. We passed the hotel and came to the roundabout, but he turned left instead of going around. When he didn’t turn around at the next opportunity, I pointed back and said the hotel’s name. He pointed ahead and said something. We repeated this interaction a few minutes as he continued down the road. When he turned right at the stoplight instead of turning around and going back, I had no idea where he was taking me and thought he was going to the wrong hotel like the other man had done. I almost yelled the hotel’s name at him and pointed back; he pointed ahead. Finally, I was getting tired of this and I put my feet out and yelled “Stop.” He did. Then I showed him the paper again and pointed back and left. He said, “No terminal?” I don’t know how he got that idea, but he was taking me to the bus terminal. Then he turned around and followed my directions to the hotel. I felt lucky that we had passed it in the first place so I knew where I was and where I needed to be going.

I found it interesting that in the midst of the city there were some small rice plots between some buildings.

I was again the only guest at the hotel. It feels strange, but the people have been friendly and helpful.

I’m not sure why I thought I wanted to spend a day in Purwokerto. I remember reading that it is an old city like cities were before becoming modern and Westernized, and I think that’s what got my attention. It’s clearly not a tourist destination. I think some people stay here and then go to Baturraden for a day trip rather than staying there. I don’t regret my day here, as it was an interesting experience. It’s the kind of place I’ve been through on buses but not stopped at.

Observations: People seemed to like seeing me in the trishaws. Even other drivers would smile at me if I noticed that they were looking at me. In addition to trishaws, there are minivans that drive on specific routes in Purwokerto.

Motorcycles are the main transportation, and almost everyone wears a helmet. Purwokerto isn’t an especially attractive city, at least the parts I saw, but it is probably typical.

Gasoline is sold in bottles, as I’ve seen in other countries. There are also some gas stations.

When people guess where I’m from, they usually say “Holland?” first. The taxi driver said they have a lot of Dutch tourists. There’s a common history.

Family is important. One of the early questions asked is about my family—husband, children.

Indonesian tea is sweet. When I’ve been served prepared tea, it’s very sweet. When I’ve been served a tea bag and pot of water, it comes with two packets of sugar.