Yogyakarta (1-27)

I traveled to Yogyakarta (also spelled Jogjakarta and pronounced that way) in a small bus. The trip took 2.5 hours and was uneventful. I got a lot of reading done. When we reached the city, the driver told me to get out. I, of course, had no idea where I was. Since I was looking around confusedly, two people came to help me. Then a man got off the bus and explained in English that this was a local bus station and I could take a bus from there to where I was going. The hostel owner had told the driver my destination in Yogyakarta, which was nice. So I entered the bus platform, elevated like the ones in Jakarta, and showed the homestay address to the attendant. He told me which bus to take and showed me on the route map where I should get off. I had him count the stops so I’d have an idea when I was getting close. How kind and helpful. On the bus, when I got to nine stops, I showed the address to the bus attendant who told me to get off at the next stop. 

The first man who asked where I was going pointed to indicate that I should go straight and then turn left. I thought he was a trishaw driver, but he didn’t ask if I wanted a ride; so I walked ahead for a block. Then I came to another driver who wanted to drive me, but I thought he was charging too much. So on I walked. By the time I reached the next driver, I was ready to ride. He charged half as much as the first man (and I hadn’t walked very far); so he was hired. First he took me to the wrong street. I showed him the address again, and he asked someone for directions. The homestay was farther than I had thought; so I was really happy to have the ride.

The homestay is in a residential neighborhood, which was nice. The owner and staff are all young, friendly, and helpful. He speaks some English. After settling in, I went for a walk to the nearby historic, tourist area using the map he gave me, to get acquainted with the area. I stopped at a workshop where shadow puppets are made, and the man gave me a tour. I learned that they are made from water buffalo hide.

Monday morning I took one of the free bicycles at the homestay and headed to the Sultan’s Palace. It took a minute to remember to ride on the left, but after that it was easy for me, perhaps because that’s what I did in Thailand. Getting there was easy; learning my way around the area was challenging. When I stopped at a market to look around, a man asked if I wanted to go to the Water Castle, which was one of my destinations. He then offered to take me, since I was at the back entrance. He works there but was off at the time. People who work there are government employees and get free housing within the palace area, which is a nice benefit. It was useful having his guidance to know where to go. The buildings were renovated in 2004 and then some were destroyed in an earthquake in 2006. 

Although the Water Castle was a bathhouse, he called the pools “swimming pools.” The sultan had one pool, his twenty “woman sultans” had a pool, and the children had a pool. Water is still kept in the pools. 

A special feature of the Water Castle is the underground mosque. One level was for women and one for men. 

After showing me around the Water Castle, he walked me though a residential area to his house where his brother sells batik art. I purchased a few small batik cards made by his son, probably paying too much but the man said it’s for his school expenses. Part of the renovation of the area is paintings on many of the walls. Some are traditional designs; some are modern.

After returning to the starting point, I wandered through the small, local market before moving on. 

The man suggested that I visit the Sultan’s Palace on Tuesday because there would be a music performance. Another man later told me the same thing. Both have a relative playing in the group. (I learned later that there is some kind of performance every day.) So I decided to go to a market. When I stopped to check the map, a man offered to assist and showed me how to ride there, since the street is one way. He also advised that I not purchase any batiks there because the quality is poor; he suggested a workshop on a parallel street. A couple blocks later I looked at the map again to confirm what I was doing and another man offered to help. After confirming the directions, he also suggested that I go to the batik workshop, which I thought was interesting. As I was riding down the street, the first man came by on his motorcycle and told me to follow him. This was very helpful, as I probably wouldn’t have found the workshop without asking several times.

In the workshop, a salesman explained how it worked and gave me the price list for items, each being marked with a letter. When I looked through pictures and liked one, he quickly took it and put it in a special place for me to review them later—and, I’m sure, make a purchase. He stood back from me a bit and didn’t pressure me. After seeing a picture of women working in rice fields, I knew that was what I wanted. I didn’t need to review the others. Removed from the crude display frame, the picture folded up very small, needing no extra space and adding no extra weight to my bag. I was happy.

Next I rode up the main tourist shopping street. When I stopped to take a photo, a man spoke to me. He said he’s an art teacher at a university and that his students had an art batik exhibition. When I told him I’d already bought one, he asked the price and told me his sold for much more. Even though I didn’t want to buy another batik, I like art; so I went in to look at their work. It was really good; I could tell it was high quality. He introduced me to another man who explained the batik process and then walked around with me as I looked at the art. When I liked one item, he put it on display along with two similar items by the same artist. Then he asked which one I liked best. When I told him, he gave me the price: $180. Within a couple minutes, he had discounted it to $150 and then to $90 a few minutes later. When I told him I needed to think, the price dropped to $70. The purchase had to be made then because the exhibition was over and it wouldn’t be there on Tuesday. I told him I didn’t have money, and he pressured me to go to an ATM. When I told him I needed a special one because I don’t have Visa or Master Card, he called his friend and convinced me to go there. (I have a weakness for art.) He wanted me to take the batik and just give him the money when I got it, but I wouldn’t do that. I took the bicycle so I could leave if the ATM didn’t take my Chinese card. Also because I wasn’t sure I wanted to make the purchase. I had realized that the first man was no longer in the shop and wasn’t sure what was going on. It wasn’t an ATM but was his friend’s money changing place that has a credit card machine. When I told him that I can only use an ATM, he tried to get me to follow him farther to find one, and when I refused, he rudely said “OK. Don’t bother,” turned around and rode off. Then I was pretty sure this was a scam, which is how I was starting to feel when I realized that the first man had dropped me off and disappeared and thought about how much the price had dropped so quickly. I liked the art work but I wasn’t sure I wanted to buy it and I didn’t like the strong pressure. That experience made me wonder about the first two men who had recommended the workshop I went to. The difference was that there was no pressure there. Perhaps there would have been if I hadn’t made a purchase so quickly. And the prices were reasonable and listed. Maybe they could have been negotiated, but I didn’t feel a need to try. And I’m happy.

I returned to the hotel for my afternoon tour to Prambanan only to find out that it was cancelled because they didn’t have anyone else and needed two people. The owner drove me to a bus stop where I could get a bus to Prambanan. The bus was inexpensive, but the ride from the bus station to the park was expensive. In total, the round trip cost more than the tour, which was really only transportation there and back, and took much more time. Oh, well. At least I was able to get there and back easily. Park entrance for foreigners is double that for Indonesians: RP 216/$17. (When I commented about this big difference at another place, the man said it’s because of the strong value of foreign currency.)

Prambanan is a 9^th century Hindu site consisting of eight temples in a compact arrangement in the center of a larger area. This is the main tourist site. The whole site is the largest Hindu temple complex in Indonesia. Much of it was destroyed in the 2006 earthquake and has been reconstructed. 

Shortly after I arrived, a large group of students on tour arrived. 

They spent most of their time taking selfies. I had fun watching them for a while. Then I became quite popular as they noticed me and wanted photos. Usually, I don’t mind doing this, but after about ten requests, I was tired of being asked and just wanted to wander around on my own. But I was polite and let them take photos. They were always polite and thanked me, sometimes profusely.

Most of the temples were pretty much the same. 

The largest one and a couple of the others have small rooms with statues facing each direction. The outsides are carved with Hindu reliefs. After students moved on and the crowds dwindled a little, it was more pleasant to be there.

After wandering around the main area, there is a shuttle taking people to another site that is not restored. Sewu is a Buddhist temple complex within the Prambanan site. 

This section has not been restored; so it was fun to walk around and look at the various piles of stones as well as the building. We stopped there for about ten minutes. Some of the others in my car were Turkish; I realized this when one woman said, “Cok guzel.” It was fun to recognize this and chat with her.

Before heading back to the homestay, I stopped to buy coconut juice. It was served in the biggest coconut I’ve had that drink in. I also had nasi gudeg, a dish made with young jackfruit and tofu and served with rice that is a specialty of Yogyakarta. Desi had told me to try it. It was tasty. Fully fortified, I headed back to the bus station and the bus, a trip that took almost two hours. 

Tuesday morning breakfast was nasi gudeg that was even better than the one I’d had at Prambanan. Then I bicycled to the Sultan’s Palace to finish my sightseeing in Yogyakarta. First I stopped at Sonobudoyu Museum. A guide was included with the ticket. He was a pleasant young man who speaks English well. I enjoyed spending the time with him and learned a lot. One of the things I learned is why Javanese puppets have odd-shaped faces with very long noses. It’s because the Hindu stories are from India and many Indian people have long noses that have been exaggerated in the puppets. After learning that, I found myself enjoying the puppets’ features more. I also learned that Indonesia now has its tenth sultan/king. Like the king in Thailand, he is a figurehead with no power. The museum features the culture of Indonesia and has items from several of the islands. It was interesting to see and learn about some of the differences. The guide also pointed out that many of the items on display were for rich people. I realized that this is probably often the case, as they are made with more durable materials.

Then I went to the Sultan’s Palace, starting with section where the music performance was. I was asked if I wanted an English speaking guide, and thinking it came with the ticket, agreed. First I listened to the gamelan, the traditional musical percussion instruments, performance. Although they were originally played by men, the instruments are mainly played by women nowadays. The singing was atonal and not my taste, but it was interesting to hear it.

It was interesting to see and learn about the wooden buildings that were the sultans’ home. Before we entered the courtyard, the guide made me take off my hat. I wasn’t sure why I couldn’t wear it outside, but I complied. I guess it had to do with respect, as in removing one’s hat indoors or in temples. She told me about several of the sultans. My favorite was the one who had 75 children. Up until the last one, they had multiple wives. 

In the batik museum section, I learned that the traditional colors of batik fabric are brown and black with a little blue. I have found myself being attracted to designs with those colors here. 

It was interesting to learn that the number of feathers on the official emblem changes to indicate the number of the sultan.

Next I stopped at the other section of the palace, which has a separate admission ticket. When the man asked if I wanted a guide, he informed me that it’s not free and I had to tip. That made me wonder about the women in the other section. Because the first guide was included with admission, I thought she was, too, and it didn’t occur to me that I was expected to pay her. Nothing had been said when I was asked if I wanted a guide. There isn't much to see in this section. 

Then it was time to return to the homestay so I could get the last bus directly to Borobudur. On the way I stopped for lunch: gudeg again but this time with chicken, which turned out to be a ground chicken sauce. From the homestay, I took a taxi to the bus terminal and got there ten minutes before the bus left. On the bus, I met Miladi, a 9^th grade girl who sat with me for a while. Her English is pretty good, and I enjoyed chatting with her. Her dream is to work in a factory in Malaysia to earn money so she can help her parents.