A Tale of Two Capitals

Thursday 26 August 1999 – Thursday 2 September 1999

It’s amazing how time flies when you’re having fun.  Three weeks back home in Connecticut relishing the on-going novelty of hot running water 24 hours a day, clean clothes and good old home-cooked food (not to mention the hours we spent figuring out how to design and install a home-made website!) seemed to disappear in the blink of an eye.  But we were happy to be off again, complete with a six-month supply of malaria pills and copious bottles of insect repellent.  

Our visit to Indonesia began on the island of Java, in the political capital, Jakarta.  Although we had no fixed plan as to what our next port of call would be, Eric’s first priority was true to form.  And after the bookshops, we headed out to explore the remaining sights and sounds of Jakarta.  The old town of Batavia has supposedly the oldest and finest remnant of the Dutch presence in Indonesia, but other than the old bell-towered town hall overlooking the central square and a small 17th century drawbridge fondly called the Chicken Market Bridge, there was little to see.  The old port of Sunda Kelapa was intriguing, however.  We beat the tour buses to it and had the entire port to ourselves for over half an hour, allowing us to take in at leisure the amazing sight of over a hundred moored Macassar schooners, with workers scurrying about unloading their cargo of cement and timber brought in from the outer islands.  Those of us with modest athletic abilities (e.g. the two of us) were readily impressed by the way these men manage to balance such massive timber beams on their heads whilst walking up precarious gang-planks. 

In two days, we had exhausted the sights of Jakarta (or at least our interest in them) and were off to Indonesia's cultural capital, Yogyakarta.  Now becoming more conscious of our budget, we decided to opt for the cheap travel option to get there:  an overnight minibus from Jakarta.  This was no luxury air-conditioned bus, and while we hadn’t reckoned on reclining seats and toilet facilities, we also hadn’t expected to spend the night with a multitude of cockroaches who were out on night patrol and keen to explore everything the interior of the minibus had to offer – including the passengers.  Well, we should be thankful for small mercies; at least we were able to find a Pizza Hut for lunch that day.

Having endured a thoroughly unpleasant night, our budget concerns of the previous day went out the window and upon arriving at our destination, we checked into the best hotel in town.  Troubles in East Timor had just started brewing, and there were surprisingly few tourists to be seen anywhere.  As a result, we managed to negotiate four-star accommodation and facilities for the price of two and had the hotel pool and gym pretty much to ourselves for three glorious days, in between sightseeing.

The highlights of Yoga were two day trips to the historical sites of Borobodur and Prambanan.  Borobodur is considered to be one of the greatest Southeast Asian Buddhist monuments, rediscovered only in 1814.  Constructed in the early part of the 9th century, the temple was built up on a hill; six square bases topped by three circular ones housing in excess of 500 Buddha images, including 72 of which sit on the upper circular terraces inside latticed stupas.  We had set our alarms early and arrived just as the sun was rising, mercifully well before the tour buses and touts had arrived on the scene.

Prambanan is the biggest Hindu temple complex in Java.  Spurred on by our success at arriving before the crowds at Borobodur, we once again left our hotel in the wee hours and arrived before sunrise.  Tired and pining for the buffet breakfast back at the hotel, we were nonetheless rewarded with an entire hour at the complex before anyone else arrived.  Ample time for unobstructed photo opportunities, not to mention Eric’s one great luxury in life:  to sit back, relax and contemplate life over a pipe.

We were to return to Prambanan again that evening to watch a unique performance of the Ramayana ballet.  With nary a tutu or ballet shoe in sight, this spectacle was a fine example of a traditional Javanese performing art.  The epic story of the Ramayana is widespread across  South Asia, and considered sacred by Hindus.  Originating in India, it tells the story of a prince named Rama, an incarnation of the Hindu Lord Vishnu, who was born to rid the earth of the terrible demon Ravana.  Exiled for fourteen years due to his stepmother’s fit of jealousy on the eve of his coronation, Rama was banished to the forest with his wife Sita and brother Laksmana.  When Sita was abducted by Ravana, the two brothers set out to rescue her from his isolated kingdom on the far side of the southern ocean and on the way, met and befriended a dispossessed monkey king Sugriva (as you do).  At the end of a bloody war, Ravana was killed and Sita reunited with her husband and together, they returned to the kingdom of Ayodhya to claim his right to the throne. It is an intriguing story and watching it unfold against a backdrop of the illuminated temples of Prambanan, it was truly magical, even if we were only among a handful of people in the audience!