Indo3: Java Island, Volcanoes, and Buddhists

We had to say stern nos to the hawkers who were offering us taxis to anywhere and everywhere, and finally got directions to the train station.  We got there just as the office was closing, but the lady was kind enough to help us before she left.  All trains were sold out the following day, most likely because it was Indonesia’s Independence Day and everyone was visiting their families in villages.  We couldn’t buy tickets with her because she was closed, but she gave us a flyer of a hostel that would be helpful and told us we could buy tickets at any IndaMart.

Okay, so our plan to get on a train that night was curtailed.

On our way back out of the train station area, we asked a little shop if they knew a homestay.  They did and a young man led us down the street to show us a room.  Now, I am not really fazed by much and can sleep basically anywhere, but this place was pretty bad.  We told him we had to go get tickets and then we would “maybe come back.”  We didn’t go back.

We bought tickets for the day after the next day, as this was the only option.  It was difficult to communicate with the IndaMart clerks, but we got it done.  It was good to have that out of the way.

The town was basically just a transit town—where people go to catch a ferry or a bus, or a place to simply pass through, but certainly not stay.  We decided the flyer with the Western-looking pictures on it that the train station lady had given us might be the best we could find.  It was a bit of a walk, and we didn’t like the idea of walking in this dirty and unknown town in the dark.  We hailed a taxi.

The taxi was just a minivan with wooden benches in the back and he said he would take us for 5,000 rupiah.  This was a really good price, but we had also heard that the farther away from Bali you get, the cheaper things become.  But as it turned out, like most Indonesians, the driver didn’t really know where he was going.  He had to stop and ask for directions twice and only dropped us at the end of the road anyway, leaving us to walk at least a half kilometer.  When we gave him the 5,000, he looked at us surprised and he said no! 50,000!  Joe couldn’t believe this price and protested, arguing with the guy for a long time.  Joe gave him 25,000 total, but thought even that was generous for a ride of only three minutes.  The guy looked disappointed and angry.  I think he might have not been trying to trick us, but Joe thinks he was.  We differed, but there was no point in arguing, so we walked.

When we finally made it to the place, we went to the window that said reception and knocked.  A lady and a little boy came out and she said we needed to talk to her husband, who was up at the top of the compound.  So we walked up there.

At the table in a little common area were three young Germans and an older Westerner, who we would find out was the husband, the boss of the place, and also stereotypically Australian in that he was most concerned about being heard rather than hearing.

But he sold us a room and we were thankful.  It had a fan but no aircon and only a small window to let the heat out.  We went to bed pretty early after eating a pizza the man ordered for us, since the Germans were ordering pizzas as well.  We were actually getting excited for the day off we would have tomorrow.

In the morning we got up leisurely, bought a few coffee packets from the hostel, made ourselves some coffee, and went for a swim in the pool.  Before long we got talking to a couple from the Netherlands, who mentioned that they were climbing the volcano that day.  They invited us and we said sure!

We got dressed in hiking gear in time to get in the car with the driver who would be taking us to the base of the volcano.  It was a long drive, but we had good conversation with our new friends and learned a bit about them.

The driver dropped us at the bottom and said he would wait there for us.  The area at the bottom seemed especially jolly that day, probably because Independence Day is the day when everyone goes back to their hometown to visit family.  There were people having picnics, little babies with tiny bows in their hair, and an atmosphere of holiday.

As usual Joe reluctantly (not actually reluctantly at all!) posed for a few photos with the locals who saw him as an oddity with his goatee and long hair.  We convinced him that it was a good idea to start the hike and off we went up Mt Ijen.

The road was two inches thick with powdered sugar consistency dust, and it felt like it was straight up and down.  Almost right away we were all huffing and puffing at the climb.  I was glad it wasn’t just me!

We started to meet men coming down off the mountain with these hand-carts full of bright yellow and white sulfur.  The volcano is an active one, in that it has geothermic activity.  The men of the surrounding villages drag carts up and down the slope with as much sulfur loaded on as they can handle.  In fact, there were even some who carted it down using two huge baskets attached to a pole that they carried on their shoulders.  It was such hard work.

The sad part is that they don’t actually make much money.  A load will earn them maybe $5, and it would be impressive indeed if they could do more than one load per day.  I wouldn’t do that hike every day for a mere $5, even if I didn’t have to go down into the volcano, breathe the sulfuric gases, load a cart or baskets up, and then struggle it all down the mountain again.

It was impressive and super beautiful once we reached the top.  We almost couldn’t breathe because of the Sulphur, even though our driver had graciously given us masks to wear.  We hiked up and around the rim a bit, where the view was absolutely magical!

Most people climb this volcano in the dark because apparently getting close to the source of the Sulphur allows you to witness what looks like blue flames.  We now wish we could have gone on one of these treks to see this phenomenon, but we didn’t know ahead of time, plus it would have been part of a tour group and cost a lot of money, neither of which we like.  But apparently the blue flames followed by watching the sun rise over the volcanoes is a great experience.

As a side note, there was a volcano erupting on the island of Java right about the time that we got there.  This one that we went to wasn’t it, but apparently you could see it from the top of Ijen.  Fun fact.  Our friend Marco (Ass the Kid from our Red Center journey) who had been in Thailand when Bangkok was bombed, wrote to us asking if we were okay because he had heard of the volcano after we had written to him asking if he was okay because of the bombing.

The views were just amazing.  There was a lake in the crater of the volcano that was shockingly blue—a teal color so much more intense than I had ever seen.  Joe said it was easily one of the coolest things he had ever seen.

We started the descent, which ended up being more treacherous than the ascent.  I think that was because gravity added more momentum to the descent and so our feet slipped.  Joe and I came across a 70 year old man trying to push his cart up a small hill before it went down again.  He struggled against the bar at the front of the cart, and when Joe started to help him, he seemed so thankful.  Joe was so struck by the unfairness that this man still had to do work like this at his age, that he wished he could have helped him the whole way down.  But it was obvious that while the man was very thankful to Joe for the help, he would have felt threatened had he been forced to accept help all the way down the hill.  Therefore we left the man at the crest of this short uphill, as he painfully panted and wheezed in preparation for the rest of the descent.

We did eventually make it down, and on the way we ran into a long line of youth on either side of a huge Indonesian flag that spanned the length of a football field.  They were bring it down the mountain in a show of national pride and we got to walk behind them, watching the progress and taking pictures.  It was really nice to see a complementing patriotism like that you experience at the USA’s Independence Day celebrations.

We were glad to get a shower that night after the heat and sweat of the day.  It was a little frustrating that our room was so hot and there was no way to help it.  There was only one window and even if you opened the window AND the door, they were too close together to get a cross-breeze going.  So we cooked.

We had another pizza each that night, but retired earlier than most of the people, since we were tired of the male Aussie syndrome going on.  He was a nice guy and super helpful, it’s just that we had experienced it too many times before to stay and listen all night.  We arranged with him to take us to the train station in the morning and then bid a very polite goodnight to all the travelers.

Early the next morning we were up early ready for the train to Yogyakarta (Jogjakarta, Jogjakarta, or simply “Jog-ja”).  Our Aussie friend took us there and we thanked him for taking us in and helping us so much.  We charged phones inside the station, had some coffees, and then got on a train for the long ride.

The countryside was stunning.  Just the sort of thing you would think you would see in the Indonesian countryside—rice paddies, fresh and bright greens, and the person here and there working in the fields in one of those cone reed-weaved hats.

There was an element of the train ride that made us sit stick-straight, and it was more than just the barely-padded seats of the second-class car.  Across from us sat a medium stature young man and next to him was his entirely hijabbed wife.  She was dressed in black on every part of her body, except for her eyes.  She even had gloves on to cover her super porny hands, or whatever.  He was studying Islam in Medina, where the holy pilgrimage site of Mecca is.

The ride was uncomfortable, but a real learning experience.  We lied as we had been lying to most locals we met, saying we were from Canada.  This eases things a bit so we don’t have to constantly tell people what we thought of Obama or that, yes, we knew that Donald Trump even being considered for President was a major sign of how uneducated the average American is, and yes it does seem like he wears a pink toupee.  On that note, I would like to challenge anyone who supports Donald Trump as the Republican candidate to tell me why, as I am at a total loss for how that dumb-ass is even allowed to speak to the public at all.

We also lied and said we were married when the man asked.  We probably didn’t need to do this, as it was not likely that he would do anything other than condemn us in his mind.  But it made things easier.  Of course after this happened we went out and bought us both a wedding band to make the lie more credible.  I already have my engagement ring, but since it looks just like a diamond, it would look super expensive in the poorer countries and perhaps attract unwanted thievery.  So we got both of us simple bands.

It was a little intimidating, but also very healthy for us.  We don’t have to converse with any Muslims very often, and especially not any as fundamental as these two.  They had just gotten married as of last week and the man seemed pretty sweet and caring to his wife, but I also got the impression that this is partially out of dominance, since she totally relies on him, worships him as a husband, and doesn’t seem to really exist outside of him.  Joe asked the man for his name and then he politely asked the woman, who probably was blushing under all that cloth, and she seemed to shrink a bit into her husband, who gave her name for her.

Don’t get me wrong, I think it was a loving relationship and certainly mostly just a cultural difference, but it felt so different to me than most everything I had experienced in married couples to that point.  She probably thinks she is the luckiest woman in the world to be allowed to love a man as righteous as he was, studying Islam in Medina and all.  Compared to my world, I woulda left his ass the moment he tried to claim snooty superiority for being “righteous.”  The man said he was studying Islam as if he were expecting us to return massive respect.  He smiled in self-importance.  We feigned enthusiasm, but to be honest, I wasn’t impressed at all.  Sure, I am glad he is educating himself, but he’s doing so to educate himself into a corner where it’s all about Islam and there is nothing else.  It made me wonder if he would get radicalized.

We breathed a silent sigh of relief when they got off the train, but wished them luck and congratulations aloud.  Having been married very recently, I was sure she was already pregnant and would go on to fulfill her duty in life to her revered husband.  Am I cynical?  Yeah, probably.  I just hate that the hijab is clearly meant to erase her identity from the public, as if it were shameful or valueless.  The fact that she shrunk into her husband when Joe asked for her name meant that she was already trained in being a good wife, who is the supporting actress role only.  I defer to my husband and will automatically back up anything he says because he is the face of us.

Anyway, it was definitely a learning experience and reminded me how thankful I am to be in the life and culture I am in, where Joe doesn’t just assume I am his support crew and his character is above mine.  Then again, if I were raised in her culture, I would not value independence the way I do, so shrinking into a husband would be the norm.

The rest of the ride was less interesting.  We had a coffee, which was really nice, and I listened to podcasts and read for most of the ride.  We were pretty tired of sitting by the time we made it to Jogja.

While on the train I had made a reservation for a place near the train station for the night.  It was a little more expensive, but sometimes we like to splurge a bit.  Also, neither of us really like arriving in a new city in the dark without a place to go.  So I had it all mapped out on my phone and we were ready to go as we pulled in to the station.

We were glad to get off the train, but the scene leaving the train was a bit more hectic than we had seen in a while.  The last big city we had been in was Kuta, but we had arrived by air and taxi, rather than coming pouring out of a train station with a throng of people.  I was glad I had our destination mapped!

We were hungry by this point, but we wanted to find our hotel first.  But something stopped us.  Joe took a step off the sidewalk and into the road to pass by one of the makeshift tent restaurants that spring up at night all over the city.  When he did, he stepped on what looked like a huge needle.

This was any traveler’s nightmare.  We had no idea where this thing had been and there it was, sticking straight out of his foot.  This could mean a life full of problems as consequence of a normal step off the sidewalk.

I tried to stay calm for Joe because he does the same thing for me when I start to panic.  We found a little bakery that had Wi-Fi and a dinner menu.  We ordered and immediately set to work googling whatever information we could find.  I texted Dr Momma and asked her about it.  She is good at calming us down too, so she was a good contact.

On closer inspection with the lights of the bakery, we realized it might not be a syringe.  It looked like a really long paneling nail, perhaps, like the ones I used to use building furniture.  We were relieved, though admittedly still concerned.  Joe washed the site well.

Our hotel was a bit pricey, but nice, with super-hot water, toiletries, and an ultra-efficient aircon.  The staff who received us were a little weird, but nice.  We slept like babies (crying and pooping all night).

The next morning we got up ready to hit the town hard.  I made the most of my morning, going out to the front step where I could write a little bit.  Sadly this was interrupted by a group of middle-aged men who thought it must have been my biggest wish to get to talk to them.  They looked like taxi drivers and they came over, one sat in the seat across from me, despite not inviting him to do so, and the others stood around and watched.  They asked if they could take photos with them.  I obliged, but I politely closed the conversation down shortly after and receded into our comfy room.

I waited until Joe could come with me before I went out again.  We went to the middle of the courtyard, which had a little pavilion in it.  All the rooms faced the pavilion and it was used to serve breakfast.  They brought us a simple breakfast of fruit, coffee and toast.

We went out after breakfast intending to do the sightseeing route that was mapped out on the tourist map the reception had given us.  We had every intention to walk, as we needed the exercise, but the exercise quickly became excessive, since the heat of the day was hitting.  It takes it out of you, let me tell you.  It was as bad as or worse than Australia’s heat.

We made it to the first stop, which was a big dirt field with two lop-sided trees fenced in.  Here there were touts trying desperately to sell you blindfolds.  Apparently it was good luck if you could walk blindfolded through the two trees.  It seemed easy, but as we watched, people’s walking lines would veer almost instantly and they would go way off course.  Pretty funny.

We moved on, heading back behind the building we had been watching from.  Almost immediately we were picked up by another tout, who was friendly, but we soon realized his friendliness was cash motivated.  We took some photos of some beautiful little children playing in a dirt pile, as well as the strange little chicks who were running around with dyed down in colors like pink and fluorescent yellow.  I think the man said it was something to do with a holiday.

We finally lost the tout (Joe is good at being like, listen dude, we’re not interested) and went to the next item on the list.  Actually, there were a couple of items that we missed, but it was because the places were closed for that pesky holiday.  So we went to the water castle, which was beautiful and all, but it was pretty small.  I’m not sure if we missed something or what.  There was a lovely little courtyard with pools in the middle, but it was a bit dirty and didn’t look that old.  There was also a big intricate wall, but that was again unimpressive.

We have found that seeing too many cool things ends up ruining your taste a bit for the next big thing, which is a shame.  I should have been able to go in there and been like WOW.  But oh well.

We left the little neighborhood and headed towards the next items on the list.  On the way Joe bought some bananas for us to eat and then we stopped at a little café for lunch.  At the café an Indonesian started talking to us.  He was very friendly and nice to talk to.  By the end of it, I wasn’t convinced that he was just being friendly scam-free, but I was also not convinced that he was there with the sole purpose to scam us.  He gave us the suspicious line that his grandmother ran a shop that served the local specialty dish, and the best of it.  He invited us to go.  We added him on Whatsapp, but later in the day I declined the offer politely, as we didn’t really feel like running the risk of another scam.

I say it that way because shortly after we left the café, we were coming around the corner to the main square of the city where the government buildings surround a big park, and Joe saw English-teaching books for kids, which would be perfect for him because they had the Bahasa Indonesia (the language spoken widely in Indonesia) translation in them.  As he came out, a man casually walked up and made a small joke about the little book in a very friendly way.  He didn’t seem pushy at all, but made easy conversation, with English that was as good as any we had heard in all of Indonesia.

We had a nice long conversation with him.  He told us the best parts of the city that we should see, told us about the ruins at Prambanan, and waited for us to ask the questions that would eventually ensnare us, like how do we know when it is a scam.  He could easily segway into Batik, which was supposedly the area’s specialty.  He told us how to spot the fakes in the upcoming field where there were many vendors passing off fake Batik for real to tourists.

He never got pushy.  He told us to watch for the university schools who put out Batik, as these were the real ones.  He said you could tell because if you could stick it in water and nothing rubs off, it was real Batik, and that it shouldn’t be prohibitively expensive, because then they’re just trying to rip people off with fakes.  Because it totally makes sense that a small piece of Batik should only sell for $5.  Then he casually said that there was one that he knew that perhaps we might want to visit, but that it closed in an hour.

We were wrapped up in having had such a pleasant conversation to notice the tiny red flags.  Specifically, when he said he could get us there, he used the words “my driver” and led us to a tuktuk.  The price was only going to be 5,000 IDR, which is about 50 cents, so we felt good about that.  That was a really good price for a tuktuk.

So off we went to this “university” shop where we could find the “real deal.”  Of course when we noticed that it was in a tiny little alley (not the scary kind, but definitely not the kind where you would find a university full of Batik masters and students.  We paid the driver and went inside.  Joe was already starting to google.

It was a sham.  They do that to all the foreigners.  They get a con-man who can disarm the tourists with charm.  The reason the man spoke such good English was because he had probably had thousands of conversations with foreigners that went about the exact same as ours.  They would casually give advice and eventually move the conversation to Batik.  They would send us to this spot in the city in a cheap tuktuk ride, and then the people inside the shop would take care of the rest, showing us the woman in the corner who was actually doing the Batik right then.  She was using the real tools and doing it the right way.

Buuuuuut it’s a sham.  We had been looking around for a while, and there were actually a few that I wouldn’t have minded having, but I didn’t want to support the sham, so we slipped out behind a couple of other people.  As we were leaving I heard one of the salesmen talking to two prospective customers who were looking at two huge pieces and trying to decide.  They said, we want to think about it tonight and come back tomorrow.  And of course the salesman said, oh this weekend is a Batik show and our students are competing in it, so the shop will be closed for the next three days while that happens.  I would bet you that if I had gone back the very next morning, there the salesman would be, with an open shop.

We felt a little hurt, but not too bad, really.  We had gotten a really cheap tuktuk ride out of it, a nice conversation with the guy, and a learning experience.  It was still really annoying just because I wanted so badly for him to be sincere.

Oh well, we went home feeling slightly defeated, but also slightly cunning for having picked up on the scam.  We were glad to get back to our almost-too-cold room.

We had breakfast again the next morning in the center pavilion and then we checked out.  We had done the research to get to Prambanan, so we found the bus station, paid a ridiculously low amount to get on a bus, and off we went to Prambanan.

We only really knew about Prambanan from the tourist maps, as they all marked it as a must-see.  I had always heard of Borobudur, but Prambanan was supposed to be close in comparison.

I was exceedingly proud of us for having made it there by bus.  It cost us under a dollar each to get there!  Public transit systems for the win!

Since we had checked out, we were bringing our bags with us, which was a bit of a hassle, but not too much.  It decreased our mobility.  We walked about a mile to get to the entrance, only to find out that the entrance fee was exorbitantly higher for foreigners than it was for Indonesians.  I’m super happy to pay an increased amount, but this was like the difference between $2 and $35 or something like that.  Luckily, we found that we could purchase a combo pass to Borobudur and Prambanan and get a small discount.  We did that and then sat long enough in the waiting room to take full advantage of their welcome drink of coffee, which I think I had at least three cups of.

It was pretty spectacular.  Looking back now, I imagine I wouldn’t say that because we have now seen many, many awesome world wonders that beat it, including Borobudur.  But for that time, it was amazing.  There were several temple complexes that a restoration committee had been slowly re-building.  There were intricate designs and where it was scaldingly hot outside, inside the stones were cold and the air was fresh and cool.

We wandered around for a while, looking at the various temples in wonder.  Most of the masonry was so exact, with stones fitting together like puzzle pieces, seemingly without any mortar at all.  We were surprised by how few people were inside the park.  It must have been an off-day or something.  There was even a marked lack of hawkers, which was nice.

The energy got pretty depleted pretty fast in the sun with our packs, so we moved maybe a bit quicker than if it had been a cool day, just so we could find some relief somewhere.  On our way back towards the entrance we found a restaurant, sat and had some dinner and cold drinks.

We hopped on another bus once we left the main entrance, though this time it was hard to figure out where to go.  I accidentally got us on the wrong bus and we had to get them to stop, back up, and let us out.  I felt dumb for that one.

We got to some bus station in the middle of the night and were trapped into the only bus there, which we weren’t sure was going to the right place.  And the thing about South East Asia is, never ask the locals, and definitely never ask the attendant of the bus, because he will lie to you to get you on his bus.  They figure, well, I go to within 6 miles of where they want to go so yes, this is the right bus.  But of course we were the only Westerners stumbling around with our mouths open trying to figure out a non-intuitive system, so we had to just trust it.

Joe was watching the map as we progressed and suddenly realized that we were close to where we wanted to go, but that we would be passing by it very soon.  We told the bus to stop, but the attendant tried to convince us that we weren’t there yet.  But Joe had decided and I had as well that this was our stop.  We don’t know if the bus went closer to Borobudur later, by some circuitous route, and we wouldn’t wait to find out!

But then suddenly there were no taxis.  This must have been why they didn’t drop people there in the first place—there were no taxis and no need for taxis there.  We felt a bit trapped.  We went to a convenience store where we tried to communicate that we needed a taxi or some way to get to Borobudur.  They weren’t sure how to help us.

Fortunately a car pulled up that had some English speakers in it.  We offered to pay them (quite handsomely, I think) to take us there.  They agreed, which was very kind of them.  They were nice and the ride was pleasant, but I couldn’t help thinking how unfair it was that these rather well-off dudes in the sleek black SUV were getting money for something that a poorer person could have done, which would earn the poor person some much needed cash.  Oh well.  They got us there and we were grateful.

The dropped us in the town center, as we were supposed to only be a block away.  We had a heck of a time finding the place though, as it was a good kilometer or two farther down the road than the map said.  But we finally found it, they gave us a welcome coffee, and we went to sleep quite tired.

The morning view from the room was stunning.  The room itself was one of the worst ones we have stayed in (and included a tiny scorpion that I found in the bathroom!), but the view was out onto rice paddies that were different colors on the continuum between bright green and the very harvestable dusty tan.  Joe saw some workers in the field harvesting the rice by hand and felt moved to go out and meet them and take pictures.  They laughed at him, but it made me happy.  He’s a good-hearted human being like that and he likes to experience real life with real people.  He came back all charged.

We decided to go to Borobudur later in the day so that we could catch the sunset view from it.  We planned to stay another night, but wondered if we could find someplace that was a little nicer—maybe one without scorpions.  We walked all around the back roads of the little town, but didn’t find much.  Coincidentally we walked past a shop on one of the back roads and Joe asked for some glue.  The soles of his sandals were separating from the rest and the problem would probably only get worse.  A man came out of the shop, told Joe to hand him the shoe and then proceeded to glue it back together with surprising diligence.  When Joe asked if he could pay for the glue, the man said no repeatedly.  It was so lovely that he was genuinely helping for no material benefit.

We talked a bit with the family, including one guy who rode past on a motorcycle whose English was really good, but he almost seemed like he wanted to sell us on a place.  To his credit, he left us pretty well alone so we could appreciate the fixed shoe as we walked.  We were almost sold on one pretty nice place that seemed like the place the people had suggested, until we realized how close it was to the mosque, which killed it.  I’m not really a fan of the 4am call-to-prayer.  We found a restaurant and had some lunch.

So Joe and I split up for a bit, as I wanted to see if I could send the first batch of postcards and he needed to go home and get his camera battery before we went in the park.

I walked all the way to the other side of the little town only to see that the post office was closed for some reason.  I was bummed because it takes a bit of effort to find post offices and send things off, and here it was closed during normal business hours mid-week.  But I wasn’t the only one confused, as some boys poked their heads inside the home to the side to see if the family had the post office open.  Nope, definitely closed, even to locals.

So I went back to the place agreed upon to meet Joe for an afternoon iced coffee.  It was like a thick shake, sooo gooooood.

We walked to Borobudur, where we showed our tickets and were given another welcome coffee, which we happily accepted.  It is a wonder how happy coffee can make me.

The walk towards the temple was lovely—a split lane cobbled street with beautiful flowers in the middle.  When we rounded the corner, we saw what all the fuss was about.  The thing was huge!  I can’t really explain it, to be honest.  There were intricate delicate bits beside massive Buddhas and spires.  It beat Prambanan, but in its own way, as Prambanan was still special.  We circled the temple three times, which I think is supposed to incite introspection or something, got some photos of the sunset, and headed down off the complex.

On our way out of the park, we saw some elephants in the distance, where no one else was going.  We went towards them, but it was really sad when we got close and I realized that they were all hobbled.  Each had chains around at least two of their legs and then that was chained to a post or something like that.  I was really saddened by that.  And then of course the drama broke when we noticed that the GIANT man-parts of one of the elephants were, ahem, showing themselves, almost touching the ground.  Gross and awkward.

Joe had to run to the top of the hill to see what he could see, which of course I let him do because I can’t stop him.  :)  He came back down after a bit to find me writing more postcards, which had become my new focus.  I finished all of them later in the day.

On our way out of the park we stopped at a little food stall, where we ordered some amazing fried rice, which I think only cost us something like 70 cents or something like that.  Such a deal.

We packed up the next day and moved out of our room.  We headed to the post office, which they had open for the day!  Yay!  I got rid of a stack of meticulously and heart-felt-ly written postcards.  It cost a bit, but I felt good about them.  Of course I had to have Joe help me in a production line to get them done.

We walked a bit more and found the area of town where you could catch a mini-bus to the main road.  Joe sat in front with the driver and I sat in the back with all the giggling older women who thought it was funny to see us Westerners crammed into the tiny van with them.  It was a funny ride.

Once at the main road we hopped on a bus quickly to take us to the town of Semarang, where we could catch another bus to Jakarta.  The process went smooth until we got to the bus station in Semarang, where the hawkers were so bad that they made me want to get back on the bus we just got off of.  We looked and looked for a real ticket office, but we were getting so hounded that we finally started talking to one man in his little office.  We got the price down quite a bit, which we felt good about, but then he led us to the real ticket area, which we hadn’t seen.  There he spoke to a woman who ran the bus line, gave her the cash we had just given him, and we watched her hand some of it back to him, as his cut.  Damnit!

Oh well.  We had time to kill, so I started looking at ticket prices to fly from Jakarta to Medan, Sumatra.  We had really wanted to do a bus between the two places, but it would have been unreasonably long (24 hours or more) and we were running out of time.  So I tried buying the tickets through a system where I would have to pay at an ATM, but then we had to walk around to find an ATM, and even when we did, it didn’t work.  Then we tried to buy it with the option to pay at a convenience store.  Both convenience stores we found said no, sorry, we don’t have that capability here.  I gave up and finally paid the much higher price to pay by card online.  I should have done that in the first place, as time is money.

We bought some snacks and got ready for a long night on the bus.  We had some coffees in a shop (Joe and I had both become addicted to the “White Coffee” packets that you can buy at any little rinky dinky stall.  We had a couple of those.

By the time it was ready to board, we were pointed to go out of the bus station to the other side of the road, where apparently our bus would come soon.  Why we were leaving the bus station to catch the bus, I don’t know.  We found that there was another better little waiting area that would have been super comfortable to wait in for the four hours or so that we were laid over in that stinky little town.  Bah, oh well.  Our bus finally came.

The ride was okay.  I don’t know why we ever think night buses are even remotely tempting, as they all end up just making you worthless the day after.  We slept a bit, but not much.

Then at three o’clock in the morning we were woken by the assistant who announced we were in Jakarta.  Wait, what?  We weren’t supposed to arrive for at least another hour.  What were we supposed to do at 3-3:30 in the morning in a city where we knew nothing and no one?

We sort of sat in a corner for a while, nervous about the men who were sleeping off their drunken nights.  There was a sweet older lady who asked via gesture if we wanted coffee.  I definitely did, but just then Joe found out what we needed to do to get near the center of town.  So we picked up and headed to the city bus stop where the trains would be starting soon, but it was at least well-lit so we could rest in there.

We caught a bus and then another, finally making it to the center of the city around the time dawn was creeping up.  We saw a park, lovely trees, and a wide and clean lane.  We were headed in the direction of where we might find a McDonalds.  Judge away, but when you’re in a new place and no idea what to do, it’s nice to know you can go to a McDonalds.

As it was getting lighter, we started to see the city a bit.  I was tired of walking, but we were getting closer, and in the meantime the city was actually quite nice!  The place was super clean and nicely built.  We were surprised since we had heard nothing but negative reviews of Jakarta, that it was just another big city—big and dirty.  We were seeing the opposite.

As we came to the McDonalds, we realized that the wide lane was quite active, but with walkers and bikers, chatting to one another.  This lasted all morning.  We asked about it and were told that it happened every Sunday morning: the main stretch was closed to cars and people could walk and bike at their leisure.  It was probably what swayed our approval of the city, honestly, but it was just such a nice, progressive thing for the city to do.

We had a booking at a rather nicer hotel than we had been staying at for a while, but we knew they wouldn’t let us check in just yet.  We waited it out watching the crowds of content walkers and bikers.  We finally headed off towards our hotel.  We found it, but the guy said we were still a bit too early, so we left our bags gratefully and headed out to the museum that was down the road.  We bought tickets and went in.  We saw that a TV show was being filmed in the center, so we went to the outer galleries.  We were tired out of our minds, but it was still super interesting to see all the artistry of the indigenous peoples of the area.  It is the sort of art that I would want to achieve making one day, but probably never will.

We got some lunch on the way back to the hotel.  We had wanted to eat it in the roadside restaurant with the Indonesian businessmen, but the lady seemed to think we didn’t belong, because she put it into to-go containers.  We got some delicious pineapple as well.

We checked into the room, which we were excited to enjoy.  Lunch happened on the floor, as we didn’t want to get any on the lovely beds.  We went upstairs for a short swim, but it felt a little intimidating to be in a bikini next to a woman swimming in her full length dress and head scarf.  That and even in the nicer hotel, the pool clean standard still wasn’t up to the standard we would have back home.

I washed some clothes while taking a shower and we hung everything up all over the room to dry, then we laid down for a nap, which ended up extending all the way through the night.  We woke up at around nine, still felt tired, and decided to just go back to sleep and let it all merge into like 16 hours of straight sleep.  It was glorious.

The next morning we were still up later than we should have been, even with so much sleep.  We packed up and left the hotel and started to walk to the place where we could catch a bus to the airport.

On the way we walked past some art behind a fence.  Someone asked if we could take his picture, so Joe obliged.  It felt suddenly scammy, and Joe and I both got a little nervous.  There was an Indonesian man who tried to offer to take a picture, which only added to the nervousness.  Even now we’re not sure why it felt so scammy.

The guy who had asked for the picture walked with us toward the bus station, as he was headed to the airport as well.  He was super friendly, but still seemed like he was going to scam us at any moment.  We cautiously agreed to find a bus together, but then a taxi driver offered to take us to the airport for the same price as three bus tickets would cost, so we sprung on it.

Whatever-his-name-was was Russian and was so friendly.  He talked about everything, including Putin.  He had a lot of interesting opinions which we cool to hear coming from a Russian.  When our payment of the taxi driver was inhibited by not having enough small change, he offered to buy us a beer to even it out.  He was dying to have a beer with us.  Joe obliged, but I didn’t feel like it.  And I was still a bit sketched out by this over-friendly Russian man.

We sat and had our beers for a while, until our new friend had to go.  Joe gave him his email address, but a fake one, as we were both still weirded out by the guy.  He was just super nice and friendly, to a fault, maybe.  We thanked him for the beer and he took off to check into his flight.

We checked into ours, but then I decided I was too hungry, so I ran back to get some fried rice where we had sat for the beers.  Shortly after I returned to Joe (who had made another new friend in this girl who was doing ocean biology studies, I think) our plane boarded.  It was a super casual flight.  I think we had the old type paper tickets.  We got on the plane, where we had a coffee and muffin, our favorite part about JetStar.  I was sooooooo happy to not be on a 24-hour bus ride as I sipped my coffee.