Back to Jogja

It’s been about 7 months since my week in Yogyakarta, or just Yogya (pronounced “Jogja”, see previous post), when I spent a week here studying Bahasa Indonesia (remember, bahasa = language). That was before Amy was part of the show. As you may recall, if Jakarta is the financial brain of Java, Yogya is the heart and soul, and center of Javanese culture. It’s where all things Javanese bloom: the language, the traditions, and of course, batik – the dazzlingly brilliant cloth patterns that pretty much define the daily Indonesian dress code.  

Shirts, dresses, place mats, you name it. Indonesia is the land of batik, and Jogja is ground zero. I love batik. The standard male dress code here – business, office, wedding, formal, casual, no matter – is batik. You don’t even say “shirt”, you just say “batik”. I have always been a “crazy shirt” guy, so if there is one thing I love about Indonesia, it’s that every day is crazy shirt day at the office. Love it! Amy’s catching on too. Friday at her school is batik day, and she is getting a good eye for 5-dollar batik dresses. Gotta love that too!

In addition to batik and all things Javanese, Jogja is also, ironically, well-known as the launch pad for visiting the largest and most spectacular Buddhist temple in the world: Borobudur. Although calling Borobudur a “temple” is like calling the Vatican a “church”. This is the Macha Picchu of Indonesia. So why – you ask because you are astute – is the largest Buddhist temple in the world in Indonesia, the world’s largest Muslim-majority country?

The answer is simply that Islam is but the last religious wave to wash over the archipelago. Long before Columbus even set foot on a boat for the first time, these islands were celebrating the likes of Buddha, Vishnu, and Shiva (the latter two being central figures in Hinduism). In fact, another nearby temple, Prambanan, is the largest Hindu temple in Southeast Asia (see previous Jogja post for that trip report). Fascinating place this Indonesia.

So ya, Borobudur: one of those mandatory must-tick checklist items if you are, or definitely live, anywhere near it. So when presented with a long weekend – something about the prophet Muhammad’s birthday, whatever…day off?...we’ll take it! – we set our sights on Jogja and a visit to Borobudur (personally, I think Amy was more excited about the batik shopping).

A quick 50-mins flight out of JKT on our now-favourite airline, Garuda (Indonesia’s national airline...puts AC to shame), and we were enjoying a cool beverage in the courtyard of our cozy accom in Jogja’s Maliorobo area by lunch. Up at 4:30 am the next day (everything in Indonesia starts at 4 or 5am…it’s a thing), we hit Borobudur for sunrise. Well, actually, it was cloudy and sort of rainy, so “sunrise” is a huge exaggeration. But we were there very early!

Built sometime (no one is really sure when or how or exactly why) about 1200 yrs ago (+/- 800 AD), Borobudur is another one of these gigantic, mysterious, and infinitely detailed stone structures erupting from the midst of jungle that make us digital-aged humans shake our head and think: how did a bunch of half-starved jungle natives move that much rock with their bare hands? Somehow they did, all 60,000 cubic meters of it. Not just move it. The intricacies and infinitely detailed carving of every square centimeter of stone, is mind blowing. Man, that would take all day! J More realistic estimates are that the job took 75 years to complete.

The site laid dormant and covered by jungle for centuries after Buddhism and Hinduism were replaced with Islam in this part of the world. In a scene right out of Indiana Jones, and lured by a story of a massive temple deep in the jungle, the site was rediscovered by the Dutch in the early 1800s, and brought back to life with machetes and sweat. After a massive $25-million restoration effort in the 1970s and 80s, Borobudur is now fully restored and was declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1991.  Hmm. Cool.

Like all spectacular ancient stone structures hidden in the jungle, or built at the top of a remote mountain, that no one knows anything about, Borobudur does not fail to impress. Even a heathen like me can appreciate the significance of it. It’s just impressive, that’s it, that’s all. Nuff said. Truth be told though, after a couple of hours and 400 +/- photos later, it’s time to move on. And besides, the droves of Asian teenagers wanting selfies with us gets mildly annoying after the 30^th time. That is also a thing here, that we haven’t figured out. Question: if two Asians get off a bus in Prince George, BC, are they mobbed by Canadians wanting to take selfies with them?

A little more batik shopping – can you really have enough batik? – a new Bintang beer tank top (Amy absolutely loves my growing beer tank-top collection), and hey, of course a ride in a bicycle rickshaw peddled by a guy in a bamboo rice hat. And oh ya, the elephants. We were wondering why the guy meticulously pulled the rickshaw over and stopped. Oh, I see, because the elephants have to get by. Right. Of course. What, you’ve never seen 4 elephants walking down the street before?  
 

  

A week in Bogor

Things have become normal. By that, I mean, it seems like we now live here, and are going through the daily routine that binds humanity. I’ve always thought that the best part of big trips (this kind of seems like a big trip), is when you wake up one day and realize everything has become normal. Like, of course it’s 29 degrees in December. It’s always 29 degrees. And, of course, the gardener is pruning the palm trees out front, that’s his job.  And ya, our driver is on time to take us to the Canadian Ambassador’s residence in Jakarta, he’s always on time. Palm trees? Driver? Jakarta? All of that seemed so foreign not very long ago. Now, all part of the fun. Pass the beer nuts.

Sekolah Bogor Raya

Miss Amy going to school

So ya, a week in Bogor. The biggest piece of the puzzle is the fact that we both work full time, which like most people with full time jobs, pretty much defines the Monday to Friday routine. Weekends are a toss-up, again like most humans. Bike ride, climb a volcano, hit the coast? Long weekends are always fun obviously because it means we can actually go (fly) somewhere. But let’s deal with the mundane.

Amy’s day

After a leisurely coffee in bed, brought to her by her wonderful and ever-loving husband, Amy’s on her bike and 3.5 minutes later (we really could not live much closer) finds herself at Sekolah Bogor Raya, the school where she teaches. Classes start at 8 am, Amy’s there by 7:30. Amy’s the “Language Arts” teacher for grades 3 and 4. “Miss Amy” to the kids, she’s pretty much a rock star in their eyes.

The school is a private school, aimed primarily at well-off Indonesians who want their kids to receive an internationally accredited curriculum in English – all languages other than English are discouraged on campus (it’s a “campus”, complete with 2 pools and hydroponic rooftop garden). The good news is that Amy perfectly suits her role as the resident English-language expert. The bad news is that her Indonesian language skills have flat-lined at about 10 words. Pros and cons.

With 20+ contact hours a week, and 140 students, they keep her busy. Too busy for her liking. It seems to be the Indo way with expats. Since we’re relatively expensive (i.e., our salaries, normal by western standards, are considered a small fortune here), they like to squeeze every drop of effort out of us. So ya, she’s a busy beaver, and comes home exhausted at about 4 pm. Highlights of the day include a daily lunch prepared by a lovely Indonesian Ibu (literally means “mother”) for the outrageous price of $1.60.

The Office

Rob’s day

After making coffee for my lovely wife (Ok, I have some too), I too am on my bike heading for the office. It’s a 15-min ride through the streets of Bogor (check it out: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1ZRRXAMGxzE). The first time I did it, I was shaking and thought I would never get back on the bike. Now I could do it with my eyes closed. Indo traffic chaos has become normal. What chaos?

My office is on the 3^rd floor of a 6-story building, in “downtown” Bogor. Downtown means we are across the street from the central botanical gardens that marks the dead center of Bogor. There really is no downtown Bogor. It’s just a bunch of buildings and houses as far as you can see. At 6 stories, our building is one of the tallest, if not the tallest in town.  The office is right out of The Office. Welcome to 1964. It’s a mass of desks meticulously arranged into rows of cubicles. Yes, it’s a call center. The kind you see on TV. I refer to it as the mosh pit, or just the mosh (but no one gets it). Being the senior bule, I have an actual office (i.e., walls and a door). While that sounds very colonial and elitist, which it is, I have no windows. So basically I work in a pale white box with florescent lighting, peeling paint and all. Imagine a customs officer in Uzbekistan. That’s me. Although, I do have my own air conditioner, with remote! Ah, the power I wield! Shall I set it at 20, 22, maybe 24! And the wind speed, mode, swing…endless options! Now I know what Donald Trump is feeling!

I usually work till about 4:30, and if I’m lucky, beat the afternoon rain on my bike ride back to base. If not, whatever, I get wet. Hey, it’s the tropics, no problaimo!

Rob's sweaty man gym

Amy's big shiny gym

Evenings are a toss-up. Like most Monday to Friday shifts, once you get home from work, you really don’t feel like leaving. The exception is our gym schedules. We usually hit the gym a couple times a week. Me, I go to my sweaty man gym down the street. Pretty classic: no ventilation, sweaty, smelly, and equipment that looks like it was rounded up at garage sales. At 15 bucks a month though, it’s basically free. Amy wouldn’t be caught dead in my gym, and frequents the infinitely posher “Celebrity Fitness” big shiny gym at the Mall, where she’s become addicted to the spin classes. You get what you pay for: 50 bucks a month! (rock star prices here)

Rice anyone?

'er, how much?

Of course there are the grocery store runs, and the beer runs (in this city of 1 million+ people, there are 2 places to buy beer). Our go-to for those survival items, and everything from toothpaste to super glue is a pseudo-Walmarty place called “Giant”. It’s pretty much your Indonesian version of Walmart. Sure, I suppose we could go to the traditional market and bargain with the ladies over the price of mangos, but you know, it’s just easy and seamless going to Giant. And here, keeping things easy is the priority. So ya, we’ll stick to the marked prices and one-stop-shopping, at least until we know enough Indonesian to negotiate that extra 50 cents they tack on for “bule tax” in the markets.   

Other mid-week diversions are trips into the big haze, AKA Jakarta, for evening networking events. The JKT Indonesia-Canada Chamber of Commerce is quite active and puts on monthly networking events for local expats, and specifically Canadians. Since it’s “work” it’s free (i.e., paid for), and along with a car and driver, it’s pretty much a free night out on the town for us. The huge bonus for us is the all-you-can-drink wine (and, believe it or not, often BC wines! Last time was Burrowing Owl!) and fantastic 5-star gourmet food. Rubbing shoulders with the likes of the Canadian Ambassador to Indonesia is pretty cool too. Ah yes, drivers, Canadian Ambassadors….the expat life, gotta love it.

The Salak crew

Friday brings the weekend, which means beer night at our local watering hole, the Salak Sunset Café (see previous post). Basically a backpacker bar, without the backpackers, cuz there are none in Bogor. The Salak crew is a younger expat crowd consisting of mostly Euros (lots of Dutch here!), the odd Aussie, an American or two, and we actually have a fellow Canadian in the crew (Margaret from Cape Breton). It’s always fun to have a real conversation about the important things in life, like cheap flights to Singapore, where you can buy cheese, and…Donald Trump?…WTF??!!

So, life in Bogor, can’t complain. If you ask Amy, the single best thing about Bogor: the weather. “I love the weather here!” is her mantra. Every day is summer. She may never readjust to sub 20-degree weather. Sub-20…hmmmm, that would pretty much be an ice-age here J

 

 

Batu Karas

Sleep, surf, eat, repeat. We could get used to that. In fact, by about day four of our first real surf trip ever, it was hard to imagine ever going back to: work, work, work, repeat. I think the thing we like most about surfing, is the schedule, or lack thereof. It could just be us being slack beginners, but it seems to me, even the 21-yr-old shredders with a surf board permanently lashed to the side of their moto, only surf for a few hours a day. You know, a couple hours in the morning, a couple hours in the afternoon. If you’re a purist, it’s a dusk and dawn thing, but hey, we’re not that committed (yet).

So ya, not a grueling 10-hr day of ski-touring or mountain biking. Down time is what surfing seems to be about. Lots of time to talk about that guy who stole your wave, drink coffee, write blogs, and of course, hang out with the bros and be cool. Exactly what a vacation should be. Relaxation interspersed by something that is epically fun and keeps you in shape, and then followed by good coffee and/or cold beer.

Speaking of vacation, Amy had a random week off, like teachers do because they are on a schedule that no one else in the real world is on – which is good, since while I get less time off, I can take it when I want. What’s that?...you have a week off? Surf’s up baby!

Enter Batu Karas, West Java, Indonesia. By all accounts, it could be best beginner surf wave on the planet. This is where you take your 5-yr old to learn to surf. From what everyone is saying, if you can’t stand on the board at the end of a week in Batu Karas, you are either in a coma, or you never actually went in the water. Perfect, sign us up.

Despite being only 350 kms (an infinitely large distance here in Indo) from Jakarta, like most cool, small, out of the way and off-the-radar places, Batu Karas is a bit of a logistics nightmare to get to. It’s one of those “you can’t git there frum here” places. With no major airport nearby (flying is the only quick way of getting anywhere in Indo), and no direct train or bus dropping you off anywhere near the wave, the beer talk is all about “how did you get here?” For us, getting there involved a 1-hr Uber ride to Jakarta, an 8-hr train ride through the heart of West Java, followed by a 2-hr car ride through the jungle, arriving in a torrential tropical downpour which amazingly did not stop for the next 48 hours. But, the beer was cold, the fish was on the barbie, and we were welcomed with open arms. “Just in time” they said. For what? Dinner!

It was the quintessential soft landing after a loooooong day. Where? Villa Monyet (monyet = monkey) is the name of the place. A sweet little place just down the road from the wave, offering thatched-roof A-frame bungalows nestled in the jungle, amazing post-surf breakfasts, 24-7 free tea and coffee, 5-dollar a day moto rentals, and free surf advice from the crew of ripped 20-something surf dudes. Oh, and a fridge full of “honour-system” cold beer. Does it get any better? If yer looking for a place to hide off-grid for a few months, learn to surf, hang out, read books, find yourself….this would be a worthy place.

The wave, a smooth-as-silk right-hand point break, that seems to peel in slow-mo, did not disappoint. It is truly a beginner paradise. Sand bottom, no rips, no reefs, no drop-offs, no freaky stuff, just a consistent waist-high peeler that feels like your mom or dad holding the back of your seat when you learned to ride a bike. “That’s it Billy, you got it, now just stand up…” You don’t even have to paddle out if you don’t want to. Just walk back out, flip the board around, and jump back on.

After a few days we settled into a very tight and very rigorous regime: get up, coffee, morning surf sesh, more coffee, breakfast, chill, chill a bit more, afternoon surf sesh, beer and French fries, chill, maybe a nap, then sunset glass of wine on the beach watching the shredders attack the reef break (not the kiddie pool where we surf). The biggest decision of the day of course is then where we are going to eat dinner. Seafood or pizza? On the beach, not on the beach? Walking or take the moto? Ahh, bule problems!

A fascinating element of surfing that we have discovered, is how similar the psychology is to another sport that is dear to our hearts: skiing. The comparison is striking. Three basic elements make up the perfect moment:  weather, conditions, and people (crowds). In fact, I experienced my first personal surf rage on our last day. The surf was small to non-existent, wave not working, and there were about 50 10-yr-olds with boogie-boards buzzing around like ants on a dead cockroach (a little tropical reference there J). After a few near-miss decapitations and nothing I would describe as surfing, we packed it in and cursed everything that is sacred over a Bintang. More bule problems!     

But you know, that’s what makes those days, those perfect days, when everything is going your way, and you have the place to yourself, so special. So, skiing or surfing, here’s to good weather, perfect conditions, and having the place to yourself! When that happens, we’ll let you know. Until then, we’ll be slugging it out in the kiddie pool with the rest of humanity J

The return trip turned out to be a tad “interesting”, but the gamble paid off and we made it home in record time. By gamble, I mean, like most things in Indo, you never really know how they are going to unfold until they do. We took a chance with an on-line booking for a flight back to JKT out of a nowhere airport that was reported to be 3 hours away. Three hours away – when the bridge in the middle of the route is not “broken”.

OK, here’s the story on that one: apparently the bridge “broke” during the time we were in BK, meaning you could walk across, but you couldn’t drive across. Right, so how does that work? Well, Car #1 takes you to the bridge, you walk across, and, in theory, you find Car #2 waiting for you on the other side. Ah, ya,….our flight was at 8:50 am. Leaving in Car #1 at 4:30 am meant any deviation in the “car on the other side” theory would have resulted in…well, we’re not sure, cuz there was no Plan B. But you know, miracles happen. Car #2 was there waiting for us! Proof that sometimes, you just gotta believe. We made the flight (a tiny 10-passenger Cessna…more fun!), didn’t crash (another miracle), and made it home in time for midday cocktails. Life is good. J

 

 

 

Saturday afternoon gong show