M-whY

Our tour bus arrived just as the gates opened at 6:00am. It was important to get there early. The place would be flooded with domestic tourists very soon. Over 70% of the visitors to Borobudur are Indonesian. Muslims visiting a Buddhist shrine may seem a bit odd, but as I've learned, Islam in Indonesia is very tolerant. Radical terrorists are the rare exception, not the norm.

Several of us decided to hire a guide from the ticket booth. It only costs 40,000 rupiah for a one hour tour. 8,000 rupiah per person when divided five ways. It was a great investment, turning a sightseeing expedition into a learning experience. (By comparison, they tried charging US$30 at Besakih temple in Bali. Ripoff, anyone?)

When Borobudur was first built no cement was used. Giant blocks were pieced together like a three dimensional jigsaw puzzle. It took three generations of workers, about 80 years in all, to complete. During the restoration process, it was found that many original blocks were missing or no longer usable. New blocks had to be carved, and these new additions were all marked with a white dot. In some places, it didn't make a big difference and was hardly noticeable. In others, it was glaringly obvious, but what could be done about it? The original carvings are lost forever.

It's documented that the monument spans ten levels, however, if you counted them on your way up, you'd only come up with nine. Thus, any ceremony that takes place here starts from grass, which serves as the ground level. Over 500 buddha statues used to sit on the stone walls. Today, only about 200 of them remain. Most of them are missing arms or heads. Every buddha sits in the lotus position, but the position of the right arm (if it is still intact) varies. Every arm position had meaning. A palm face up represents charity, a palm face down means relation to earth, and a palm face forward stands for no fear. Right arm over left arm symbolizes meditation, and touching the pointer finger with the thumb corresponds to teaching (This statue is the only one in this position intact. Every other buddha has long since lost his fingers). There are supposedly a few more positions, but I didn't find them all.

Walking counter-clockwise on one of the levels, stone carvings told the story of Siddharta. How the king and queen were unable to conceive. How the queen, in her sleep, dreamed of a white elephant. How she instantly became pregnant. How she gave birth to a son named Siddharta (yes, she gave birth standing up). How Siddharta lived a sheltered life in the palace and became married. How one day, Siddharta ventured out beyond the palace walls and witnessed a blind man, a sick man, and a dying man. How he sought permission from his father to leave the palace and was refused. How, when all the guards were asleep, he managed to escape with the aid of magical beings. And finally, how he found enlightenment under a banyan tree, and became Buddha.

At the top of the temple are 72 stupas, each housing their own Buddha images. Our guide pointed out the stupa known as the 'Lucky Buddha.' It's believed that any male who touches the right ring finger of the Buddha inside will receive good fortune and have a wish granted. For females, touching the right foot has the same effect. I'm not superstitious or anything, but hey, it can't hurt. I reached inside and made contact with the right ring finger. And before anyone asks, no, I'm not telling you what I wished for.

By this time, throngs of Indonesian kids on field trips had arrived. (I'd later learn today was a holiday, and many schools from other cities were taking their students to Yogya for the day.) I wouldn't have pointed this out, except a very interesting phenomenon began to occur. These kids loved having their pictures taken with westerners. They would ask anyone with a caucasian appearance to stand in the photos with them. Then they'd circle around and begin asking questions, probably to practice their english. The interview would conclude with requests of the foreigner to write his/her name and address in a notebook.

Being asian in appearance, I thought maybe I'd be left out. As I sat beside one of the stupas however, they began to gather around me too. "What is your name?" "Where are you from?" "What is your hobby?" "What is your favorite sport?" They came from all directions. Whenever there was a lull, I filled the silence by returning the questions. A girl asked me to write my name, address, and autograph in her notebook, and I obliged. One by one, notebooks were handed to me, and I filled out about a dozen of them. The session concluded with a photo shoot. I felt like a celebrity!

If I didn't have a bus to catch, I could've basked in the attention all morning. On the way to the parking lot, I ran into Ed and Marta (from two days ago). Considering how large the complex is, this was quite a remarkable coincidence.

Three kilometers away was the much smaller Mendut Temple. Inside was a massive Buddha, with both feet on the ground instead of crossed in the lotus position. Our tour operator gave us a brief history of this building, then asked if we would like more light to take pictures.

"How's he going to do that?" several of asked as he stepped outside. He produced a huge mirror, which he used to reflect sunlight through the entrance. Clever!

I was dropped off back at my hotel around noon. I had some lunch (I was starving!) and then set out to take care of some business.

Now my Lonely Planet on a Shoestring book is really beginning to piss me off. Let me quote a line found in the Yogyakarta section. "Furious bargaining is required with locak becak [bicycle rickshaws] drivers - count on 3000Rp for a short trip." Furious bargaining? You want someone to haul your fat butt around for 30 cents? When they ask for 80 cents, or a dollar, you're going to quibble with them about it?? If you can afford to fly all the way out here, I don't care how tight your budget is, a few cents isn't going to make a difference.

I hired a becak driver to take me to Tugu train station, about five kilometers from where I was staying. I wanted to check train schedules, and while I'm there, buy my train ticket a couple days early. Transportation between Indonesian cities can be very cheap. My bus from Denpasar to Yogya costs US$14. A first class train ticket from Yogya to Jakarta costs the same. I've heard that plane tickets can sometimes be just as cheap. I didn't verify this though. I'm not interested in flying anyways. There's more opportunity for something unusual to happen by staying on the ground.

Buying a train ticket was a little more difficult than I envisioned. The schedules were easy enough to read. There were these forms though, that had to be filled out. The english version was non-existant. I understood what 'nama' meant (name), but the rest was indecipherable to me. I looked around for maybe a tourist information center or maybe someone who looked like they could help, but no assistance was to be found. In the end, I just wrote down where I wanted to go, what day I wanted to leave on, and proceeded to the counter.

"Do you speak english?" I asked.

"A little."

I handed her my application and after a couple questions (What time do you want to leave? Morning.), I had my ticket.

The main street of Yogya was particularly festive, since today was a holiday. I took a seat on a bench under a tree, to watch the action from the shade.

Some of the most interesting parts of my trip have been totally unplanned. As I sat and observed, an Indonesian man sitting beside me said something to me in Bahasa. I gave him my best confused look, a look that must be quite convincing by now with all the practice I've had.

"You don't speak Bahasa?" he asked, this time in english.

"No."

"Oh! Sorry, I thought you did. You look Indonesian."

Well! That's a first! I'm almost always mistaken for Japanese. I took it as a compliment. See how well I'm blending in?

We had a pleasant conversation. He was a schoolteacher, who was taking his students on a field trip to Yogya. After spending all morning and early afternoon seeing the sights, the kids had some free time to explore on their own.

"Have you been to Borobudur yet?" he asked.

"Yeah, I was there this morning."

"How about the Kraton?"

"Not yet, I'll probably go tomorrow."

"What about the government batik gallery?"

I hadn't heard about this before, but I said I'd look it up and check it out tomorrow as well.

"Oh, you must go now. It is closed tomorrow."

Actually, I had no desire to see the batik gallery. But he recommended it with such fervor, I figured I might as well see what it's like.

"Just go left at the next street. When you reach the police station, turn right. The gallery will be on the left side, near the train station."

His directions were correct, but I still never would've found the unobtrusive building if it weren't for a young man who noticed me lost expression.

"What are you looking for?" he asked.

"The government batik gallery?"

"Oh, I know where that is, I will show you. I live right next to it, and I'm on my way home anyways."

Batik is a unique Indonesian art form that has sadly gone the way of the 8-track. Plenty of batik shops were peppered around Yogya, but most of the paintings are unauthentic copies and expensively priced. Which is why I had no interest in them.

This batik gallery though, was as authentic as you could get. Actually a government sponsored school, where masters passed on their skills to students, it is only open to the public one day a week. I got there just as they were closing.

"If you had arrived earlier, you could see the students working," explained what I think was a teacher. "But since you're here anyways, I will give you a brief demonstration on how batik is made."

Afterwards, I was free to peruse the gallery. The works were for sale, but there were no pushy sales tactics. As I looked around, he asked, "How did you hear about us? We are difficult to find."

I'll say they were. 50 meters off the main street, on a small alley, with no signs? I told them about the schoolteacher that had informed me about the place.

Batik paintings do make great souvenirs. But like I mentioned, they can be quite expensive. My guidebook had indicated a 30mm x 30mm piece could be had for US$4 (the asking price would be US$40). And the authenticity couldn't be verified. Here, however, you could be sure you were getting the real thing. Since the school was government sponsored, and not for profit, prices were dirt cheap. US$2 bought a 500mm x 500mm piece of work. I couldn't resist buying a couple.

"You must leave your name and address," he said as he wrapped up my souvenirs. "At Christmas time, the artist will mail you the story behind the work."

Mom, if I get mail from Indonesia this December, don't throw it away!

I've had a pretty full day already, but I wasn't done. In the evening, I went to see the great Ramayana ballet, performed in an open air theatre, with the majestic Prambanan temples in the backdrop. Presented on alternate nights from May to October, it is a must do for anyone in Yogya during that time.

I've seen 'cultured' performances before, and this has to be the best I've ever witnessed. For the price of a movie ticket (US$10), I was treated to two hours of spectacular show. It puts to shame the cheap Balinese dance routines that I was so disappointed in.

When the show was over, the audience was invited on stage for photo ops with the performers. We only had five minutes, and everyone swarmed the two leads, so I didn't get a chance to have my picture taken with them. But that's okay. I'll settle for the beautiful supporting dancers!

Thanks to everyone for their support and comments! Knowing people are reading keeps me motivated to continue the updates!