Yndonesia by flying carpet

Before we knew it, we were rounding the corner into Azan’s neighborhood. I already recognized it and felt quite at home there, as if I were visiting my own cousins. It was dark. We got out of the car, and Azan led us through some gangways to another house not far from his. We pushed open the entrance gate a little, came in and removed our sandals, and followed him into the house. It was night by now, and the room we entered was blazing with light that was reflected from the many dazzling things in the room. There we met Adam, another of the ‘brothers Ali,’ the youngest of them, and as handsome as a young sultan, with his baby daughter in arms. Azan introduced us to his brother, and they showed us around the place, and where we would sleep, and then brought food and drinks.

This was the first time we were staying in a Muslim household. When we stayed overnight at the home of Yudhie’s dad in Nakao village, though his wife and relatives are Muslims, his dad as head of the household is a Christian, and so there is a mix of religions there. Here, in Banyuwangi, we were guests in a Muslim home, right across the lane from a beautiful mosque. We felt really welcome.

Adam, our host, besides being handsome, was as gracious and gentle as Yudhie’s family in Siliragung. It is the nobility of the Javanese. When I asked Azan if there was anywhere nearby where I could purchase some framed Islamic calligraphy like the ones in Adam’s house, he said, not nearby. He and Adam were surprised that an American could read Arabic and was interested in such things. Adam understood my inquiry, disappeared for a moment, returned with a laminated tableau of Islamic holy sites, and gave it to me. As we found out later, Adam does understand and can even speak English somewhat, but is too shy to try speaking to an American. Yes, in every way, he was a gentleman. I humbly thanked him.

Tableau of Islamic holy sites

After visiting, we turned in for the night. The spare room was as beautifully furnished and comfortable as the rest of the house, but the bed was a twin, so Adam and Azan pulled another mattress out of another room and laid it down on the floor of the spare room, so Yudhie and I wouldn’t have to squeeze onto the twin. Sometime before we retired for the night, Adam’s wife came home, and also did her best to see to our needs, bringing us towels for our baths, and other necessities. We had a peaceful sleep. No cocks crowing either in this neighborhood, just the mu’ezzin cry at about 4:30 in the morning. I came to love that sound. So peaceful, and at the very time when I normally wake up and talk to the Lord, even when I am at home in America.

Proïnón, the pre-dawn, the quiet time when God comes and talks to men, is the same, I think, in all faiths.

Full morning finally arrived.

Through the open window in our bedroom I could hear the sounds of people up and about. I got up, carefully stepped over Yudhie, and went to use the washroom. The family was not to be seen, but they were already up. I went outside and sat on a little bench at the end of the front porch, and prayed silently, thanking the Lord for the hospitality of this family.

Then I looked around, took a few photos of the mosque across the lane, and the planters on the porch. Before long, Azan came over, and Adam appeared with his daughter. We sat together on the front steps and talked in soft tones. Yudhie then emerged. We went back inside. Azan disappeared for a few minutes and reappeared with a plate of various prepackaged Indonesian sweets. We sampled a few with our morning coffee. Delicious!

We had some time to kill before Azan’s relatives, our driver and his wife, were coming to take us to the ferry. How carefully they provided for us! And we couldn’t even thank them in their own language (at least I couldn’t). We walked around the neighborhood a bit. Suddenly Azan turned in at a gate to a building that didn’t look exactly like a house, but more like a workshop. It was a tofu factory! He took us inside and we saw the men making tofu. There was a furnace roaring and I didn’t quite understand what I was looking at, and I wish I could’ve stayed longer, and photographed it, but it was dark inside, and I think I forgot the camera in my backpack at the house.

Before we left, Azan bought us a big bag of deep fried tofu. The lady yelled out, ‘Be careful! It’s probably too salty for you!’—in Javanese, Azan translated—but it turned out to be just as salty as we wanted. Sadly, we left it behind on the bus when we disembarked in Denpasar! I’m going back to get more when we visit Kota Banyuwangi next time.

Time to go! Our driver was waiting for us when we returned. Azan accompanied us, because he wanted to make sure we got on the ferry safely and, as he later arranged, got our fare at reduced rates. This is what happened… When we got to the ferry dock, we parked the car. Yudhie and I started to get out, and Azan said, ‘No! Just stay here! I will get the tickets for you!’ with a strange imperative tone in his voice, almost of panic. It didn’t make sense. He got out and briskly ran up to the ticket agent in his booth. In half a minute he was running back, opened the car door and said, ‘Do you have 200,000 rupiah?’ I said, sure, and handed him two red seratus ribu bills. He said, ‘Grab your things and run down to the ferry! It’s about ready to take off!’ Then he ran too, stopped at the wicked and got the tickets and caught up to us just as we were passing the conductors who took them from us. Then the three of us ran to the ferry.

He took Yudhie and me into a large bus parked on the deck and found us seats in the rear. We dropped off our luggage and then followed him back out and up to the passenger deck where we would sit during the passage. It was there that he explained the strange way of getting the tickets. ‘The fare to Denpasar is a hundred fifty per person, but I know the clerk and got the tickets for a hundred each. We had to run because the ferry was going to leave right away.’ That is a strange way to buy tickets, but I had already learned earlier, that prices of things here will vary, depending on who is buying. That’s why Moda’s wife bought our ferry tickets for the passage to Banyuwangi from Bali the day before. She is a local, we obviously are not. So, maybe the guide books are right after all.

Yndonesia by flying carpet is how we went.
Angels were with us every step of the way.

Next… Back to earth