Let's go by train!

Ancient Borobudur, a Buddhist site in central Java
We will visit it next time!

Dwi Santosa, guitarist

I didn’t want to miss the opportunity to meet Dwi Arjuna in person while I was in Yndonesia, so we got in touch with him as soon as I arrived, and made a tentative plan to visit him in Purwokerto right after New Year’s day. Now that we were home and relaxing after our travels in Bali and Banyuwangi, we called him again, and made our plans. We wanted to meet up with him and see if he was free to travel with us around central Java, go to Yogyakarta and maybe to Borobudur, but first things first. We had to get to Purwokerto (poor-walker-TOE) before thinking about anything else. As it turned out, we didn’t go to those places we were thinking about. Maybe next time.

Dwi at the World Peace Gong
in Ambon

Dwi is a teacher at a Christian school on the island of Ambon. This became a source of crisis later on in our visit, but more about that later, perhaps. He was home for the Christmas holiday, staying with his family, father, mother and elder brother, at their home in this central Javanese town. They are Chinese Indonesians. Dwi’s father has a Chinese name, of course, but uses the Christian name, Andreas. He is about my age and lived through some rough times for Chinese in his country. There was a period when the Chinese were subjected to harsh rules, and one of them was to become fully Indonesian by abandoning their Chinese names, and take on native-sounding ones.

During that time, Andreas named his two sons in the traditional Indonesian way: first-born, Eko, second-born, Dwi. These names are related to Sanskrit words for ‘one’ and ‘two.’ When the country was out of that era of nationalism, the Chinese were again free to use their original names, but most of them didn’t bother to change back.

Chinese Confucian shrine in Bandung, Java

Something that also happened back then involved religion. Originally, the Indonesian government recognized only five faiths, all of them at least formally monotheistic: Islam, Catholicism, Protestant Christianity, Balinese Hinduism, and Buddhism. All of these were also religions of long standing in the country. No new religions were allowed. Everyone in the country had to formally belong to one of these, both then and now, except a sixth was added after the laws related to Chinese ethnicity were relaxed. The sixth religion was Confucianism. This affected almost all the Chinese. Since it was not officially recognized, many Chinese Indonesians converted to Christianity as the best choice of what was allowed.

I am not sure when Dwi’s family became Christians—they are Protestants—but judging from Dwi and his family members, they are not nominal Christians, but people who believe, and who also struggle with their faith. Whenever we ate together, prayer was offered before the dinner, and at our last meal together, Andreas asked me to offer the prayer, even though it would be in English, which he and his wife don’t understand. To me this was a great honor, added to some others that Andreas bestowed on me during our visit.

Dwi Arjuna

One more explanation about names. I have given Dwi a nickname, although it is really more than a nickname to me. It’s the name he has between us. That is Arjuna, the name of the third Pandava brother, the archer whose chariot was driven by Krishna during the ancient battle at Kurukshetra in the national epic, Mahabharata. Why did I name him Arjuna? It was a spiritual perception linked also to his appearance. In one of his photos, this one, in profile he reminded me of the Arjuna in the epic poem. In the image of the Pandavas below, doesn't Dwi look like he fits into this family?

The five Pandava brothers,
and their mother, Kunti

Later, when I found out he was fully ethnic Chinese, I was astonished. Only when I met him in person, finally, and could see him in three-D, was I convinced he was Chinese. But facially, even his features resemble those of the Javanese and Indian races. His explanation? Well, it seems plausible to me. He said, when people move to another part of the world and eat the food that comes from that soil, they gradually begin to change, after many generations resembling the people who were already living there. I’d never thought about it before, but in a way it makes sense. We’re all descended from a single ancestral couple, yet look at us, so many races of all sizes, shapes and colors. Maybe he’s right.

Gambir station,
where we caught the train to Purwokerto

Back to the story. This morning we got up early, showered up, packed our backpacks, and ordered a taxi to take us to the train station in Jakarta. Fortunately we arrived at the station just in time to buy our tickets and catch the train to Purwokerto, which was leaving in about half an hour. There are different classes of travel in Yndonesia as everywhere else in the world. Economy Class travel—which I wouldn’t have minded, except for the fact that it takes three times as long to get anywhere because the train stops at every station along the way—is very cheap. We booked two seats on a train that was Executive Class—not that we’re ‘executives’ but because we could get to Purwokerto in less than six hours, and that’s halfway across Java.

Jakarta skyline as we leave the city

We boarded our train and sat together—the seats are assigned just as on an airplane—and just relaxed, looking out of the window sometimes, other times slightly napping. The train to Purwokerto goes first to Cirebon, a city on the north coast of central Java, and then it turns south and continues to Purwokerto. It did stop at several towns along the way, but few compared to the Economy Class train. At each stop, people got on and off, passengers as well as peddlars selling everything from food and drinks to toys and souvenirs. Their persistent and plaintiff calls, made from the landing of the railway car, were a regular feature at every stop. They’re only allowed to enter the cabin if a customer calls them.

Java from the train

Yndonesia is a land where everything is for sale, by everyone, and everywhere, and always. If I said it before, I’ve said it a thousand times, it’s the land of free enterprise gone wild. If Communism had taken over this land, as was feared in the 1960’s, what could they possibly have done to contain this people? For all that can go wrong with this system, there is enough that goes right to justify letting it continue, as the country as a whole gradually inches up towards modernity, and economic prosperity. The big question for me is, when Yndonesia reaches the point where the West is now, what will it be like?

Hours passed. Finally, our train pulled into Purwokerto station. We gathered our things and got off, and there was Dwi waving at us from the arrivals gate. He saw us long before we saw him. I guess with me in the crowd, we were not hard to spot.

How happy he was to see us, and we him! This was for me another moment to remember, as were our first few hours together. Dwi arranged for us to be carried to where we would eat lunch together—by becak! This was, for me, almost as embarrassing as being hauled around Takayama, Japan, in a man-powered rickshaw. Becaks (BEH-chucks) are a kind of bicycle powered rickshaw where the passenger sits up front, like riding the handlebars, except that it has a proper seat and is under cover like a carriage. What was embarrassing to me was that I was a big, heavy bulé, and the man who was going to pedal me for several blocks to our destination was a lean man probably older than myself. I had very mixed emotions, but as always, I just said, ‘Yes.’

Yudhie and Dwi got into one becak and I got in the other. The two vehicles didn’t stay together, however, and I arrived at our destination first. It was again embarrassing. ‘What do I do now?’ I asked myself, ‘Where are they?’ My driver had gotten off his seat and was standing, waiting for the others to arrive. When they did, Dwi pulled out a wad of banknotes and paid both drivers. Then, we loitered about and took a couple of photographs before we crossed the street and went to eat at the warung that Dwi had picked out for us.

At this lunch I was introduced to a very special local food item that I came to love very much, a kind of tempe pancake that takes the place of bread in a meal. It’s called mendoan, and if I could get it here in America, I think I’d eat it every day. The warung was small but very clean. The three of us ate outside, sitting on plastic chairs at a long bar-like table. The food was delicious, especially that mendoan.

After lunch, it was time to get over to Dwi’s house, where we would be staying for a couple of days. There really wasn’t much in the way of transportation where we found ourselves, so we decided to try to hail a taxi from the curb. We stood along the main road and watched for a taxi to drive by. All the ones we saw at first going the right way were occupied and didn’t stop. Finally we saw one going the wrong way, and Dwi hailed him. When I say ‘hailed’ this is nothing like what we do in America to attract the attention of a passing cab. In Yndonesia it is quieter and subtler, just a slight motion of the hand. Until I actually saw it succeed, I didn’t think Dwi was being forceful enough. The driver saw us, waited for traffic to pass, and then did a U-turn, and picked us up.

It didn’t take very long to get to Dwi’s house. It was in a very pleasant, quiet neighborhood. When we arrived, we got out and, after paying the driver, pushed open the entrance gate and came inside, leaving our sandals in the front patio, and dropping our backpacks on the floor near the front door. Dwi’s mother and brother were there, and we were made to sit down while refreshments were brought to us. Then, a few minutes later, Dwi’s father arrived, and with the help of Yudhie and the two brothers Dwi and Eko, we all got acquainted.

Next… At home in Purwokerto