Mother of hot springs

This morning, as usual I was the first up and on my feet.

Carefully stepping around the two Java men still sleeping on a futon on the family room floor, I navigated to the wash room, to perform the 'morning visit' and the compulsory Yndonesian 'shower'—the thrill of throwing little buckets of cold water all over myself never wore off, a great way to make sure you're fully awake!

By the time I was finished, the two brothers were stirring, Dwi first of course, and then Yudhie next. Gradually we all got bathed, dressed and ready to start our first day together. Where would we go to? We'd already talked about going to see the famous Buddhist site of Borobudur, or of taking a trip to Yogyakarta, but we wouldn't have time, and the logistics of getting there was more than we were prepared for. What about just going up to experience something incredible and natural nearby, like the Baturraden hot springs on the slopes of the local volcano, Mount Slamet? The forest is different up in the mountains, and the air cooler too, except right at the hot springs, and it was only about fifteen kilometers away.

That sounded like a great idea. We rejoined the rest of the family and together went out for breakfast at a warung in the neighborhood. There we talked about what the plans would be for the day. Andreas and his son Eko would be going to work, but a brother of his, Dwi's uncle, would be able to drive us up to the hot springs, and wherever else we wanted to go. This uncle was one of the few Chinese Indonesians who still goes by his Chinese name, and he is a well-known character in the town, famous for always getting involved and lending a hand—and of course, full of sage wisdom and advice. He would drive us this day.

Before we left for our trip to Baturraden, Dwi showed Yudhie and me around his neighborhood, which is, as most middle class projects, a gated community, though it didn't seem as obvious as those in Jakarta. The perimeter of the project is fenced in by a wall and even barbed wire. Even in Purwokerto, you can't take any chances. I know there are gated communities in the States—my dad lives in one in Florida—but for me and my life, I've never lived in one or had to deal with such things. The most I've ever had was a home alarm system in a house we once rented in a somewhat dangerous neighborhood. Law enforcement is far more effective and visible in the States. While I was in Yndonesia, I almost never saw a squad car or a policeman.

A curious observation: As in China, the government seems to have figured out how to control the largest number of people with the smallest force. How is this possible? I think for two reasons. First, when you call on any official or government agent for assistance in any matter, it can become so complicated and take so long and can drag you into difficulties so much worse than the original problem, that the second reason kicks in: People take matters into their own hands and control themselves, so as not to come to the notice of the official bureaucracy or the police force. In other words, make the cure worse than the ailment, and people fix themselves. Make the penalty for even a minor disorder so threatening, that order prevails. Somehow, I can hear verses from the Dao De Jing 道德經 lurking in the back of my mind. Maybe it's just the Asian way.

Back to the neighborhood and our walk through a corner of it. Fruit trees, yes, fruit trees everywhere, and with fruit on them, and yes, some of it ripe that very morning, and yes again, free for the taking. Though many of the trees are within the confines of people's property, and therefore should not be poached, there are other trees that are just planted, or are volunteers, in any grassy spot. People the world over have dreamed of an America with streets paved with gold. As for me and some others in the West, a country where the streets were lined with fruit trees and paved with ripe papayas, mangoes and rambutans, well, that would be dream enough for us!

We returned to the house and found Dwi's uncle waiting to take us on our day's travels. We would go up to the Baturraden hot springs, and after that, if there was enough time, we would also drive south and visit the old Dutch fortifications on the coast at Cilacap.

The drive up the slopes of Mount Slamet reminded me of driving in the Oregon rain forests around Portland, in the Coast Range, in the Columbia Gorge, even in the forest parks of the city itself, like Mount Tabor, where my family house is located near the top of the mountain and within walking distance of the caldera. Even our mountains in Oregon, as small as they are, are usually extinct volcanoes. Mount Tabor last erupted before human beings lived on the planet, but not so Mount Hood, or across the river from Portland, Mount St Helens which erupted with explosive force only about twenty-five years ago.

As we ascended Mount Slamet, we passed through a rain forest terrain, abundant with ferns and tall trees with their foliage near the top. This is exactly like Oregon, except the species of trees is entirely different, though their growth habits are the same. here in Java, as we passed those tall trees, I could see that they were all fitted with small taps for the extraction of latex, which is a source of rubber. What I didn't understand until I actually lived in Yndonesia was that latex is in a lot of tropical plants, even fruits, and it's not always easy to deal with. 

I remember eating a pile of small tropical fruits with Yudhie that had thin skins like Clementines, but as we peeled them, handling the rinds made our hands extremely sticky from the latex, which was hard to wash off.

After driving for some time through the rain forest, we arrived at a level parking lot where Dwi's uncle parked the car and sat down to relax and read the paper. He wasn't coming along with us into the hot springs, but he told us not to worry, but take as much time as we wanted.

Baturraden Hot Springs brochure, front and back

The photos we took will pretty much speak for themselves. The water of the hot springs was extremely hot to the touch and very rich in minerals. Where it cascaded down the mountainside in little rivulets, these channels were a bright yellow, not blue or even green as normal water.

Yudhie and Ayah, at Baturraden

The rocks over which they flowed had become bright yellow with green stripes, from the sulfur and sulfates in the water. There were trails all over this side of the mountain, paved with stone steps, and there were rest stops everywhere. My favorite photo of Yudhie and me (above) was taken at one of these rest stops. So was my favorite photo of Dwi and me (below).

Dwi and Paman Romanos, at Baturraden

Climbing up one of the step-paved trails we looked back and noticed a white man naked to the waste enjoying one of the hot spring pools. I was really surprised that he could take the heat, as when I tested the water, it felt too hot for me to even immerse my feet. It was just as strange to see another white man here at the hot springs as it was to see one almost anywhere I went in Yndonesia. The man noticed us, specifically me, and must have had a similar thought. He waved at us, and started running up the mountain path. We stopped and waited for him.

He spoke perfect English, but he was not an American or Australian. In fact, he was a Frenchman married to an Indonesian and living nearby. He told us that he comes here every chance he has, and that in general, living in Yndonesia, for him at least, is worth any inconveniences he has to put up with. Even though this was my first visit, and I was only in the country for a little over two weeks, I was already addicted myself, to whatever it is that makes living here attractive. I still haven't identified what it is, and probably never will, because it has too many components. The importance of relationships is high on the list, and the simple but healthy lifestyle also counts for a lot.

After trekking all over this side of the mountain—and we didn't even check out half the trails we could have—we started heading back to the entrance. By the way, there is a small charge to enter the hot springs, but as with most places in Yndonesia, from a Westerner's point of view, the charges seem nominal. There were some kiosks with souvenirs and other goods on the trail near the entrance, and we stopped at these and Dwi and Yudhie bought some clothing souvenirs. Just outside the park gates and before we got into the car, we stopped one more time, and bought a few more trinkets, giveaways for friends, but also a couple of wooden bead bracelets that reminded Yudhie and me a little of komboskinia, the Orthodox prayer rope. The beads were made of a very fragrant oily wood that seemed translucent. Two bracelets, one for Yudhie and one for me, tokens of our experiences together.

Yudhie Kristanto and Dwi Santosa,
at Baturraden, 3 January 2012

Uncle was waiting patiently for us. It wasn't really very late at all, so we decided to take up his suggestion that we visit the old Dutch fort at Cilacap (CHEE-lah-chop) on the coast about forty kilometers south of town. No place on Java is very far from the sea. The island seems bigger than it is because it often takes so long to travel from one place to another. The road system is still just in the beginning stages, and often it is easier, faster and cheaper to go by train. This time, it was an easy drive straight south. So we hopped into the car, and headed back down the mountain.

Next stop… Cilacap!