Cilacap!

What a strange sounding name! In Dutch days, this native name was spelled using the Dutch alphabet with its values as Tjilatjap. When Indonesians want to give a feel of past imperial glory or Dutch stateliness they will spell the name of their business or restaurant or resort or product using this older spelling. Somehow, even though the Dutch are not usually remembered fondly, Indonesians still have a fascination for, and a desire to emulate, the West. They see us all over television, movies and the internet, but when one of us actually turns up… well, it doesn't take me long to get used to being stared at! It also doesn't take me long to forget I'm a bulé, a white Westerner, because I do everything Yndonesians do without thinking twice. For me, the culture shock was in returning to the States, not coming here.

So, we headed south to Cilacap. I really didn't know what to expect. Was it some sort of national monument, or what? I was getting a strange mix of attitudes about it from the few things I was hearing. It seemed to be a bad place, because the Dutch committed lots of atrocities against the Javanese there. It seemed to be a good place, because in spite of it all, the people survived. Why would they want to preserve the site as a monument, I don't know, except to show future generations what inhumanity can be practiced by civilised nations. So the Dutch were bad parents. Will the children learn not to imitate them, or is it already too late?

Cilacap (CHEE-lah-chop) is an old fortification on the south coast of Java. It has been turned into a historical monument with some unexpected features. the dinosaur statues, for example, who would have suspected they'd turn up at Cilacap? Did the Dutch have things like them to terrorize the natives? One unexpected pleasant surprise was the presence of deer in the park, that quite tamely kept close to us, but not too close. The waterfront made the park seem a little like a beach, and I suppose it was. This was the closest we came to hanging out at the beach, except for the morning we spent on the Singaraja waterfront in Bali.

For me, Cilacap was a bit of a let down as a historical site, probably because I didn't have any previous knowledge of it, and it held no emotional content for me. As for the fortifications themselves, they were not too different from things that exist in the States that I've seen. Nothing of European content in the States is very old, except on the east coast, Boston, for example. Everything else, though we think it old, is not really very old at all. The same lack of the antique surrounds, for me, the European monuments in Asia. There just not old enough to be of much interest. I am much more interested in the native monuments. On my next stay here, we will visit Borobudur, we must.

After walking around the site, we were getting hungry. We had brought snacks with us in the car, something we always did when we went on day trips, but Dwi and Yudhie wanted to get some food from one of the beach front warungs. You just order up the food, and keep going back if you want more of something, and then at the end you pay. Sometimes the warung owner is absent when it's time to pay, so you leave the money with one of the warungs nearby to give him when he returns. I was really quite surprised how the 'honor system' works here so naturally.

Sitting on a bamboo mat on the grass with our sandals left behind, we enjoyed lunch and a drink—an actual coconut slashed open with a machete and the liquid contents sweetened a bit, shaved coconut floating in it, and ice, and drunk through a straw. It cost practically nothing, and the old woman who went to the trouble of preparing it worked so hard. I never stopped being impressed by the industry and thrift of the people of Yndonesia. Again and again saying to myself, 'They do so much with so little.' This is probably true of many underdeveloped countries, but Yndonesia seems different because it is so large, so populous, and though so diverse so mutually helpful.

Standing on the beach, looking out to sea, it was hard to believe that somewhere a few hundred miles away, lay the continent of Australia, one of the most advanced and richest countries on the planet. And here, in Java, people were making ends meet on an income that an average American or Australian can't even manage to use for a recreation allowance. To me that was perhaps the greatest and most shocking realisation I had from living in this country for three weeks. Economics is very relative. A hundred dollars in America can be the cost of a dinner date and a movie or concert. A million rupiah can be the monthly income of an entire family. The two amounts on the foreign exchange ledger look about the same. But what a difference it makes where and how you live.

Next… Home to Tangerang, again

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!