Central Java

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It’s time to say goodbye to Tanjung Puting. We get back on the boat for the last time, and make our way back to Kumai, where we transfer to a taxi. Susi has promised us a visit to a Dayak village, and we have high hopes of seeing shrunken heads and the like, and men in loin cloths and feathers in their head bands carrying blowpipes, or at least some authentic village scenes. But sadly all we see is an empty long house, which lacks character or interest.

It’s a short flight from Kalimantan to Semerang in central Java, where our driver is waiting. Java is a huge culture shock after the unpopulated peace of the national park. It’s a 2 hour drive to our hotel, and the entire drive is through built up areas, at a very slow pace because of the heavy traffic. Indonesia has a population of 350 million and a significant proportion of them appear to be on the roads! Java is one of the most densely populated islands in the world, and it shows. There seems to be lots of ribbon development even when you are not in a town.

Our new hotel is in the hills in a coffee plantation near Magelang, and is built around the original nineteenth century planter’s house. All the buildings are of the same era, having been bought, moved and rebuilt on site by an Italian lady who lived on Java and made this her life's work. It’s a beautiful place and we immediately wish we were staying more than two nights. The first job is to wash the clothes we’ve got so filthy after our three nights in the jungle. We run a bath and toss them all in, holding our noses as the smell rise from the hot water! Our reward is to relax over afternoon tea, sitting outside admiring the view. Tea and chocolate cake surveying the green lawns. Sadly the two volcanoes overlooking the hotel are shrouded in cloud.

Next morning we have the luxury of a late start. Our driver August picks us up and drives us through yet more crowded streets before we eventually turn off and find ourselves in a stereotypical Javanese landscape of paddy fields with palm trees, banana trees, and volcanoes in the background. Farmers in conical hats till the fields but no water buffalo, sadly. After 75 minutes we arrive at a tiny village called Selogriyo where our guide Andrew meets us to take us on a walk through the local countryside. He seems bemused by our walking poles and initially suggests we don’t need them. However, after watching us gingerly negotiate the first steep road in the village, he agrees they seem like a good idea. We wind our way up a narrow paved path, used by the villagers to provide motorbike access to their fields. As we leave the village, we see a large group of men with cages full of pigeons. Andrew tells us there is a pigeon race on today. The males are taken a few kilometres away, and the first one back wins. He is surprised when we tell him this happens in England too. Illegal wagers are no doubt made and the whiff of dubious substances being smoked fills the air. Needless to say the women are toiling in the fields planting and harvesting.

After 40 minutes or so we reach an ornate archway in front of a long winding flight of steps, which lead to the temple. We break into an alarming sweat as we make our way up the steps (“must keep going”), but reach the top without stopping and are comforted when Andrew tells us that many younger guests have needed to rest along the way. The temple is a deep disappointment, as it has been entirely taken to pieces so its foundations can be strengthened before it is reassembled. Earthquakes and land movement causes this to happen to lots of temples in Java. We ask if there are any relief carvings, and after some enquiries it turns out there are, but they have been stored face down and we have in fact been sitting on them. The rest are in a higgledy piggledy mess on the ground.

We set off back taking a different route, which proves somewhat perilous. There’s no path, and we are instead picking our way along the narrow (9 inches or so) edges of the terraces. The ground is muddy after heavy thunderstorms the night before, and hence slippery, and in places we have to step from stone to stone. This is tricky even for Sara, and ten times more so for David with his fused ankle that does not bend. But with concentration and the occasional helping hand from Andrew, we make it to a small covered platform where our picnic lunch is waiting for us. We’d been expecting sandwiches and fruit, but instead a lad on a motorbike has brought up two bento style boxes with a delicious mixture of food – tender pieces of beef, stir fried vegetables, spicy noodles, a lovely spiced nut mix and some fruit. This is enormously welcome, and we now have time to enjoy the spectacular view which we entirely missed on our descent to here as we were looking down to the path at all times. The rest of the descent is much easier, and we’re soon back the village. On our way a farmer calls “Eh, where are those stylishly attired and not at all stupid looking weirdos from?” – or no doubt words to that effect – as he surveys our hiking attire and our stylish hats rammed down on our heads. “Ingres” replies Andrew, a word we have heard more than once on this walk.

Back in the village we ask if there is a toilet we can use before we drive back. The mosque toilet is occupied, so Andrew asks a random woman if we can use the one in her house. She agrees and leads Sara through to the back. A large black rat scuttles past, fortunately in the opposite direction. Sara manages not to scream or, in fact show any sign of distress, but is extremely cautious to check all corners of the ‘bathroom’ before squatting!

Back to MesaStila our hotel, to more tea and cake. And then a stroll around the gardens, and the coffee plantation and organic farm. The volcanoes though are still hiding.......

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