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Published: July 31st 2023
The shadow should be the same length as the body… ~ Indonesian Proverb
HE SAID... Today we were continuing to explore the atmospheric city of
Yogyakarta.
When we woke at 5am, Ren was feeling drained. The previous afternoon had been difficult, as she had started to feel unwell during our walking tour of Yogyakarta. Rehydration tablets helped a lot, as did an early night with extended sleep – despite being broken. However, Ren was resolute in her determination to take the day by the horns. She hadn’t travelled all this way to spend the day in a hotel room. She was going to continue exploring this bohemian city, and nothing was going to stop her.
I headed down to Greenhost Boutique Hotel’s breakfast area around 6am. The buffet was expansive, but it was not overly exciting or flavoursome. I opted for cornflakes, mung beans with coconut milk, omelette with chilli sambal, tiny pastries, tea, coffee and guava juice. It was okay, but a little lonely. I prepared a plate of dry white toast for Ren, which I took back to the room.
The toast worked a treat! Ren was feeling better, so we clambered into a minibus around 8am and headed to our starting point for the day. We
were about to embark on a countryside cycling tour! I selected a mountain bike and set off through the rice fields and backroads of suburban Yogyakarta, while Ren travelled behind us in a
becak (a cycle rickshaw common in Indonesia).
The roads were narrow, the locals were friendly, the car drivers were understanding and the scenery was amazing. We traversed narrow dirt paths that cut through rice fields – some compacted; others very loose. They were fabulous to ride on. With the warm tropical breeze against our skin, we drifted along narrow bitumen roads that passed through small villages. We made a few stops along the way, and I’ve tried to describe these as best I can. It’s difficult to jot down notes on a cycling tour through the countryside, but I managed to capture some.
Stop 1: Small enterprise (tempeh making)
We’d been riding for about fifteen minutes when we made our first stop. We jumped off the bikes, engaged our kickstands and stood outside the family home of an incredibly friendly and welcoming woman who heads up a local women’s cooperative –
Rahayu Jurug. The aim of the cooperative is to give financial security to women,
and it specialises in tempeh products. Tempeh is a traditional Indonesian food made from fermented soybeans, and we were here to see how it is made.
Before we entered the small house, our cycling guide (Harry) shared a distressing story from his early childhood. Tempeh was once considered peasant food in Indonesia, and Harry used to be referred to as
the son of tempeh – a derogatory and belittling term for those who could only afford to eat tempeh. It was sickening to hear. Times may have changed and food products may have evolved, but our repulsive capacity to smirk at misfortune will continue unabated. It just sits behind the surface of the bullies amongst us, waiting for any moment to strike.
It was at this point that I decided I liked Harry – a lot! His caring nature for the women’s cooperative was evident, especially when we were inside the house. He helped with interpretation and whatever else he could. He was clearly very fond of the woman leading the successful cooperative (who was at least twice his age), and she was very fond of him.
She was an amazing woman – friendly, welcoming, unassuming and
easy-going. She proudly showed us the national trophies that she and other members of the cooperative had won in tempeh-related competitions over the years. She took us through the tempeh making process (a task she undertakes every day), from soaking the soya beans to wrapping and storing them in banana leaves over a two-day period. As they rest inside the banana leaves, a natural fungus binds them into a solid mass. Up until this point, I hadn’t realised this incredibly tasty dish was a fungus product…
She then dropped a bundle of tempeh cakes into hot oil, and while they were deep frying, she made a hot sambal with thick soy sauce (Kecap Manis). When we tasted her fried tempeh with the sambal she created so effortlessly in her hot kitchen, it was amazing! Unbelievably amazing, in fact. My hotel breakfast may have been disappointing, but this made up for it in spades.
She welcomed us into her family home, and while her English was perfectly legible, she expressed embarrassment when she couldn’t find an English word to match her first language. If Harry didn’t jump in first, she would look to him and ask for the word
while holding her hands up to her face. She had no reason to be embarrassed. It was me that should have been embarrassed. I was travelling in her country and expecting her to speak my first language.
Stop 2: Small enterprise (brick making)
We bid farewell to our friendly host, jumped onto our bikes and rode a short distance to a mud brick maker, who was based on the side of a narrow road just along from the local women’s cooperative. We walked through a rice field to watch on as a very basic piece of machinery was used to separate rice grains from husks. The husks were used as fuel in a makeshift kiln near the roadside to fire the bricks. We then watched a batch of mud bricks being made. It was a skilled but laborious process, and one that offered little return.
Stop 3: Male hobbies (pigeon racing)
Since arriving in Java, we’d noticed a prevalence of what I can only describe as abandoned marquee structures in the open countryside. They appeared in the middle of rice fields, near road sides and rail verges, and on the outskirts of villages. At each corner of these
rectangular structures, a bamboo post would stretch high into the air. Attached by rope to each bamboo pole was an open frame, covered in red and white flags and swinging in the breeze. The four bamboo posts were painted red and white.
We had several theories as to the purpose of these large structures. My money was on wedding tents. By throwing a huge canvas sheet over the poles, you had a sheltered location for the perfect wedding. I also thought they may be shelters for the rice field workers, but I quickly gave up on the idea, as no one ever sat near them.
We were way off the mark. They were, in fact,
kolongs (landing pads for racing pigeons). The bottom of the structure is covered with a layer of cushioned material, which pigeons are trained to land on after flying through the open frame at the top. Prior to the design of
kolongs, pigeons occasionally died from the impact of landing at speed on Java’s sun-baked soil. Given the exorbitant price Indonesian men will pay for champion pigeons, it’s little wonder they want them to land safely.
Only fifty or so metres along the
narrow road from the mud brick enterprise, we found ourselves in a field with a group of pigeon racers. This may sound exotic, but it wasn’t. A bunch of men were sitting under cover with their pigeons in cages, and a few metres away stood their
kolong. We tried to mingle, and some of the friendlier men tried to engage with us, but it soon became apparent that we were interrupting their morning catchup/training routine. It was uncomfortable, for me at least.
Our eager and affable guide Harry was trying his utmost to introduce the Yogyakarta countryside in an authentic light, and I was grateful for his efforts. However, this wasn’t an enjoyable visit. We were standing amongst a bunch of blokes and their birds. They were all enthusiastic competitors, but they were not enthusiastic raconteurs. And why should they be? We had arrived unannounced. I just kept wondering if their wives were part of the local women’s cooperative that had been so welcoming only a few minutes before…
Stop 4: Local cemetery (dirt and salt memoir)
It was a relief to get back on the bikes and drift along Yogyakarta’s narrow country roads. I loved this place,
and I felt I could have kept riding for hours. Everyone on the road was so accommodating, and everyone in the villages would wave and smile as we rode past.
However, the less said about our next stop the better. Up until this point, Harry had been fantastic. He had shared so much with us, and he was so likeable. However, he pushed it a little too far at this small local cemetery. I think he may have attended a training course in guiding, where someone told him to share personal anecdotes, because this is what engages tourists – which of course it does. But there is a line you should never cross…
Anyway, as we sheltered from the late morning sun in the shadowy cemetery grounds, Harry shared a laboriously long story of dirt (from the cemetery) and salt being sprinkled at various points over his father’s business and his family home. He didn’t identify the sprinkler, which was the only part of the story I was interested in hearing. He did eventually tell us the outcome of the sprinkling – his father’s business collapsed and his parent’s marriage fell apart. Yikes!
Harry introduced the story
as ‘Java’s big secret’, and I am pretty sure I know why. It is so implausible that no one wants to talk about it. However, if I find salt and dirt sprinkled around our house, I know what to expect.
Stop 5: Small enterprise (batik making)
The cemetery was very close to Leksa Ganesha Batik Gallery – the final stop of our cycle tour. In fact, it was so close that we didn’t need to ride there. We reluctantly gave up our bikes and walked to the small gallery, which was surprisingly ordinary. Some of the art resembled poorly executed Hobbytex pieces. However, I’m not a batik enthusiast, so my commentary stops here. Suffice to say, we didn’t purchase any artwork. A couple of blokes were filming the gallery’s main artist as he took us through the batik making process, which intrigued me. Maybe they were going to use the footage for training purposes, or maybe we will appear in the gallery’s future promotional material.
Anyway, the gallery included a fantastic little café, and we couldn’t wait to get there. Unfortunately, as soon as we walked in, a local guitarist started playing Eric Clapton, Elvis and Ed Sheeran
songs. Oh god no! Not here! Not in Java! However, all was not lost. We refreshed with fresh coconuts, and they were an absolute treat after our long enjoyable cycling tour in Yogyakarta’s hot morning sun.
After the batik art demonstration and tour, we jumped into a minibus and headed back to our hotel, arriving just after midday. Ren’s energy levels were still pretty good, so we decided to embark on a silver jewellery making course in the early afternoon. The Borobudur Silver workshop was less than two kilometres from our hotel, so we didn’t have to travel far.
Our first task was to choose an item of jewellery from the workshop’s vast range. I was hoping for a bracelet, but our timeframe didn’t allow for it, so it had to be either a ring or a pendant. I didn’t like the pendant choices on offer, so I opted for a ring.
I settled at a small bench with Susilo (my assigned jeweller) in one of the noisiest, smelliest, hottest and grimiest workshops I’ve encountered. And I loved every minute of it. Yet I felt for Susilo. He was a perfectionist, but he had to account for
an unskilled novice like me. Luckily, it didn’t fluster him. He was a brilliant instructor and guided me through each intricate task – and there were many of them. I felt involved every step of the way. Susilo took responsibility for the more difficult tasks, while I took responsibility for the easier ones. Well, most of them. Susilo helped me out of a few difficult situations, including a couple of easy tasks I should have been able to manage on my own.
At the end of the workshop, I had a ring that I absolutely loved, and one that will always trigger fond memories of Yogyakarta. Ren also fabricated a silver ring, but with a different tutor. In stark contrast to my chunky creation, hers involved an intricate technique known as filigree, where thin threads of silver are moulded into fine patterns. The end result was amazing.
With our silver jewellery proudly displayed on our fingers, we headed back to the hotel in a taxi. It had been a fantastic afternoon. However, the hours spent in a stiflingly hot workshop with intense butane vapours had taken their toll on Ren. Her energy levels had significantly diminished. It didn’t
help that she hadn’t been able to eat all day. While she rested in the room, I headed out and picked up some basic supplies from a nearby Alfamart. We were leaving Yogyakarta the following day, so I organised our packs as best I could, caught up on my travel notes and collapsed into bed at 9pm. It was an early night for us, but one we seriously needed.
We woke early and headed down to the hotel’s expansive breakfast buffet area at 6am. I opted for cornflakes, mung beans with coconut milk, omelette with chilli sambal, tea, coffee, apple juice and pastries. We decided to spend our final morning in Yogyakarta exploring the leafy neighbourhood of Brontokusuman, as this is where our eco-focused hotel was located. As we wandered the network of quiet narrow streets hidden behind the bustling main roads, we were able to get a sense of daily life in suburban Yogyakarta. It is such a beautifully calm place when you escape the madding crowd.
Much to our surprise, we discovered a multi-level produce market just along the lane from our hotel. It was a Sunday, and the market was only open on weekends, which
explained why we hadn’t seen it previously. As we explored its three levels, we realised we were very much the subject of interest for the stall owners. They were incredibly friendly, and their fascination with us was palpable. Why were we there? What would we buy? As I’ve mentioned previously in this blog, I love exploring places as a peculiar stranger. An outsider. A marginal foreigner. I love being different, unusual and unique. And we were so very different, unusual and unique in this market. 😊
Unfortunately, our time in Yogyakarta had come to an end. We wandered back to our comfy room (which was less than one minute’s walk from the produce market), grabbed our packs and checked out of Greenhost Boutique Hotel at 10am.
SHE SAID... After feeling rather rank for most of the night, I was relieved that I started feeling semi-human by the early hours of the morning. I was so thankful that our hotel in
Yogyakarta – Greenhost Boutique Hotel – was very comfortable. Being sick while travelling can be challenging, but a nice hotel room can make a big difference. I strongly suspected that I’d suffered a touch of sunstroke
the previous day, and even though I had symptoms that supported this theory, it was just a theory.
There was an included bike ride through the outskirts of Yogyakarta planned for the morning, and even though I wasn’t going to ride, I didn’t want to miss out on the activity. I wasn’t sure of going until about an hour before the scheduled meeting time of 8am. But Susi (our group leader) had been kind enough to organise a
becak (a motorbike with a seat in front) for the morning, and I decided that I was feeling good enough to join the outing.
It seemed that a few other group members had been sick after our outing to the Borobudur temple too, and a rather reduced number of us piled into a minibus for the short drive to the outskirts of the city. We eventually pulled up next to what looked like an abandoned building in a small street, and we met Harry, the bike tour guide. Harry would not only be leading the bike ride, but he was also going to be our local guide at all the stops we made on our excursion through the outer suburbs
and rural areas of greater Yogyakarta.
After a safety briefing the riders pedalled off, while I settled into the seat of the
becak. However, after a few minutes, Naheed from our group gave up on the bike and joined me in the
becak too. Our
becak driver Mario was very funny. He spoke just enough English to get by with tourists, and he gave us additional commentary like pointing to rice fields and saying ‘rice’, or ‘bananas’ at the banana trees that lined the small roads and lanes we were on.
I loved this landscape, lush with coconut trees, rice fields in different hues of green, and slow-paced local life. Although on thinking about it later… yes, there was an element of slow-paced life when we saw women stopping their motorbikes in the middle of the road for a chat, or groups of men talking and smoking in the shade of trees… but these were the brief moments of downtime in-between what was a very labour-intensive rural life.
We were exploring the Bantul area, and after about 15 minutes of enjoying the view of semi-rural farms and villages from our bouncy
becak, our first stop was at
a home which produced Indonesia’s much loved food item – tempeh. We had been eating tempeh (made from fermented soybeans) in some form at almost every meal since we arrived in the country. Harry gave us a brief talk on tempeh and its historical and cultural significance in the country. Apparently, it was originally used as a cheap but nutritious way to feed starving masses during the Japanese occupation in Java. After the war it grew in popularity around the country, but was always viewed as ‘poor people’s food’.
It didn’t help that that the country’s first president Soekarno used the expression ‘don’t have a tempeh attitude’ as a way to cajole his people into looking forward to bigger and better things after independence. It was also used as an insult in the 1970s and ‘80s – to call someone a son or daughter of tempeh was very offensive. According to Harry, attitudes to tempeh changed when the cost of soybeans rose, and only rich people could afford tempeh for a while. Having had the marketing boost it needed, tempeh is now a sought-after and popular food among all Indonesians.
We met Sumarni, who was famous for her
tempeh. Marni, as she wanted us to call her, was an absolutely lovely woman and didn’t let her limited English skills stop her from making it very clear that she was a force to be reckoned with. She introduced herself as a 55-year-old who had two sons and three grandchildren. She ran three organisations – all women’s groups – that focused on helping and mentoring women in running small businesses, gaining financial independence and family planning.
Marni’s tempeh making business was run from the modest front room of her home and a traditional kitchen. She started by explaining the importance of soybeans, and it was sad to hear that the GMO soybeans imported from the US were valued higher than the local grown varieties. The process of making tempeh didn’t seem to be technically difficult, but it was a long and time-consuming process that relied heavily on instinctively knowing when the different stages were ready.
It starts with soaking the soybeans in a large container. And when the beans are about double in volume, they are de-hulled by hand. This takes off the skin and splits each bean in half. After boiling the beans, they are cooled and
dried in large shallow bamboo baskets. At some point vinegar and a starter (which Marni called tempeh yeast) is added to the beans, and small portions are wrapped in squares of banana leaves and incubated for two days.
These small tempeh parcels need to be stored at warm temperatures in a dry environment to encourage the best growth of mould (without risk of bad bacteria). Marni opened previously made tempeh parcels to show us the different stages of white mould growth (called mycelium) around the beans. The mould on the ones that were ready to eat looked similar to the solid white mould skin of soft cheeses like brie or camembert. The final fermented product was a solid thinnish white cake.
Marni made a quick chilli sambal and fried some of the tempeh as a snack for us, but sadly I didn’t try any (I was on a self-imposed dry toast diet). Andrew reported that it was very tasty. Tempeh, like its cousin tofu, is a great source of protein, and it really should be more popular worldwide than it is. But as with all fermented food, I have a very touchy relationship with it – when it’s
fresh, I absolutely love it! But when it’s older and ‘riper’, I’m just not a fan of that predominantly sour flavour. The most frequent ways we’ve encountered tempeh is in savoury dishes – either nutty tasting deep-fried slices, or battered and served with a dipping sauce, or as thin strips in a stir fry. However, it’s also marinated and added to curries and stews.
Knowing how important tempeh is to Indonesians, it was amazing to see how it’s made, and to also meet Marni and hear about her experiences in a small village. I really enjoyed this visit, and despite only operating at about 80 or so percent, I was very happy I hadn’t missed this activity.
Our bike and
becak convoy kept going for another ten or so minutes before our next stop. I couldn’t get over how rural this area looked and felt, even though we were less than an hour away from the hustle and bustle of central Yogyakarta. We passed small enclaves of modest farmer’s houses and many more small farms and rice fields. We pulled up at one of the rice fields. We were here to see another local product being made –
mud bricks – but first we walked along the muddy ridges between the rice fields to watch a small rice thrashing machine at work.
This rice field had recently been harvested, and the stalks of rice were held over a machine with a rotating belt to separate the grains of rice from the straw. Andrew had a go at using the machine, but it was a lot harder than it looked… the farmer smiled and gave him a thumbs up, but then re-did Andrew’s sheaves to get more rice out of them! 😊
This was the end of the long labour and time-consuming road of growing rice. From here, the grains would be transported to a mill to be dehulled (removing the papery husk from the rice grain) before the packaging and sales processes take over. Other fields around us were still being manually harvested with sickles, and it looked like extremely difficult work.
On a related side note, I’m still astonished that I was an adult when I realised white rice is produced from de-hulling the bran and germ layer from brown rice. I had always thought that brown rice – like black rice – was
a totally different variety of rice! At what point in the ancient rice cultivation process did someone first decide that the bran layer should be removed, and that polished white rice should be the default type of rice produced?
We walked back towards the road, and in a small area crammed between the rice fields quadrants, we stood under a makeshift shed and watched as a man skilfully used a rectangular wooden mould to shape the mud bricks, eight at a time. Harry explained that these traditional mud bricks were often made right next to the rice fields because of easy access to mud and water from the fields, and the leftover rice stalks were burnt as fuel in the oven where they fired the bricks. Nothing was wasted.
We’d been standing in the fields with the sun beaming down on us, and I was starting to fade a little… but we only had a few more stops to go. We kept rambling along the bumpy little lanes between farms and rice fields, with our driver Mario saying hello to most people we passed. He apparently lived in the next village! I was surprised that he rode his
becak all the way into Yogyakarta every day to try and get fares from tourists. His regular ‘spot’ was in front of the laundry near our hotel – which I assume is how Susi had met and hired him for today.
On our recent train trip, we’d noticed odd-looking white rectangular structures in the middle of small fields. We thought they were probably bare tent structures for a wedding or village gathering, but they were odd shaped, and it was too much of coincidence that none of them had canvas covers on. As we drew close to one of these structures on the side of the road, I realised it was far too high to be a tent frame.
We pulled up and walked into a small open sided shed that was filled with boxes… with pigeons in them! A whole lot of men were sitting around, no doubt very amused by the group of tourists entering their shed. Harry explained to us that this was a site for the traditional sport of pigeon racing and the structure was a
kolong (landing pads for the racing pigeons). Apparently, men all over Java train pigeons to fly through the
high square opening in the white structure. They release male pigeons and then hold female pigeons directly under the square in the hope that the males will fly through the square to land on the female. The blokes chuckled loudly at this part of the explanation, and I wondered how much Harry had cleaned up the translation for us.
It was a Saturday and these guys were spending the day training and racing pigeons. I suppose it’s no different to playing a round of golf or going fishing for the day. However, the main difference is that this is a very lucrative sport that has significantly increased in popularity over recent years. Harry was clearly at ease with these pigeon racers, but they had that jokey blokey vibe that I really can’t stand. I was happy to move on.
The next stop was a very weird one. We pulled up at a cemetery. Harry had chosen this spot to explain how traditional superstitions are deeply ingrained in Javanese culture. He tried to do this by relating a very long and convoluted story about how bad luck had visited his family because someone had placed a mix of salt
and soil from a cemetery at their doorstep. Apparently, this kind of witchcraft and placing curses is still quite common practice in Java. The story had gone on for a very very very long time, and I didn’t want to endure the ire of the group by prolonging it with questions… but I really wanted to ask if they have a culture of warding off curses or evil by wearing protection charms? I have come across numerous variations of the evil eye charm in many cultures, but hadn’t yet noticed one in Indonesia.
Our last stop was at Leksa Ganesha Batik Gallery. The art of batik originated in Java, and it’s a highly valued part of its textile history and culture. We met Tatan, a batik master whose many traditional and modern designs were on sale in his showroom. Batik is an intricate process of dyeing fabric using a wax-resist method. First the design is sketched on fabric; then certain parts of the design are waxed over in dots or lines; then it’s dipped in dye. The oil-based wax protects the waxed parts of the fabric from the water-based dyes. When the dye has set, the fabric is soaked
in boiling water to melt the wax, and then hung to dry. The waxing step is repeated on other parts of the design, and dyed again. This process is repeated multiple times to eventually get a layered multicoloured design.
After this batik process was described to us, we watched three ladies painstakingly applying wax on fabric designs with a small hand tool called a canting. Traditional batik has always been made using the above hands-on method. However, when demand for batik reached peak popularity, wax stamps began to be used, as were stencils and brushes. And now batik is also printed and mass produced in factories.
At the end of the demonstration, we were led to the aforementioned showroom. While I could see that some of the pieces on sale were very detailed and lovely, apart from some batik clothing, it’s not a style of art I particularly favour. Tatan showed us a range of designs, while constantly repeating that the more intricate the design, the more expensive the end result. It felt like he was pushing us towards buying the expensive pieces, but it got rather uncomfortable when it became apparent that none of us were really
interested in buying any of it – intricate or not. In these small gift shop type situations, I’m so grateful when someone loves the product and buys something… it allows the rest of us to slip out unnoticed. But sadly, not in this case. One by one, we slowly and awkwardly drifted out of the showroom without making eye contact.
The good news was there was a café on site and we had cold coconuts (that we’d pre-ordered) waiting for us. The café was new and they were trying to set themselves up as a cool Javanese coffee house. Knowing we were arriving, they’d also got a musician to come in and play for us. While this was a nice way to end the tour of outer Yogyakarta… it felt a bit weird being filmed while we sipped our coconuts and listened to live music. I’m guessing we are now plastered all over their marketing Instagram feed!
The bike/
becak ride was supposed to have been a total of six kilometre or so, but it had felt much longer. After we’d finished our cold coconuts and said goodbye to Harry, we were picked up by our minibus and driven
back to our hotel for a bit of a rest.
That afternoon we had quite a few interesting optional activities open to us, and even though I was very tempted by a few of them, the option to make silver jewellery trumped everything else. Yogyakarta is renowned for its silversmiths, and especially famous for the fine art of filigree silver. Neither Andrew nor I have ever tried our hand at making anything out of metal, so this was a great opportunity to learn new skills.
A few of us from the group were dropped off at Borobudur Silver – a well-regarded business and silversmith workshop not far from our hotel. The first step was to pick a piece of jewellery we could replicate in our class. This was more difficult that it sounded – the collection in their jewellery showroom was vast! I’ve always equated filigree with old fashioned jewellery, and I wouldn’t normally choose such a delicate design for myself… but given I was going to be learning from silversmiths who specialise in filigree techniques, I opted for it.
I had no hope of making two identical earrings in my first class, so I settled on
the most modern looking ring pattern I could see. I thought I’d be better off with a simple pattern that I could probably do well, rather than a complex design that I would stuff up. Andrew also spent considerable time deciding on his piece, vacillating between making a pendent or a ring. He finally decided on a ring.
The silver workshop was in an open room across a small pond from the jewellery showroom, and I was happy to note that it wasn’t a group class situation but a one-on-one hands-on workshop! We were each shown to a workstation and assigned our silversmiths. Andrew and Al had picked the same ring design, so they shared a silversmith. And even though Sebastian’s pendant and my ring looked totally different to my untrained eye, the building process for the filigree turned out to be the same, so we shared an affable young silversmith called Fery. With Sophie and Marina on other workstations, we were all set to work.
A small stumbling block – that became apparent very quickly – was that none of the silversmith tutors spoke English… so a lot of mime was used for simple instructions, and a
woman who worked in the jewellery showroom translated the more complex instructions. We all got by, but I would have liked a slightly more structured approach to the class, with explanations on why we were doing things before we were told/shown how to do them.
It was obvious that the silversmiths were very skilled. They first set out the materials we needed for our designs. The exact gauges of silver wire and thread needed was eye-estimated and cut into the correct lengths. It wasn’t until later than I discovered that all of the different gauges of silver wires would have been hand stretched by the silversmiths. It’s the first process in filigree work, and apparently a very time-consuming one.
For my ring, the silver wire frame was shaped freehand around a mould and then silver solder powder was sprinkled on the bits that needed to be joined. To my horror, my tutor then pointed to the oxyacetylene torch hanging on a nail off the workstation. I held it tentatively while he asked me to pump the little pedal at my feet while he lit the torch with a cigarette lighter. I was so shocked by the smell of
gas that filled my nostrils that I pumped the pedal a bit too hard… and may or may not have singed all the hairs off his knuckles! And no, there wasn’t a safety glove or goggle in sight either. 😲
I’d been so excited about making jewellery that I hadn’t fully comprehended the fact that I was required to do some soldering… with an oxyacetylene torch at that! After my first little shocking introduction to gas and flames (!), I embraced the process and really enjoyed it.
With my ring frame partially complete, the next step was designing and twisting the filigree threads. Very predictably, this was the most difficult part of the process. Fashioning the tight coils of filigree freehand, and only using my fingers and large tweezers, felt near impossible at first. However, I seemed to get slightly better with each twist I made.
Next came inserting the filigree design into the frame and creating the desired pattern. While this wasn’t as difficult as making the filigree, it was the fiddliest part, as the slightest wrong nudge with the tweezers disfigured the whole thing, and necessitated restarting. I finally got there after about three or
four tries.
Then came the repetitive and seemingly endless process of soldering the entire design together. This involved repeatedly heating the ring and dipping it into a weak acid solution to remove the black oxidisation. My fear of the oxyacetylene torch never totally dissipated, but I started recognising patterns in the way the different flames affected the silver solder powder, and the way the powder bubbled and melted into the red-hot surface of the metal.
Andrew was on the workstation next to me, and he seemed to be doing a lot more twisting of metal, sawing and hammering than I was. His design was very different to mine and required different skills. The one time my tutor asked me to use the hammer to shape the ring to my size, I couldn’t quite get the force of it right and he diplomatically took the hammer off me. 😊
Then followed a few other processes, including the buffing and polishing stages that the silversmiths seemed to want to do on their own. By now our translator had returned to the jewellery showroom and we had no way of getting any more information from the silversmiths. Anyway, at long
last the jumble of silver thread that I had been slowly fashioning over a few hours was handed to me in the form of a bright white silver thing of beauty!
I love silver jewellery, and I try to buy a piece of local jewellery in every country I visit. This is the first time I’ve made my own jewellery souvenir, and I absolutely loved it! In fact, I will be actively looking out for more jewellery making classes on our travels.
It had been another long and tiring day, and another day in the sun (although I had been careful to seek shade as much as possible). Given I still wasn’t totally recovered from whatever ailed me the evening before, I thought it prudent to have another quiet night. Andrew assured me that he would love to have a quiet night as well, so it was back to our comfortable Greenhost Boutique Hotel room for our last night in Yogyakarta.
I was extremely thankful for a solid night of sleep, and I woke feeling back to my normal self. Oh, the relief! Especially as we had a long travel day coming up. We went down to
the breakfast room with much anticipation, but were again disappointed with the breakfast offerings. I’m not sure why we thought it would miraculously get better after two previous mornings of being average! Regardless, I enjoyed my relatively light breakfast of toast and omelette. The black rice pudding with coconut milk I’d had before wasn’t available, but in its place there was
bubur kacang hijau (mung beans porridge with coconut milk and palm sugar). I was surprised to see this dish in Indonesia, as I’d always believed it to be a Sri Lankan breakfast dish! However, on conferring with my Mum that night, she confirmed that the Sri Lankan version is slightly different – it is made with shredded coconut and white sugar. I keep forgetting the links this part of the world has with Sri Lanka through migration, trade routes and shared colonial masters.
We wanted to do some more exploring before we left Yogyakarta later that morning. We didn’t have long, so we decided to concentrate on the areas either side of our hotel that we hadn’t yet explored. I also wanted to spend some time looking at the vibrant gallery of street art on our hotel’s street
and nearby lanes. This neighbourhood was a bit posh, a bit bohemian, a bit arty, a bit touristy, and a bit weird. It had a good and welcoming vibe, and I had grown quite fond of it. I have to share my favourite ‘a bit weird’ thing – a barbershop called ‘Hot Mom’ with a suggestive image of a blonde woman and the slogan ‘No Hot Mom No Party’. Andrew was appalled but I was extremely curious! Especially given the fact that I’ve never seen a barbershop with blackout curtains before! 😄
When we crossed a busy road (Jalan Sisingamangaraja) and branched down a quiet looking alley, very unexpectedly, we encountered a whole different world. We’d stumbled upon a very local neighbourhood – there were small alleys with modest houses built right to the path, and slightly bigger lanes with larger houses and lush front gardens. There was a small mosque and a primary school too. It was still early on a Sunday morning, and people were just waking and starting their day.
Apart from a few scooters, the neighbourhood was very quiet and peaceful. If I had been blind-folded and air-dropped into this area, I would never
have guessed we were just off a main road in the middle of a massive city. There were a couple of elderly residents on their morning walks, and I don’t think they expected to see two tourists walking down their lane! They were surprised but very friendly. Everyone seemed to know everyone, with people talking to each other from their doorways and through their fences – and there were many friendly cats to pat. It was lovely to witness this sociable neighbourliness. However, if I’d known we were going to be wandering through such a local area, I would have been a bit more respectful and not worn shorts!
After walking down a few more lanes and streets, we circled back to the other end of our hotel’s street. As we approached our street we noticed more and more street stalls, and the penny finally dropped – it was the
pasar pagi (morning market)! I had seen it marked on the map when we first arrived, but had promptly forgotten about it. The end of the street had been closed off to accommodate temporary stalls, but there were many more stalls in the green multistorey market building. There was
even a whole section on the ground floor dedicated to selling chicken! I lost count at about 15 different numbered stalls.
The rest of the market was semi-open-air and full of all manner of fruit, vegetables, eggs, spices, dry rations, cooked food, personal and household items. The stall holders were extremely friendly, and they were happy to pose for photos despite knowing we weren’t potential customers. I was very tempted by the small parcels of food cooked in banana leaf that seemed very popular with the market goers, but we were too full from breakfast to sample one.
I’ve been mistaken for a local in many countries where brown skin is not uncommon… and Andrew had been wondering if the same would happen in Indonesia. Well, one of the stall holders started talking to me in a local language, and when I clearly didn’t understand her, she got the giggles and said I looked like someone from ‘back home’. Turns out home was Papua. I don’t think I bear any resemblance to the Melanesian race, but maybe I need to check my stereotypical visual of what people from Papua look like. Regardless, she was a lovely young lady
who was clearly missing home and looking for a connection back to it.
Beyond the regular tourist sights of a place, one of my most loved things to do on our travels is to wander the streets and lanes and witness local life around us. And this morning we’d been very fortunate to experience exactly that.
The Lonely Planet guide’s section on Yogyakarta opens with “If Jakarta is the brain of Java, then Yogyakarta is its heart and soul”. I think that description is spot on! Yogyakarta was an immediate favourite for both of us. It has its chaotic, cumbersome and crowded big-city side, but it’s also charming, welcoming and full of vibrant energy.
There was never going to be enough time to really get to know this city on this trip – but the experiences we had of its historical, religious, modern, traditional and cultural life have helped to confirm that a much longer visit is needed. And I’m already looking forward to that day!
Next we travel to the Seloliman Nature Reserve in East Java.
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Waddads Travel
Lori & Susan
Tempeh
I had no idea that is how tempeh was made! I've rarely eaten it, but I see how it could be an important staple. The jewellery making workshop sounded very fun (I usually avoid those type of things because I think I'd be crap at them, but I'll try to be more open minded in the future). And how great to get such a nice remembrance of your trip, hand made by yourselves! So glad you were feeling well enough to do all those activities Ren, and that you felt back to normal the next day.