Padi fields: Rice in Central Java, Indonesia

The Indonesians have a saying: Tidak makan nasi, belum makan (If you didn’t eat rice, you haven’t eaten yet).

I am fascinated by the traditional production of rice using irrigated fields like these. For one thing, I think this cultivated land is some of the most beautiful scenery in the world. I don’t care if it’s in Indonesia, Vietnam or Cambodia — it’s simply lovely. When I look out across the padi fields, I feel content and peaceful.

Second, I am staggered and humbled by the magnitude of labor that goes into this agriculture. The flooded ground must be plowed up before planting, as seen in the top photo here. Then people come in with the rice seed and plant it by hand. After a few weeks, the new rice plants make a lush, bright-green carpet sticking up out of the water. At that time, the plants must be carefully pulled up and transplanted to another flooded field, with each baby plant separated from the others, as seen above in the lower-right corner of the photo.

When the mature rice is ripe, the plants are pulled again and threshed so that the grains fall out. Of course, the tiny little brown grains must be carefully collected. These are then carried somewhere and laid out to dry in the sun.

In the photo above, you see the main (and only) street in the town closest to the fields in the second photo. The homes sit close by one another on each side of this street, and here a woven-palm-leaf mat has been laid in the street in front of someone’s house, and the rice spread out for drying. Everyone’s chickens run free in the village, and no one shoos them away when they come to eat the unhulled rice. (I guess they don’t eat too much.)

Later when the rice is dry enough, it will be tossed around (probably by hand, using big round trays made of woven palm leaves) to separate the hulls from the white inner grain, because Asians prefer to eat nasi putih (white rice). Note that in the Indonesian language there is one word for rice in the field (padi) and another word for cooked rice (nasi). There’s a third word for the rice that has been hulled but not yet cooked: beras.

So you grow padi, you buy beras, and you eat nasi.

While I was staying in Borobudur, I contacted a group of local guides and activists, called Jaker (jackpriyana@yahoo.com.sg), and arranged for one of them to take me to a very small Hindu temple called Candi Selogriyo. My guide’s name was Golan, and he spoke excellent English. We both rode on his Honda Vario scooter to this village, about 30 km north of Borobudur. The ride took about 90 minutes because the roads are small and winding.

The point of going to the temple is really (in my view, anyway) to get to see these rice fields. (They are also growing corn and tobacco here.) The stone temple is very small and not all that interesting, although it’s older than the giant Borobudur monument, and there’s a wonderful view from the top of the hill, where the temple sits in a very well-maintained park with a close-cut grass lawn. (More photos here.)

Golan and I left his scooter close to where the chicken (above) later had its snack. Then we walked on a narrow brick-paved path around the top edge of the valley you see in the second photo above. After about half a mile or so, the bricks ended and we walked on a well-traveled dirt path. People were working in the padi fields just below us, and several times we stopped to chat. They didn’t want me to take photos of them, though, so I didn’t. Eventually we reached a long set of new, well-made stone steps leading up to the temple.

I really, really enjoyed this excursion! Golan and I left my hotel in Borobudur about 9:30 a.m. and returned about 2:30 p.m. It had rained earlier in the morning, so the walk was not too hot, but I’d recommend you bring a bottle of water to drink on the way.

New Year’s Eve in Bandung

The trumpets and noisemakers, hand-made from foil paper and tinsel, have been for sale for at least two weeks. Independent vendors set up impromptu sales displays alongside the city streets, blocking the sidewalks (this is nothing new here; they are competing with the food carts, called kakilima, which are always blocking the sidewalks … that is, where a sidewalk exists at all …). It’s hard to believe they could sell so many horns, but because of the vast underemployment here, many people make and sell things.

People started blowing their horns on Friday night, and I heard a few fireworks go off then too, but I didn’t see any of those.

Before I tell you about Saturday night, New Year’s Eve, I have to give you an idea of how Bandung looks from the balcony of my apartment.

Very few buildings here are higher than three floors. Probably because of the danger of earthquakes. I would estimate that 90 percent of the buildings in the whole city have only one or two stories. These are private homes, and also small shops and businesses. Hotels and some office buildings are 10 to 15 stories, but those really stand out! Shopping malls (of which there are many) typically have about 4 floors above the underground parking. From near my apartment building, I can clearly see the minarets of a big mosque that is 3 miles away.

This gives a pretty low profile to a jam-packed city — with a population of 2.4 million. (The metro area has 7.4 million.) Population density here is 36,973/sq. mi. (14,275.9/sq. km.) — almost triple the density of Miami, Florida (12,139.5/sq. mi., or 4,687.1/sq. km.) Many people live in very small houses.

Bandung city is also unobstructed by hills — it’s on a plateau surrounded by mountains. From my location, the land stretches out flat to the east and then gently curves up to the foothills, and to the north, it’s already going uphill to the mountains.

So from my apartment, I look out across thousands of little buildings, mostly homes, and see the mountains beyond (see a daytime photo).

Last night, when the fireworks started going off in earnest (about 7 p.m.), I could glance out through the sliding glass doors to the balcony and see several displays at once. The locations kept changing, but they covered every bit of land as far as I could see. It was like a giant flat pan of popcorn set on a fire. This continued nonstop until after midnight.

What I’d like you to understand is this: The fireworks were not “official” like they are in the U.S. They were not launched by professionals on a big open field, or over a river (as in New York City). They were everywhere. And they were big! Think about no regulation of fireworks. People can build their own (like they make the tinsel noisemakers). They can launch them from any location. Big fireworks were shooting up from the street beside my apartment building! I could almost reach out and touch them in the air! (I’m on the 10th floor.)

And then … midnight.

See, I stay home on New Year’s Eve. I don’t like crowds, or parties, or traffic jams. So there I was, getting ready to go to sleep (I can sleep through loud noises), and it got to be about 11:50 p.m. …

The sky erupted! It was better (in many ways) than the most spectacular professional displays (such as July 4th: New York City, East River, or Battery Park, depending on the year; or Universal Studios, Orlando, Florida; or Washington, D.C., where I once had a primo seat on the steps in front of the Lincoln Memorial) — the explosions covered the whole city. The biggest fireworks had been saved for last, mostly (as in any good show), and they went up for about 15 minutes in every direction — well off into the distance, and right in front of my nose (the ones from the street below me), and everywhere in between.

There were some very fancy ones, shooting off baby blasts and then expanding into cascades; fountains that flew straight up and then made a plume; bursty ones that opened into a big round bloom; white and green and red and yellow (but very, very few blue, I noticed).

They whistled and smoked and banged.

The smell of gunpowder filled the air.

Happy New Year!

Visit to Yogyakarta: Central Java

Back in the first week of December, I took the train to Yogyakarta (also spelled Jogjakarta), a famous city about 250 miles east of Bandung, where I’m living. I wrote about the second half of the trip in an earlier post (about Borobudur), but I spent the first four days in Yogyakarta, home to about 400,000 people.

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I took the train because I had read that the scenery is stunning — true! The best views came in the first two hours after leaving Bandung (at 7 a.m.) as we rolled through mountain passes and above lush valleys. After that, the land continues to be about 95 percent farms (largely wet rice fields, but there’s also corn and other crops) but becomes endlessly flat — the fertile Kedu Plain lies west of Yogyakarta, and Central Java (Jawa Tengah) is the rice basket of Indonesia.

I stayed in a very nice hotel (I actually loved the hotel: Jogja Village Inn) south of all the tourist hullabaloo. I had a second-story deluxe room with a big bed, an excellent shower, free wi-fi, and a sweet balcony (with a couch!) overlooking the lush, peaceful garden (sorry, forgot to take photos). I swam in the big saltwater pool each afternoon and then sat poolside and read and drank fresh fruit juices (watermelon and mango). Breakfast included, about $70/night.

The big tourist “must see” in Yogya is the Kraton, or Sultan’s palace. There is still a Sultan, and he and his family still live there, but of course you don’t get to see that part! I really enjoyed wandering around the palace grounds and getting a good look at traditional Javanese architecture (example: above) — this is said to be some of the best still standing. Around Bandung, we do not see Javanese architecture because the people there are Sundanese, not Javanese (even though we all live on the island of Java).

There are two very nice batik exhibits inside the Kraton. Batik is made pretty much all over Indonesia, but there’s a long tradition of design and innovation in Yogyakarta, and in Solo (Surakarta) to the east. I also learned more about this when I visited the Ullen Sentalu Museum on the slopes of Mount Merapi — the active volcano just north of Yogya! Buying batik is a big tourist thing to do in Yogya; many foreigners buy batik pictures (suitable for framing), but the real tradition of batik is for clothing, and especially sarongs. I bought three sarongs in Yogya:

Large view: Batik 1 (left), Batik 2 (center), Batik 3 (right)

Then there’s another famous Javanese tradition: wayang kulit. This is a theater performance with flat rawhide puppets moving behind a big white sheet and backlit by a bright light. The puppet master (dalang) is an important figure in Indonesian culture. He tells the story in deep, sonorous tones, doing different voices for the characters.

I got to see a two-hour performance of wayang kulit Saturday at the Kraton — they do different performances there every day, but the wayang kulit is only on Saturday! I was thrilled at my good luck, because I hadn’t seen it yet (in the Sundanese part of Java, they do wayang golek, which uses brilliantly painted wooden puppets and no shadows).

The performance takes place inside a big pendopo, a high-roofed pavilion with open sides, and a full (huge) gamelan orchestra accompanies the dalang. Gamelan are large gongs that are arrayed in long rows and played like a xylophone. Because it was daytime (wayang kulit traditionally happens after dark) and the pendopo is open on all four sides, I could walk all around and observe the puppeteer, the musicians, and everything else. I really love the photo above — that’s the dalang with his hand outstretched to place the puppet against the screen. (Later I saw a man making the puppets; see close-up photo.)

Another popular place for tourists to visit in Yogya is Taman Sari (below). It’s rather small but pleasant — it’s a series of pools reconstructed to show what the Sultan’s pleasure gardens looked like in the distant past.

I did a lot of walking around the center of Yogya. It was much hotter than Bandung (downside) but much more pleasant for walking because there’s not nearly as much car traffic. Many people are riding bicycles. Of course there are zillions of motorbikes too, and more becak (three-wheeled pedal taxis) than I could have ever imagined. A couple of times (more like four times) I got lost while walking, and each time I just got in a becak and had the driver take me where I had intended to go. They are everywhere!

I found lots of pleasant little side streets in Yogya. People have tidy houses with potted plants in front and birds in cages hanging from the front porch awning. I poked around in several antique shops. They were not very good shops, really, but I had fun.

I also visited a silver jewelry “factory” in Kota Gede (a suburb of Yogya) and saw how people bend super-fine silver wire (more like thread, actually) to create intricate brooches, earrings, and diverse items such as little horse carriages, doll furniture, and even a scale Harley-Davidson. It was very cool to see their skills. Although the final products are not really to my taste, I enjoyed learning how they work. Their working environment was pleasant — well lighted, clean, and very airy and spacious — but the fine nature of the work probably ruins a lot of people’s eyesight after some years. (I didn’t take any pictures there.)

I went to a kampung called Kasongan (just south of Yogya) where just about everyone works in small commercial pottery factories or in shops selling the ceramic products. For the most part this is not art by any means — just big urns and vases and very trite large statues for use in hotels and restaurants. But the manufacturing process is fascinating to see, and if you ask around and wander down a backstreet, you’ll find blazing hot brick kilns and sheds full of big wet clay things drying and (if it’s not lunchtime) men packing clay into giant molds or breaking molds open and removing finished stuff.

So — Yogya! I enjoyed it. I’m going to go back there in May, after the rainy season (musim hujan) ends, to seen the Ramayana Ballet at the Prambanan Temple site. They do not stage the full version during the rainy season (which is now). Maybe next time I will finally sample gudeg, the famous jackfruit stew.

Photo album: Kraton, Yogyakarta (includes wayang kulit and gamelan)

Photo album: Taman Sari (includes two photos of a man making wayang kulit puppets)

Photo album: Around Yogyakarta (includes Kasongan)

Quick introduction to Indonesia

In the wake of President Obama’s November visit to Indonesia and this week’s announcement that Indonesia’s credit rating has been raised, it may be that more foreigners are looking for a quick summary about the world’s third-largest democracy. Um, yes — that is Indonesia!

I came across a good one today, in convenient PDF format, from The Wilson Quarterly (Winter 2011 issue). Download it (free) here. It’s very readable and clear, and it provides a good overview of recent history (since World War II) to explain how Indonesia came to be a stable post-colonial country.

I must agree with this statement on the final page of that article:

Indonesia boasts one of the fastest-growing stock markets in Asia and economic growth averaging around six percent; it breezed through the recent global downturn virtually untouched. But its widespread poverty and low rate of job creation are still problematic, and the corruption of the judicial system, combined with the heavy hand of bureaucracy, still deters foreign investment.

Most of the people I have met here are smart and hardworking. Much of the population around Java is appallingly under-employed. There is tremendous potential. Although convoluted government red tape and rampant graft make Indonesia a challenge for foreign investors, a new generation should be taking the political reins soon — if not in the next national election, then in the one after that. And then, maybe there will be some progress toward improving the business environment here.

See also my post about three good books (in English) about the recent history of Indonesia.

Using a Kindle in Indonesia

Before I came to Indonesia, I bought a Kindle in the United States. I was already a longtime Amazon user, and I registered my Kindle there. I’m happy to report that I have had no problems using the Kindle here in Bandung, in Jogjakarta (Yogyakarta), or even in Kuningan (a four-hour drive northeast of Bandung).

Both 3G and wi-fi work fine on the Kindle here on Java (the 3G service is what Amazon calls WhisperNet). I have downloaded numerous Web articles to read later via Instapaper with no difficulty. However, the connections are often very slow here. Free wi-fi is widely available, but be prepared for sometimes agonizing slowness.

I’ve been told, but have not verified, that you must register the Kindle in the U.S. with a U.S. credit card. However, it seems you can also buy books for the Kindle using an Amazon gift card instead of a credit card. Check the Kindle support page for details.

You must have an Amazon account to buy Kindle books. Amazon accounts on non-U.S. Amazon websites are recognized, according to Amazon. However, there is no Indonesian site for Amazon.

At first I intended to avoid buying the hardcopy Lonely Planet Indonesia guidebook and put it on the Kindle instead. However, I decided against that, based on what I read at some other websites. I have lots of novels and other books (as well as numerous Web articles, thanks to Instapaper — check it out if you haven’t yet). There are very few quality fiction books in English available here in Bandung, so I would be quite starved for leisure reading without my Kindle.

Fatal payback from a culture of official corruption

Another bridge fell down in Indonesia yesterday.

This one was still under construction, so fortunately, no one was injured. In another incident, last month at least 21 people died (more are still missing) when the Kutai Kartanegara bridge collapsed in East Kalimantan. A brand-new bridge in South Sulawesi fell down on Dec. 6. Other bridges of various ages have also fallen.

The Indonesian press reports on these events quite openly, and various official sources are quoted, saying there will be investigations. The newspapers point out that faulty construction, or poor maintenance, or both, may be what caused the bridge failures. In other words, here we can see a free press at work, asking questions and publishing responses — not offering excuses or hiding the truth.

Each time I see one of these reports, I think about the rampant corruption in Indonesia. Everyone knows about it. Everyone talks about it. The activities of the government’s official Corruption Eradication Commission (KPK) appear in the news every day — both elected and appointed officials are being investigated and charged all the time.

The problem, however, continues — and failing bridges are only one example of how illegal payments and skimming of funds are holding this country back.

Bridges fall down in my country too, and there are continuing problems there with maintaining older bridges as state and local budgets shrink along with the tough economic situation. The difference that rampant corruption makes, however, is that in a developing country such as Indonesia, there is a large and complicated tangle of inter-dependent factors that keep corruption moving along, like a big lava flow sliding down a mountainside, seemingly impossible to stop.

One factor is that many people in any position of power here are likely to exploit weaker people for personal gain. The police are the most obvious example. On any day in a city such as Bandung, where I live, you are likely to see a big crowd of police officers on some side street, stopping all motorbikes (which outnumber cars here by an order of magnitude). Talk to any Indonesian and he or she will frankly tell you what the police are doing: demanding money. They ask for license and registration, and if these are produced, they tell the motorbike rider that something is wrong with the bike. The typical charge is that the headlight was not on, or is not bright enough.

If you give the police officer cash (about $10, which would buy you at least two nice lunches here), you are released. But if you don’t, they take your license and issue a citation, and you must go to court (and pay anyway) to get your license back.

The average citizen here hates the police. The otherwise mild and friendly Indonesians of my acquaintance say so with a steely tone that I rarely hear otherwise — and I can’t blame them.

Another common practice I’ve been told about by several average citizens is that if you apply for a factory job, or various other types of regular work, you must pay the person who interviews you, or else you will not be hired. The amount might be $100 for a job that pays $150/month in wages. The “fee” is paid in cash. No fee, no job.

I think bridges are going to keep on falling down in this country — until this pervasive culture of corruption is punished, regularly and consistently, using the laws that do exist.

Visit to Borobudur: The greatest place you never heard of

My first encounter with Borobudur was a photograph on Flickr, seen by accident a few years ago while I was browsing. I thought: Where is this place?

Borobudur is in Indonesia, and now I have seen it for myself. It is in the geographical center of the island of Java, about 90 minutes by car from Jogjakarta (Yogyakarta), which I also visited. That will be in a later blog post.

I am not a person who likes to get up before sunrise and walk in the dark to climb things, like mountains. Here I made an exception, and what a good decision that was! There were about 12 people who each paid the extra fee to enter the monument at 5 a.m. on Wednesday, and we had the whole place to ourselves for an hour.

As you can see, the views from the top of Borobudur are spectacular. You see four mountains (actually volcanoes) and acres and acres of lush green land covered with coconut palms and flowering shrubbery. To the northeast: Merapi (2,930 m. / 9,613 ft.) and Merbabu (3,145 m. / 10,318 ft.). To the northwest: Sumbing (3,371 m. / 11,060 ft.) and Sindoro (3,136 m. / 10,289 ft.). Elevations from Wikipedia.

The next three pictures will give you some idea of the scale.

The monument was built around 750 C.E. by the Sailendra, the Mahayana Buddhist rulers of Central Java at that time. They chose an auspicious location, and then they reshaped the existing hill to serve as the base of a vast Buddhist monument made entirely of stone. There is no interior. Borobudur is neither a tomb nor a temple.

The monument consists of several stepped tiers (see a big version of the photo above). Wide stone stairways go to the top on each of the four sides. The closer you are, the flatter it looks. The highest tier is a massive stupa shape (very common in Buddhist architecture), but when you’re close to the base, you can barely see the stupa on top.

The top tiers open up to the surrounding beauty of the monument’s location. The three terraces just below the stupa constitute a fascinating design that’s unique in all the world. Each of the bell-shaped structures contains a life-size Buddha statue. Each one was carved from a single block of stone, and each one (according to some books I consulted) has its own personality. That is, they were not merely mass produced from a template. Instead, each statue is a work of art.

Many of the sculptures have had their heads and/or hands stolen, unfortunately, but you can find some that are relatively intact. It’s rather difficult to get a good look inside — which raises one of the mysteries of Borobudur: What was the purpose of causing such beautiful statues to be carved, only to hide them from view inside thick cages of stone?

The three tiers below the big stupa contain 72 of these enclosures: 32, 24 and 16 at the top (multiples of 8, which seems a little odd, because Buddhist sets usually come in multiples of 9; but 72 is a multiple of 9, so …). I found it rather wonderful to walk around and around on these uppermost levels, looking out to the stunning scenery and in to the enclosed Buddhas, all in perfect postures of meditation.

Two of the enclosures had their tops left off in the extensive restoration of the monument (the small museum at Borobudur has amazing photos of that process; basically the entire monument was taken apart and rebuilt so that a modern drainage system could be created to prevent it from sinking).

One of these Buddhas (shown above) faces west. The other, facing east, has had its nose broken off, like the Sphinx.

You might think 72 Buddhas would be enough, but no. There are 432 other Buddhas — also life-size, also each carved from a single block of stone — sitting in niches all around the lower tiers of the monument. (Note that 432 = 9 x 48, and 432 + 72 = 504, also a multiple of 9.)

The niche Buddhas are smiling down at you benevolently as you walk through the corridors that go all the way around the outside of the lower tiers. In contrast to the wide-open upper tiers, the lower ones close you in, with walls on both sides.

The walls of the corridors are covered with carved story panels. Some of these reliefs concern the birth of the historical Buddha (Sakyamuni) and his early life. Many more panels concern the story of Sudhana, a young man who went on a journey and met several Bodhisattvas.

I didn’t make an effort to follow the full stories told in the reliefs. I both admired the beautiful workmanship and also felt a little sad that the years of exposure to weather have worn away the finer details.

The figures in these carvings reminded me very much of the reliefs at the Bayon in Angkor. Many of the plump, smiling people on the walls of Borobudur look (to me, anyway) just like the people on the walls in Siem Reap, Cambodia. Some of the Buddha images look distinctly Khmer.

See more photos in my Borobudur album on Flickr.

Now for a little advice — if anyone reading this is planning a visit to Borobudur.

Tips for a Borobudur visit

I was really, really interested in seeing this site, so I booked three nights at the Manohara Hotel inside the Borobudur park (which is quite beautiful) — Lonely Planet advises that guests at that hotel can enter the monument without paying an additional fee. That is true. So in addition to being quite near to the monument, you can go in as many times as you like. I went to the top of the monument four times in three days, plus walked all around the base, explored the corridors on the lower levels, etc. Also, you don’t have to drag much stuff along if you’re staying right there. I carried only a camera, a hat and a bottle of water.

Weekdays have got to be the best days — I arrived on Tuesday and left Friday morning. A couple who I met in Jogjakarta visited Borobudur on the Saturday before I went there, and they said not only was it full of people, but also the guards kept hustling them along and didn’t allow them to pause for long — sitting down was forbidden altogether. In contrast, I spent at least a couple of hours (totaled across three days) sitting on the top level and gazing out at the mountains.

Sunrise is worth it. You go to the reception desk at the Manohara and buy a pass; if you’re not a guest there, it costs more (about $35 U.S.). Even if you don’t pay for the pre-admission privilege (and leave from the Manohara lobby at 4:30 a.m.), make sure you arrive before 6 a.m. and go straight to the top. The light (for your photos, and for the views) rapidly changes from soft and warm to harsh and blinding — by about 9 a.m. it was not so nice up there (this was in the first week of December).

Sunset is after closing. If you’d like to get that beautiful golden light of the late afternoon, you won’t have much of an opportunity. Even in early December, the light is still pretty strong at 5:30 p.m., when the monument closes. Also, I found that the monument was really full of people at that time on Tuesday and Wednesday. The top tiers are especially popular for everyone to pose for photos.

Multiple days are worth it if this visit is a big deal for you. My first morning (luckily that was the day I bought the sunrise ticket) was perfect — clear, almost cloudless, with a lovely pink sky in the east. On my second morning, I was on the top by 6:05 a.m. — and about 7:30, it started raining heavily enough that everyone left, even people with umbrellas. It even became chilly! The rain was finished by 9:30 a.m., but then it became quite hot.

Now, here’s the biggest disappointment: On my third day, I went to the top again at 6, but at 7 a.m. the guards came around and told everyone we all had to leave! Some people had just arrived minutes earlier!

At the hotel we were told it was because of two state visits: The president of the Philippines and then the president of Sri Lanka were coming to Borobudur for private tours. The whole site was closed down (including the two museums) until about 12:30 p.m. There was absolutely no advance warning at all. Even the guards said they had just been told, and they didn’t even know who was coming.

Over the three days, I saw plenty of people who came, climbed up the steps, snapped a few pictures of themselves and their friends, and then just left. In that case, a bus tour from Jogjakarta would be enough.

However, if seeing Borobudur seems important to you, make sure you have some flexibility in your schedule. You never know when a visiting head of state might show up and ask for a private tour!

See more photos in my Borobudur album on Flickr.