In July 1995 Barry McKnight and Roger Cowland set out on a journey through Java to the island of Bali. The two week trip did not go as expected however, with the duo at one stage fearing for their lives………………………………................
Bali has always been an island that captivated our hearts. Our first visit was in July 1980 and it felt like going to another planet. Sure, changes were starting to happen but there were still cremations being held on the main beach at Kuta and that “special” mushroom soup was still on the menu in some restaurants. The Balinese people were extraordinarily friendly, loved to laugh and very tolerant of others. Their culture, and religion is different from that of Java, because they are actually a separate race of people and should have been allowed to remain so. In those early years in Bali we could walk around the streets or beaches at any hour of the day or night and not have to worry about our safety. The local beach hawkers(though sometimes annoying with their constant urging to buy their wares) assured you that your belongings would be quite safe left on the beach while you were in the water swimming - and they were. It was only on later visits that we noticed things changing as new hotels were built and more and more Javanese arrived to run them. Once the tourist boom started the local Balinese found their land being taken from them and jobs going to the influx of Javanese. The first Mosque appeared in Kuta in later years to cater for all these new arrivals. While the Balinese religion is a form of Hinduism, and therefore peaceful, Java itself is overwhelmingly Muslim. So it was that in 1995 we thought it about time we saw a little more of Indonesia, and we booked ourselves on a two week holiday in Java with a final week to be spent in our beloved Bali. It was arranged that we were to travel independently with a small mini bus and driver provided to transport us between cities. The jump between Bandung and Yogyakarta, however was to be by train, and of course the ferry would take us across the straight to Bali. All transport was arranged for us by our agents in Sydney in conjunction with an associated travel agency in Jakarta. It all sounded pretty good. Neither of us liked organised group travel and this way allowed us to be more independent and able to choose for ourselves where we wished to go. When the big Qantas 747 landed at Jakarta airport sure enough there was a minibus and driver waiting there for us to take us to our hotel. Barry and Roger’s big adventure had begun!…..
Jakarta was quite fascinating with a city centre that was, surprisingly, quite modern. It the outer areas, however, it was the usual third world cramming and chaos. The modern architectural styles used in Jakarta’s new buildings were quite pleasing to the eyes and left Sydney’s tall cold monoliths for dead. I suppose its the old Asian artistic flair and a belief that something can be functional and beautiful at the same time. Of course outside the main city centre, anything goes. We were amused at the mobile restaurant industry, that set themselves up on the footpaths at dusk, and then dismantled it all again later in the night or early morning. This makes it extremely difficult for a pedestrian to use the footpath, but then again safer than walking by the side of the road with a varied mix of vehicles all driven erratically. It appears that these pop up restaurants are quite illegal but the law turns a blind eye to them after dark! As we arrived late Saturday afternoon we decided we would go to the Mini Indonesia Theme Park on the Sunday. We thought it would be crammed with tourists from all over the world, and decided it would be okay to go dressed casually in our shorts and thongs as it was a very hot day. We have always been very careful to respect the cultural sensitivities of other countries, and were often appalled at the dress and behaviour of fellow Australians in Bali. However this was a big international city supposedly with many other tourists getting about. Boy! were we wrong! We were the only non Asians there and certainly the only ones not wearing the usual jeans and shoes. Of course, being a Sunday too, the place was crowded with Indonesian family groups. We found ourselves frequently the centre of attention with groups lining up to have their photographs taken with us!!. The shorts and thongs did not seem to bother them and Roger, in particular, was the object of fascination wherever we went. I think the sandy hair caught their eyes, as everyone there has jet black hair. Despite the frequent photo stops we managed to get to see most of the theme park which features exhibits and displays from all the various provinces of Indonesia. On Sundays too the pavilions, all built in the style of that particular province, feature song and dance displays unique to that area of Indonesia. We took a cable car ride over the park too, which was rather fun. At one stage the cable car passed over a sort of fairy tale castle that looked more like Disney than anything from the provinces. The next day, Monday, we caught a taxi into the central city, to Monas, the national monument. It is a 132 metre high column topped with a glittering golden flame, made with 50kg of gold leaf. Unfortunately the lift to the top was not working (or as the Balinese would say - “It broken!") so we had to content ourselves with views from the base. Across the park was the great Istiqlal Mosque, but we decided to give that a miss as we were kinda off Mosques, having discovered the one near our hotel broadcasts prayers, loudly, at around 5am in the morning. Jakarta also has some fine old colonial buildings many of which can be seen in Old Jakarta Town…
On Tuesday our car came to collect us and take us to Bandung, a four hour drive away across the coastal plains and up over the mountains via Puncak Pass. It was quite beautiful, especially going over the pass, with slopes covered in tea plantations that provided many great scenic vistas. On the other side we descended via a town called Cipanas. "Ci" in the local Sudanese dialect means "water" and "Panas" means "hot" - so, hot water or hot springs actually. The village was very pretty and alpine in appearance and is a favourite holiday spot for the people of Jakarta because of its fresh air and mountain views.
Bandung was reached by early afternoon, and when we finally located the Bumi Sakina Guest House, we discovered that we were the only guests, in fact, the only ones there apart from Tono the houseboy, as the proprietress or whatever, was elsewhere suffering some mysterious illness. As Tono didn't understand English, every time we asked him something he would run to the phone, dial, and hand us over to (the voice) of the manageress who could speak some English. We soon got tired of that however, and chose our own rooms and settled ourselves in to what was a lovely old converted Dutch colonial mansion. Bandung was like this in general. Lots of 20's and 30's European style buildings. In fact we christened it "Time Warp City", because that’s how it felt walking around it and gazing at all the beautiful buildings, many of them in the Art Deco style. At odds with its sedate European flavour is a street in the heart of the textile industry area, referred to as Jeans Street. It is a garish collection of retail clothing outlets on either side of the road, all vying for attention with grandiose tacky shop fronts, many featuring gigantic models of such popular heroes as Batman, Superman and Rambo. When one walks past the gaudy shopfronts, each with a different pop song blaring out and the huge figures towering above, one can't help feel it is a case of advertising gone mad. The irony is inescapable. The worst of American culture, with the best of European, side by side in Bandung!. It was also a very busy city as it had an aircraft manufacturing industry and a big university. We found an absolutely beautiful restaurant that served great food and had one of the most brilliant piano players that I have ever heard. He was a Javanese man with fingers that danced lightly over the keys to produce beautiful romantic melodies of the 30’s, 40’s and 50’s. The lighting was soft with candles burning on all the tables providing just enough light to read the varied international menu. All the diners were dressed elegantly and many were tall and blond haired - Dutch I guess. As we ate our excellent meal to the beautiful background music I kept wondering when the pianist would play that song. It was the perfect place for it, with just the right atmosphere. As we were about to leave, it came. “As Time Goes By”. As I walked out I went over to the pianist and said “Thanks Sam” and received a nice smile in return. Outside I looked around and thought of this wonderful city under the horrors of the Japanese occupation during W.W.2. How terrible it must have been for them. After a couple of days in Bandung it was off to Yogyakarta by train.
We had reserved seats in business class so it wasn't too bad. Ceiling fans and a busy attentive waiter service looked after our comfort as the constantly changing scenery flashed by our windows. We passed rice paddies on the plains and terraced rice paddies in the mountains, together with lots of coconut palms beside the rails and in the distance. Across the landscape to the north could be seen some very high lumpy mountains. They looked like volcanoes, but we assumed they were dormant. We were wrong! One of the lumpy shapes was Java’s biggest volcano, Mount Merapi, and it had killed four people just the year before by suddenly emitting a large cloud of poisonous gas. I hope it doesn’t decide to burp when we are near it!. These volcanic mountains dominated the landscape for about half the trip until the train itself began climbing up a mountain ahead of it. I hoped that it too wasn’t volcanic! Going up was quite okay and done at a leisurely pace, but we seemed to descend the other side at a most alarming speed. I began wondering if perhaps the brakes had failed! At many of the train stops(the ones we didn’t hurtle through) people appeared outside the windows with all sorts of edible items for sale. Not the usual type one would find in a Cole’s Cafe mind you, but they were very popular with the Indonesians on the train.
After about eight hours of travelling we reached Yogya around 3.30pm, to be met by another agent who took us to our next hotel, the Duta guest house. This was in what they regard as the tourist area, and reminded us a little of how Kuta in Bali used to be originally. Yogya is regarded as the cultural capital of Indonesia and it's here that the Sultan has his palace. It was also the centre of resistance when they fought the Dutch for independence in the late 40's. Indonesia is celebrating the 50th anniversary of the declaration of independence this month, and everywhere we went decorations were being put up to celebrate the big event. We caught a "Becak" (a cross between a bicycle and a rickshaw) to the Sultan’s palace. It was somewhat terrifying as we sat together in the front, with the driver peddling like mad behind, weaving us in and out of the traffic. Somehow I felt that we were being put forward as some kind of sacrificial offering to the Great God of Traffic. The Sultan wasn't home to receive us (he actually has a seat in the nation’s national assembly now) so we wandered around with the other tourists enjoying the exotic sights and watching the dancing. Something that happened to us there was quite interesting. As we stood near one of the outer gates, which was accessible to the general public, a young man approached us through the crowd, and offered to show us the "Water Palace". He then asked where we came from and when we answered "Australia" he smiled broadly and said "We friends!" and shook our hands beaming. After a bit more general chatter he just disappeared into the crowd again. We thought this curious at the time, but later found out there was some sort of scam operating involving the "Water Palace!" As we were looked upon as friends, a term, Indonesians do not take lightly, he chose not to dishonour himself(and his ancestors!) by ripping us off and went to find some other tourists (probably Dutch) to rip off instead. The main reason for our visit to Yogya was to see the ancient Borobudur temple. It is set on a plain surrounded by high mountains, just outside Yogya. We chose to go there in the afternoon for the sunset. What a thrilling experience it was too. We hated to leave and were practically the last out of the gate when the park closed in the evening. When we arrived there in the early afternoon we were so overwhelmed by it all that we decided to return to the main gate to hire ourselves a guide. We got a lovely young lady called Alice, who took us around explaining in English, what the various levels represented and the meanings of some of the many carvings around the base. Borobudur, the largest Buddhist temple in the world, took around a hundred years to build, and is thought to be over twelve hundred years old. It was covered in volcanic ash for a long period of time, and rediscovered in 1815 and has only just recently been restored by U.N.E.S.C.O. and the Indonesian government. It is so incredibly awesome as one climbs the various levels, and looks upon the stupas with their enclosed Buddhas gazing out on the plains beyond. Each level represents a higher level of spiritual achievement and it is quite an incredible feeling that one gets when the summit is reached. It is called a “temple”, and if one thinks about it, if there is a God, or Gods, it makes sense that a temple that gives one a view of what has been created, is closer to the Spirit of the earth than sitting in an enclosed temple or church. Of course an afternoon was not enough, as one really needs a whole day there from the dawn to the dusk to study the thousands of relief panels set into the walls and balustrades and to experience the various lighting moods affecting the temple. After a pleasant stay at the Duta with its nice pool, waterfall and beautiful orchid garden (and hordes of Dutch tourists) it was off to Solo, about two hours drive away…………
We didn't care for Solo much as it was the most foreign of all the places so far, with the Moslem influence very evident. It was originally called “Surakarta” and has an interesting old temple many hundreds of years old.
Our car came for us on the 27th to take us to Bromo. The driver informs us his name is Agus,(pronounced “Agoose”) and that he will be taking us all the way through to Bali the following day. He spoke English very well and seemed like a nice guy. The hotel receptionist gives us a little bag of cookies for our journey and we are on our way. Agus informs us that the drive to Bromo will take about two hours. As we approach the Bromo area the road twists and turns up the steep inclines. The temperature becomes much cooler so Agus shuts off the vehicles air-con system. Outside mists are rolling over the tops of the mountains with fingers of it reaching down the steep slopes where, incredibly, crops are growing. Agus tells us that it is mostly cabbages and potatoes that are grown here. We stop occasionally to take pictures, and are amazed at how quiet it is - something that we have not really experienced since our arrival in Java. It is like we have slipped through into another completely different world. With the mists drifting about it is very eerie, and very beautiful. We reach our hotel, called the Bromo Cottages, by driving along a ridge road with a steep drop on either side. It seems to be perched out on the edge of nothing, and has that "hotel on the edge of the world" feel about it. We are taken down the side of the mountain, through gardens full of large white, orange and pink bell like flowers, to the cottage where our room is. Agus has told us he will collect us at 3.30am in the morning to take us to the volcano, Mt Bromo. We both practically faint in shock. 3a.m.! As both of us are not at our best in the early morning, particularly at 3.30am, we feel like telling him that we will settle for a much later viewing. Just as the light is fading we glance out of the window and see an incredible sight. Hanging suspended in the grey misty sky is the peak of a volcano that has become outlined in the red light of the setting sun behind it. It seems to be floating on a cloud. When we go up for dinner that night the place is full of Japanese. At last the Dutch are outnumbered! They all have bowls of hot coals with a wire mesh covering sitting on their tables and are engaged in barbecuing chunks of things, that look like bits of offal, with pieces of sweet corn. As well as this they have a smorgasbord arrangement at the side of the restaurant, from which they select other accompanying bits and pieces. They all seem to be talking at once and make an incredible racket. We select a modest spaghetti bolognaise from the menu and wait. The air seems to be full of smoke and noise. A voice over the P.A. announces that two young ladies will perform a Javanese cultural dance. The backdrop to the stage is a huge painted mural of the volcanos with one in full eruption. The two ladies come out and do what is more like a sexy "bump and grind" routine. It is all very bizarre. None of the Japanese seem to take the slightest notice of the dancers. After eating we push our way through the smoke and retreat to the peace and quiet of our cottage overlooking the valley, both dreading the 3.30am start. Surprisingly we both sleep well and when the awakening call comes we are up and away. The day we both dreaded is now here. We meet Agus for coffee in the foyer and depart. All the Japanese, thankfully, left earlier. We had been informed on our arrival that we would be going to Mount Penanjakan that overlooks Mount Bromo for the sunrise. Not knowing much about the area this seemed a suitable arrangement to us. On leaving the hotel our vehicle climbed higher and higher on the narrow winding road and after about a half an hour of this finally stopped, Agus indicated that we walk from here on. It was bitterly cold. I had a few layers of clothes on and was still cold. We walked up a very long flight of stairs with only our small torch to aid us. I couldn't help thinking how ridiculous it all seemed. At the top we could hear voices, but not see, the crowd of people already there. Actually I thought the crowd would be much larger. Where were all the Japanese? We took up a position, away from the main crowd, on the edge facing a blackness, with the stars twinkling above us. As the minutes went by gradually that blackness facing us began to change. Like a long long fade in at the movies, huge shapes gradually began to take form. "Hey! look at this" we both whispered "Wow!" as the light grew the fantastic panorama in front of us revealed itself. There it was, a group of volcanos, within a volcano. Mt Bromo in the middle, with Mt Batok beside it, both within the caldera of another ancient volcano, Tengga, but separated from its outer rim by a sea of sand so huge that any vehicle crossing it appeared as only a tiny speck. Behind all this and towering over them was Mt Seremu, the highest peak in Indonesia (3,676m) and a very active volcano itself that erupted every few minutes sending forth a huge cloud of smoke that turned pink in the dawn sky. We watched this brilliant spectacle in awe as gradually the sky lightened and the first rays of the sun appeared. It was still very cold but the appearance of the sun made it feel a little warmer anyway. Earlier in the semi-darkness we noticed occasional bright flashes from around the crater of Bromo and now in the brighter light we could just make out large yellow buses traversing the sea of sand. Was that where the Japanese tourists went we wondered? Bromo itself had a dense white cloud in the middle of the crater, and from our elevation of 2,702 mtrs on the lookout at Mt Penanjakan, Bromo at 2,390m looked rather small. However we would soon get a closer look as Agus said that when we had finished, and taken all our pictures, he would take us to Bromo. Reluctantly, again about the last to leave, we left the fascinating volcanic spectacle, and joined Agus in the mini van and we set off on the rather hair raising drive down the mountain slope to the sea of sand below. On the way Agus stops and we give a couple of girls a lift. They are students from Jakarta university and speak excellent English. One has even been to Perth. We eventually reach the bottom and bounce along the flat plain in a cloud of dust to the base of Mt Bromo. Incredibly there is a large Temple built at the base of the volcano, which seems to be a rather dangerous place to place to put it as Bromo is classified as active. Agus tells us that it is a Hindu Temple. From our new perspective Bromo now looks very large indeed. As soon as we step out of the van we are surrounded by men wanting to hire out horses for us to ride to the bottom of the stairs. However, we, and the girls, chose the safer alternative and walked. Of course it proves to be tougher going than it looked and we are soon puffing and panting up the first slope. All this before breakfast too. We must be mad. The girls fall behind seeming to prefer a more casual and slower, and more sensible, pace for the climb. We reach the bottom of the almost vertical stairs and gaze upwards. "Two hundred and fifty stairs" chuckles one of the boys who tried to hire his horse to us half an hour ago. With the aid of a rest at the halfway point, the rim of the crater is reached and we totter on the edge of the volcano. Here we see a huge cloud of steam and smoke mixed with sulphuric gases belching skywards as streams of yellow sulphur trickle down the inward slopes of the crater. A sign warns tourists of the “Fragile Edges”. The path along the top of the crater is only a few feet wide with a steep slope on either side and is unfenced. We decide it is indeed a very dangerous place, especially with the sulphur gases drifting around. Unbelievably this is where they crammed all the Japanese tourists before dawn! In the pitch black pre-dawn darkness it would be impossible to see the ground unless one had a torch, and waiting in the contaminated air for an hour or so, would not help one’s equilibrium. There must be an ulterior motive in bringing the Japanese to such a hazardous viewpoint. I wonder if they count them as they board their buses? The girls join us at the top and we take a few pictures and leave. The valley below with the, as yet, undispersed morning mist drifting above the ancient temple looks eerie. On our way down we are offered horses again, but as we made it up without them we are hardly likely to need them on the way down. We offer the girls a lift, but they are going in the opposite direction. Agus then takes us back to the hotel for a much anticipated breakfast. In the dining room the hoards of Japanese have gone, as have the "cultural dancers". The chef is now cooking omelettes to order below the huge mural of erupting volcanoes. Quite famished after such early unaccustomed exercise, we order mixed omelettes. They are superb so we go back for seconds! After these, and cups of steaming hot thick black coffee we feel revived and go back to our room to collect our things for the journey to Bali.
The mists are rolling in again, and soon the bright morning sunshine has disappeared. The narrow winding road takes us back down through the misty valleys, to the broader flat roads of the coastal plain. On the better roads we pick up speed, a necessity if we are to reach Kuta in Bali before too late that night. The road follows the coast for a lot of the way then cuts through a national park surrounding the extinct volcano, Mt Ijen. Monkeys frolic by the roadside as we head for Banyuwangi, on the coast, to catch the ferry across the Bali straight. Our timing is pretty good for we arrive just before the ferry departs. Agus parks the vehicle on the deck below and joins us as we watch boys diving for coins in the clear water surrounding the ferry. A last minute rush of backpackers hurry up the gangway as the ship’s warning siren is sounding and ropes are being cast off. We are now on our way to our beloved Bali! I watch the shore of Java departing across the glittering wake of the ferry. In half an hour the ferry is docking at the port of Gilimanuk, in the centre of which stands a huge Candi Bentar, the split gate symbol of Bali. The drive to Kuta along the southwest coast takes us through an area where we have not been before, and we are surprised at its natural look. There are even long stretches of beaches without any big tourist hotels. How amazing! Beautiful terraced rice paddies stretch to the foothills of the large volcanic mountains to the north. The sun soon disappears behind the heavy clouds surrounding the mountains and the night is quickly upon us. As we approach Kuta, we have to direct Agus to our hotel as he is unfamiliar with the area. The streets are as chaotic as ever and we are slowed to a crawl for the last few kilometers. At the reception desk of the Ida Inn, the staff recognise us and give us a big welcome. Made (pronounced “Marday”) is all smiles and shows us to our usual room. It seems more welcoming than ever, and really appreciated after such a long day. It was a day that we thought would have been the most trying and difficult of all, with its predawn start, and long, long drive across eastern Java and Bali, but it turned out to be one of the most delightful, and one of the most fascinating of all. Well that ends the saga of B&R’s big "Java adventure”. Our week in Bali was a bit of an anti-climax after Java. We found the changes in Kuta, a little too much this time. A huge department store has been built at the back of our Ida Inn, and even the locals were saying “too much changes now!" At least our room boy Made hasn't changed. The first morning there Roger said "Made, can we have a bath mat and some pool towels?" "Oooo I get!" replies Made. Later he returns with two towels and some sachets marked Baygon. We thank him for the towels, but somehow the request for the bath mat has got us Baygon sachets. (Well, one outa two ain't bad!) "What are these for?" Roger asks. "For mozzie zapper!" replies Made. "But we asked for a bath mat!" says Roger. "Oooo" says Made. "You know, bath mat for floor of bathroom" says Roger indicating the slippery tiled floor of the bathroom. "Use front door mat!" answers Made in a sudden surge of inspiration, as if its the obvious thing to do. Yes, of course why didn't we think of that! He then went outside and returned in triumph with the very large thick hairy coir front door mat that says “Welcome” and placed it beside the bath. “There” he says “Now you have bath mat!” Later, reviewing it, Roger said "But what do we do if we need more Baygon tablets”. “Ask him for a bath mat!" I replied. And so it goes………
Fifteen years later, on the 12th October 2002, the smiling face of Bali changed forever with the bombing of the Sari Club and the nearby Paddy’s Bar. 202 people were killed, and many more seriously injured. 88 of those killed were young Australians. The organisation that claimed responsibility for the explosion was the Jemaah Islamiyah whose leader Abu Bakar Bashir, was educated in Solo and it is there that he began his extremist activities. Oh, and Mount Bromo had a massive eruption on January 22nd 2011.
