Neil had studied at UKSW, so was familiar with Salatiga. But the backstreets were proving a problem. A bit of SMSing and a phone call got them here at 10.30am. Great to see Greta again; she was at ANU late 2007 (October-November, I think) and it was a bit surreal to see her in Salatiga. Her dad, Nathan, did his PhD in Perth. For a couple of years Greta and her brothers were immersed in English. Neil is very fluent in English, as is Greta, and he was ready to be the guide. First, though, a short stop at the Salatiga market - Ibu wanted to buy some desserts that were unavailable in Semarang.
Early makan siang was next on the agenda. Neil took us to one of his old haunts, Warung Pecel, a small eating place off one of the backstreets of Salatiga. We ate nasi pecel - rice and vegetables topped with a sauce. Very nice. Food prepared by Mbak Madya.
Sated (kenyang), we hit the road, ostensibly heading for Semarang. When it became apparent that I hadn't visited certain sites around Salatiga, Neil did a u-turn and headed to Rawa Pening, a natural spring/lake located outside of the city. Very hot outside. On the lake we could see dwellings, where fishers lived, growing stock for the market. Weeds that had invaded the lake were being harvested, dried, and used for local handicrafts, like sandals, bags, and other tourist bits and pieces. Fabulous to get such a lovely tour of some of Salatiga's highlights, as my view of the town has been shaped by my journey from Pak Agna's house to UKSW (which involves travelling on the main road), and my brief forays into the centre of the city (and twice when I did this I was in search of neck relief, so in no mood to take in the sights).
Bought some keripik bayam, a deep-fried spinach snack - crunchy as chips!
From there, to the Museum Kerata Api Ambarawa, an old railway station that, judging by the number of bis parawista (tourist buses), is a popular destination. It's a big station and has some good exhibits. Before we looked around, we caught a small train that would take us to Stasiun Toentang, near Salatiga.
Naturally, once we got past the station and the small shanty town that lines the railway, and the washing lines full of the underclasses' clothing, we had beautiful views of rice fields, labour and poverty temporarily out of sight. The green so intense to Canberran eyes, yet also relaxing. Yet labour was never far away. Farmers could be seen in the fields, doing all sorts of tasks associated with the production of rice. Near a lake men were making/harvesting compost - hard, hot and filthy work. No Gang of Four or The Sex Pistols on the iPod, with their songs about holidaying in other people's misery.
When we arrived at Toentang, the exhaust had to be fixed. Walked around the station, which was built in 1823. On the return trip, closed my eyes and let my ears become absorbed in the industrial techno noise made by the train. Brakes scrape, wheels chug, and the cabins lurch, creating a sluggish, basic rhythm that is topped by other acoustic skee. Drunken clatter chug groove propulsion - a bit too dirty for Kraftwerk, but equally danceable. Two children in front of me are asleep. A lovely way to drift, thinking of the possibility of dance.The Ambarawa Station was built by the Dutch, as is obvious from some of the photos below. Linda, Ruud, and Ingrid, translation please of the display sign below.
From Ambarawa, to Semarang. As usual, the roads were lined with shops of all kinds, making it difficult to see where one city or suburb began and one ended.First stop, Pagoda Avalokitesvara, a Buddhist temple outside of Semarang. Seven stories og intricate carving. There was a Buddha statue outside, a sign next to saying that it was forbidden to stand next to it and take a photo. Also a sign at the base of the temple advising us to take off our shoes. Fine in theory, but we had to walk up some marble or granite steps, and it was mid-afternoon. Let me say that an egg could have been fried on those steps. We raced up them, avoiding excessive blistering. Beautiful carved doors. Incense. Huge candles. Statues.
The photo of the Buddha should not have been taken! We went inside the temple, took a few shots, and then walked to the entrance to get a group shot. An attendant raced over and said it was not permitted to take a photo. Whoops. Insensitive Aussie tourist at it again! Then we had to brave the steps again. Blazing.
Next up, Sam Pookong Temple. It's a massive complex, a series of three different temples. A gate separates the tourists from those who want to prayer. Candles taller than me were out in front, usually costing tens of millions of rupiah, paid for by the wealthy locals, and they burn for a year.
We tried to enter the temples themselves, but a guard said only people who want to pray can go inside. I obviously didn't look like a practising Buddhist. However, he said, if we were willing to go to the area opposite, get dressed in Buddhist gear, and have our photo taken for 70.000 rupiah, then we would be eligible to enter. When I was in Padang a few years back I did the "get dressed in silk clothes and have your photo taken" thing. Wasn't that desperate to repeat the experience, so we left.
In the heart of Semarang is Lawang Sewu, which translates as the buidling with a 1000 doors. Originally the Dutch main office for the railways, it was taken over by the Japanese and used for other, less benign purposes. After WW2, it has been unused. One of the Suharto family had a plan to renovate the building, turning it into a luxury hotel. Nothing came of that. Since then it's been ageing. Recently, the city has started to renovate the building, recognising its tourist potential. No timeframe for when the renovations are complete.
Paid to get in, had our own guide, and went through a truly majestic building. Incredibly high ceilings. Granite imported from Europe. Most stone fittings imported from the Netherlands. Stained glass windows. Our guide recounted a history of the building, Greta translating for me. Most of the story focused on its history as a gedung hantu, a haunted building. Haunted with the victims of the Japanese. In their fight against the Dutch, the Japanese took over the building and then took to imprisoning and dispatching the prisoners in rather inventive ways. Apparently, people with supernatural powers can see where the murders took place in the top floor, said the guide.Donning gumboots, we joined another group for the downstairs tour, in the basement. We all carried flashlights. Once down there, we switched them off for optimal darkness. Pitch. Then our new guide began the horror stories. Five prisoners confined to a cell 1 x 1 metre. Prisoners kept in tanks of water, forced to squat, always threatened with drowning. Guillotining. Mass guillotining. Horror tourism.
At the end of the tour, we were shown the one toilet for this facility. Impeccable urinals. Made for Belanda, said Greta.Near tea time. Neil had done some research and found Ha Ha Vegetarian Resto. They specialised in fake meats. Ordered some sensational curry rice, broccoli, dumplings, and noodles. Still can't believe how much Indonesians order when they eat out! Greta's father, Nathan, arrived, and ate with us. Neil and Olive had other commitments, so Nathan would be taking over as the tour guide. Thanks, Neil, for the great tour of Salatiga and Semarang!
It was market night in Chinatown, so we headed there and walked around. Lots of food places, some markets selling jade and other Chinese bracelets. A karaoke stand. Light rain forced the eateries to move to the margins of the pavement.
Getting tired now. Greta, too, as she'd had to get up at 4am to catch the plane from Jakarta to Semarang. Headed to Greta's parents' home in Ungaran, about 20 minutes out of Semarang. Great to arrive. A really full day, but I was ready for bed.
iPod at night: Koen Holtcamp.
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