Tersesat di Yogya - Lost in Yogyakarta

Rested, it was time to hit the streets of Yogyakarta, with Frances, Rudi, and Lauren, an Arizonan who is here doing linguistics research. Taxied to Jalan Marlioboro, the main shopping drag, stopping en route to let Rudi out at another shopping centre. First port of call, Mirota Batik, at Frances' suggestion. Crowded inside, but batik heaven. Cotton, silk, cheap, expensive - whatever your fancy, it was bound to be here. Frances showed me the quality silk stuff first, but cotton was on my mind. Aisles of it. Very narrow aisles. A scrum of people, all trying to politely squeeze through in search of batik. So many choices, I could barely think what to choose. Approached by two school students who said, "Maaf, can we disturb you, mister?" They wanted to do an interview. Agreed. Responded in bahasa, but they wanted English! More aisles. Dazed and confused. Lost sight of Frances and Lauren.

For a break, headed upstairs to check out the carvings and other oleh-oleh (trinkets, souvenirs). Returned downstairs. Saw Lauren being interviewed. Walked on over to see what was happening, and then Frances suggested that the film crew interview me! Interviewed by Trans 7, an Indonesian news network. Fortunately, they wanted me to speak in bahasa. Complied. Said things like: "Baju batik Indonesia terkenal di seluruh dunia. Dan di Australia, banyak orang memakai baju batik" (Indonesian batik shirts are famous throughout the world. In Australia, many people wear batik). Not sure when it will be shown or if it has already been shown. I suspect the look I've been cultivating may be too confronting for primetime Indonesia news. The cultural references informing my facial growth may not translate.


In the shop, a woman was demonstrating the batik method. Despite my status as a rupiah millionaire, I don't think I could afford the cloth she is working on.


In the end, I only bought some Indonesian chocolate and two t-shirts for Tallulah and Delaney. Tallulah's shirt read "Tersesat di Yogya" and Delaney's read "Jangan membantuh" (Don't argue with me). Too tired and hungry to make a decision. Lauren, though, credit card splurged on all sorts of material. I knew that I'd be returning here on the weekend, so no need to be hasty.

Out front, Rudi was waiting. On foot, we went in search of a place to eat. Got lost on the way there, but as is the custom, when lost, ask a local. Made our way to Pendopo nDalem Resto, located near the Sultan's palace. A pendopo is a tradition Indonesian style of meeting place, essentially an open building.

Massive table full of different dishes. Frances and the head waiter explained which was vegetarian and which was not. Went for rice dishes, sambal, tempe, vegetables, and lime juice. Food was superb, the lime juice outstanding. Dining mood spoiled slightly by a group next to use who were having a meeting and had brought along their portable soundsystem and microphone, along with the fog of smoke.


On the way out, Frances led the way. Kanan atau kiri? Right or left? Left, she said. And we followed. The further we walked, the more deserted it became. And quiet. So unlike Indonesia. Suddenly we were wandering through the palace area, Kraton. Few people around. Made sure we didn't draw too much attention to ourselves. Lost in Watson? Like Tallulah's t-shirt, we were lost in Kraton. We followed the palace walls, going down curving streets that, by Indonesian standards, were dead quiet. Eerily peaceful. No motorbikes. Kept walking. Ahead, a T-junction, with motorbike action. Followed that road. Still couldn't see the alun alun, the main park area that we were using to orient ourselves. More walking. Traffic was intensifying. Finally, the park.

Stumbled into the city. Waited here for a while, hailing taxis and being ignored. Eventually we walked back toward Jalan Marlioboro, found a taxi stand, slumped our way to the hotel. 10.30pm.