Solo Sunday 8 Nov

Bliss! Hot shower. Felt like a Tasmanian logger as I clearcut the thick undergrowth on the back of my foresty neck. Nearly called for two razors. Washed hair. Feel fresh, cleansed, all pores punished. Downstairs for breakfast. Ask about the whereabouts of the hotel's Business Centre. It's being renovated, but I'm told there is an internet cafe down the road. Frustrated that I can't blog here, as this form of communicating with family and friends is central to my daily routine. But now that I'm on the road, the routine I've established is no more. Ismail will arrive at 10am. Allows me to get through some more Freud. Reflect on my Yogya dream - the idea of wish-fulfilment being pretty obvious in the shift from the Indonesian to the Australian context. The day prior to the dream I'd been teaching Aboriginal poetry to the class. Asked what they knew of Australia's indigenous population. "They're black," was the first response. Which I then clarified.

From the information pack:
"Surakarta, or better known as Solo, is famous as a stronghold and centre of Javanese culture and tradition. There are two royal houses (kraton) not far away from each other (Kasunanan and Mangkunegaran Palace) which still hold majestic ceremonies and royal festivals with great affection nowadays. Performing arts and other cultural events outside the palaces are also thriving, mixing old traditions and contemporary experimentation.

With a population of about 600,000 people, Solo is a small but dynamic city of administration, business and cultural activities. It is one of the centres of batik production which goes back to 1920s when the suburb Laweyan transformed itself into an elite suburb from batik enterprise." And it's where Malaysian terrorist Noordin Top was based until the late September shootout with the police. Holed up, incidentally, a few kilometres from Ismail's place.

Today Ismail acted as my tour guide, telling me that he was at my service. First up, the local palaces, kraton, where the sultans live. Visited the museum. By Indonesian standards, this was okay, as it had some signs that explained what the exhibits were.

Tandu - used to ferry around the royal family.

Lovely images of Javanese life adorned the walls. Focused on the music making ones.


Gamelan lengkap (full orchestra).

Spot the wax figures.
Went into the more formal meeting area. Sandals are dilarang, so Ismail had to take his off. Needless to say, the ground was very hot.


Then, to Pasar Klewer, one of the biggest batik markets in Indonesia. First, some fruit.

Inside the market, which is two levels, are hundreds, maybe thousands, of batik stall holders, each in a space that would accommodate a VW bug. Quality of the batik fairly average. A real squeeze to get through. Hands, mine, constantly touching my wallet, as I'd been warned that this was a real pickpocket zone.

The second kraton: Kraton Maugkunegaran. A massive open air building. Had our own guide, and it was up to us what she was paid. On the roof of the pendopo, the largest in Indonesia, a symbolic design, with each colour preventing sleep (yellow), bad thinking (purple), hunger (black), stress (green), Satan (red), fear (orange), and desire (white). Beneath the ceiling, three huge gamelan. Disappointed to hear that they would be performing there on the day I was leaving Solo. Next time. We were allowed to take photos in this area, but once we got to the third part of the palace, near the sultan's residence, no camera work was allowed. Which means the royal badong (penis and vagina covering) will have to be described rather than shown. The male badong was threatening to look at as it had barbs on the outside, golden barbs at that. Looked uncomfortable to wear. The female badong was impenetrable, shall we say.


Lunch at Warung Makan But Wit. Nasi pecil and lime juice. Mum and dad called, and the connection was crystal clear. Fantastic to hear from them, as we traded stories about the weather.
Solo hasn't embraced verticality - buildings are squat, flat. Only hotels go upwards. On our way to Batik Keris for a bit of shopping. A huge building, complete with prayer room, so I started shopping alone while Ismail went off to pray. Here for an hour. Went a little crazy on the shirt front, and got pressies for family and friends. So much choice and so little bag space.

That night, tea at Ismail's place, his rector tagging along. When a guest bule is around, the leaders of the university want some part of the action, particularly as the Islamic university system doesn't get too many visitors. Ismail has known the rector for a long time, but it was the first time he'd ever been to his house. I wonder if an invitation was extended or whether it was a self-invitation. The internal politics of educational system here are too tricky for me to fathom. Some conversation dwelt on the possibility of how to get a visit to Australia, even a short one. People here don't realise that I'm a very small fish. Anyway, we three blokes ate first, as seems to be the custom.