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java, full of surprises

When someone says to you “Have you visited the Kopi Luwak?” within an hour of you stepping out into the hot bathroom heat of Yogyakarta, Java, you know it’s going to be a good first day.

For the uninitiated, the luwak is a Indonesian kinda-possom-kinda-cat type creature that eats coffee beans (specifically the outside husks) and then poops out the seeds which are too hard for it to chew. The enzymes in its stomach affect the beans in ways which render the bean less caffienated, more antioxident-ified and more delicious than any other coffee in the world. I would say apparently but Emma now we can say actually, because we had it: coffee which was once in a luwak’s poo – this morning. And it really was delicious. Even the beans by themselves (cleaned and peeled I might add) with a tiny chunk of coconut sugar. Not at all bitter, a little bit smokey and so nice that we both bought beans to take home with us so we can feed them to unsuspecting friends…and then tell them where they’ve been before.

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I read about these little-luwak critters and their coffee bean habit years ago when I worked in radio. I think I may well have scoffed at the idea of poop-coffee but nothing could have looked cleaner than the hand peeled half beans in all their nakedness this morning.

Converted! Bringing some home. Along with some filigree silver (HS Silver next stop – ahem, yes, they totally saw us and our magpie eyes coming). Something tells me we may have to shed some of the stuff we brought with us in our full-up-travel bags, over the next few weeks…

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What can I tell you about Jogja so far? Mainly, that it’s hot in a way which is constantly surprisingly because somehow it doesn’t make you sweat. Maybe that’s down to the douvet of clouds which seem to be draped over the King sized metropolis between Merapi Mounth (volcano) and Parangtritis beach at the moment. Or maybe the unusual quality of the heat is down to the volcano? A little understreet lava-heating? That’s what it feels like.

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The streets are in grids and it’s hard to tell how far anything is from anything else, but that could be because for anything further than the little Warung street food stalls across the road from where we are staying, we’ve arrived to via motorbike or shuttle bus ride. Some of the roads are 10 metres wide and lined with inside-lit plastic billboards and neon signs which vie for your attention at every different height. Others like Malioboro, have old wide tree trunks the colour of stone tracing their centre. The street Bamboo Bamboo Homestay is on, which neither of us can remember the name of as we sit here in our sharing a bottle of Bitang, has an orange arc from side to side, colourfully announcing it’s name.

Words are an issue generally actually. We’re not sure if it’s the jet-lag or the fact that to us Bahasa Indonesian seems to make absolutely no logical sense to our little Western brains, but remembering even ‘please’, ‘thank you’ and ‘hello’ is taxing us in ways that we don’t think should be possible. And that’s despite having a number of language lessons already. On the plane from Jakarta, friendly-faced Witjaksono (“Wheatshak”) helped us spell out the essentials both phonetically and in proper spelling; today our motorbike driver Suska tried to help us once again (as well as trying to charge us Rp849,000 for a motorbike tour to Borobudur and Prambanan – Rp100,000 is £5… and the bus to Borobudur is Rp4000 – as I say, they saw us coming. Mind you it’s thanks to him we had such a great day today. So praise where due.

Anyway, Suska was telling me as I rode on the back of his bike today that there are three forms of Javanese Indonesian (as well as the universal Bahasa Indonesian which stretches across the islands): the polite form for people you don’t know; the informal for with friends; and the traditional version which the older generations use still. The mind boggles…. but at least they don’t have to deal with tenses. Which apparently makes it easy to learn?!!?

For the moment we’re struggling to try and remember ‘terima kasih’ (“tereema kasi” – remember teri-towling cassis?) for thank you and ‘tolong’ (“too long” – remember it’s taking too long to learn this!) for please and ‘apa kabar’ (“aba kabar” – remember abracadabra maybe we can do this afterall) for hello. Seriously. Not easy. Emma’s reverted to dutch once already and I had a “si” slip out earlier. We will get there. I hope.

It’s been quite a damp day with its cloudy duvet lid. The rain tapped a promise of epic downpours to come, as it drove into the plastic corrugation above us this morning whilst we drank our first (non-cat-poop) coffee of the day. It stopped in a timely fashion just as Suska arrived to take us on our Laska adventure.

Rather than call it a day after learning and seeing all about the silver filigree process (and buying – excuse: we are magpies and the jewels are very shiney) the Ramayana Ballet flexed back it’s double-jointed long elegant fingers and beckoned us in. Not before a bowl of broth, meatballs, noodles, pork and (in my case) every sauce going including the super-hot one at the Garung across the road. Our shuttle bus which may just have have the world’s squeakiest air conditioning, stumbles us stop-start as we blink through rain streamed windows and jet-lag eyes: concrete trucks two inches away, shiny car brake lights (stopping distance 0.05mm), reams of motorbikes zipping past either side and blinkered horses and carts (weren’t expecting those) to Prambanan. I – and we – will, I am sure, come back to that soon, but for now, suffice it to say that it’s a sight to behold lit from the bottom up. Still and steady when cloaked with thick black night:

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“There’s something other-worldly about it”.

I nod and agree thinking how much it looks like three giant alien ant-hill chimneys. The ballet would have been magnificent out here if the weather had behaved but we and our rain jackets are ushered by loudspeaker to the indoor theatre, settling amongst a wash of coloured head scarves and school children.

It’s not ballet as we know it but the energy trickles right through every impossibly bendy graceful finger tips and curled up toe on stage. Faces complete in melancholy or thunder or peace as character dictates. There’s a touch of magic realism imbuing the story lines and mise-en-scene and the dance troop’s core strength and balance is extraordinary, even on one foot. Every hair and ounce of being seems to stand and curl to attention as one, as dream-imagined monkeys, birds, Kings and Queens come to life in colourful costume and movement.

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Our favourite moment might be the giants. We worked out they were giants….just, after trying (and mostly failing) to get our heads around the extravagant plot, which seemed to be centre around Kings trying to pinch other King’s wives and waging a bit of war whilst at it. The giants have long rasta-hair and chins with extra big teeth. They are funny in a slapstick way but – as they clumsy their way around the stage, fall asleep and generally do everything wrong – the real delight for us, comes from the chit-chat-belly-tickling laughter emanating from every man, woman and child in the audience: men doubled over holding their bellies and school pupils faces cracked wide open with innocent joy – just.. adorable.

Another surprise. The performance ends and we are invited on stage to have photos with the performers in all their brightly costumed glory. We start to make our way up but are accosted by swathes of school children. I knew they had spotted us earlier as I saw one pointing me out to her friend so thought to cover my neck with a scarf. But now it becomes clear that the pointing wasn’t about that – it was just about us, as we were. They wanted selfies with us on their phones.  It’s quite wonderful to cause such wonder and excitement just from being who you are. More of life should be like that.

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It’s been a good day – lots of unexpected but welcome surprises. And now – as has become our usual fashion – Emma (aka Queen of sleep…maybe she’s a luwak) has dropped off into what I hope might be dreams of dancing banana pancake eating monkeys, motorbike rides across woven silver filigree threads and smokey poop-cleaned coffee beans. I should probably stop fighting the jet-lag I’ve been teetering on the edge of all day, and join her.

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2 Comments Post a comment
  1. Love this, makes me at least get to join your adventure from afar! Can’t wait till the next one xxxx

    June 1, 2016
  2. Andy #

    A great read, as always…. keep the updates coming!!

    June 1, 2016

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