KOREA,
INDONESIA – 2015
Pictures at: http://share.shutterfly.com/action/welcome?sid=8KZt3Ddu0ZWI
The six-week
winter adventure for 2015 was a quick layover in Seoul, Korea to begin an
adventure of three weeks each in Indonesia and Philippines. To get to my first
destination in Bogor, Indonesia included a 15 hour flight to Seoul, 18 hours in
Seoul, a 7 hour flight to Jakarta, Indonesia, over-night at airport hotel in
Jakarta and a three hour bus ride to Bogor. Whew!
Arriving at 9
p.m. in Seoul, the information desk helped me locate a guest hotel (locals
renting a room in their home) ten minutes from Incheon Airport. The owner was
there to pick me up quicker than I could exchange some currency. I was
pleasantly surprised to learn of the free city tours beginning at 8:00 a.m.
While hoping to get on the five hour Seoul tour, it was full so I booked 3 ½ hours
on the Incheon tour. The airport is located at Incheon, an hour outside Seoul.
Incheon is a beautiful, modern (15 years old) airport. The airport and
surrounding area is on reclaimed land. To get into Incheon, our tourist bus
takes us across the 6th longest bridge in the world of 14 miles. We
stop at their cultural center, Chinatown and Freedom Park. I was pleasantly
surprised to see their proud statute of General MacArthur, well respected for
his command and rescue via the Pacific fleet during the Korean War. Korea is
now a modern country with many shiny vehicles on the highways. After the war,
the average annual income was $60. Today it is $30,000, basically a flip-flop
from the previously rich North Korea which is now impoverished. South Korea is
a republic with elections every five years. Their current president is a woman
and daughter of a prior president. A very wealthy man in South Korea is the
owner of the two privately held auto companies Hyundai and KIA.
The most
interesting couple on the tour was the American couple with the infant
traveling there from Mongolia. After meeting while teaching English in
Thailand, they married and opened a language school in the frigid cold
Mongolia. A country of 3 million with half the population living in the one
large city, this couple lives 1,200 miles from the city connected only by dirt
roads or by flight.
My mis-adventure began upon
arrival into immigration in Jakarta, Indonesia. I paid the $35 for a Visa-on-arrival. The corrupt government had an opportunity to
relieve me of an additional $200 since I did not have a completely blank page
in my passport to glue their Visa. With the collusion of a Korea Air employee
to tell me they will have to take me back to my country of origin, they know I
will be happy to pay them $200 to get their “special paper”. The $200 goes into
the pocket of immigration (no receipt) and I get out of the airport. Later I
learn another scheme is the police stopping you driving in the streets of
Jakarta and collect $80 cash for each person that does not have their passport
on their body. The lesson learned is to have a cell phone and 24 hour phone
number of the U.S. Embassy. Once called, the police scamper off.
My itinerary in Indonesia
includes the three islands of Java, Bali and Lombok. Beginning in western Java
and traveling to the eastern tip via bus and train to catch a ferry into Bali
then across Bali via bus then another ferry from eastern Bali onto the island
of Lombok to visit the Gili Islands. My travel bible is the Lonely Planet
travel book, selecting destinations by looking at the pretty colored pictures
in the front of the book, scouring the maps and devouring the overview of each
location. Planning my trip while on the 22 hours of flights, I discover I’m
arriving during low season since this is rainy season. Just a minor fact, I
would still go since it’s near the equator, never veering far from 80 degree
temps. Java is the most developed island and rules the political and economic
life. Java is predominantly Muslin. The Hindu have been pushed east and settled
in Bali.
Skipping the polluted, congested
Jakarta, I begin in Bogor to see the beautiful botanical garden and colonial
palace grounds with 250 deer grazing the grounds. Stepping off the bus, I must
sort through the collection of taxi and motorcycle taxi drivers anxious to take
me somewhere, anywhere. I select my favorite and retain him a couple hours
while selecting a suitable hotel and meeting with Agus, the tour guide recommended
in Lonely Planet. After checking in, my driver takes me to my restaurant of
choice and I decide to take the 20 minute walk back to my hotel. Eating at two
restaurants, both with scenic views over the city, the first to the music of
Bob Marley, I find my favorite, Gumati. Anga, the delightful Moslem female
manager, joins me both nights. Anga shares her life with me as both a Muslim
and a career woman in a Muslim country. She books many weddings at this
restaurant. In America, it would be a steal of a deal. For $2,500 you can have
a wedding of 300 with full meal, photographer, live music and emcee.
Anga is a Sudanese
Muslim, the predominant ethnic group in western Java. I was awakened at 4:30
a.m. to the mega-sound system of the mosque a couple blocks from my hotel. Anga
explains the five prayer periods a day, beginning at 4:30 a.m. All mosques
blast out their prayers (overwhelmingly loud) at the set time but, they are
quite flexible to give you a range of hours to get in your five mandatory
prayers. Friday is their holy day and men go to the mosque at noon to pray.
Only men go and employers give men two hours off on Friday’s to attend. Women
only go to mosque twice a year for holiday unless they fit in a casual stop at
a mosque. The remainder of the year is private prayers at home with the husband
as leader, bringing home knowledge learned from the weekly sermon.
My one full day in Bogor begins
with a ½ day motorcycle tour with Agus, in the rain. For an hour we took cover
under a roof till the pouring rain slowed. Donning the provided rain jacket and
pants we travel the rainy, wet, busy streets to tour a gong factory, tofu
factory and wooden puppet maker. Calling these “factories” is a real stretch.
This is old-school manual labor. Five to ten men spend three days heating,
banging, forming, shining and testing a piece of metal formed into a gong. Only
three such places exist in Indonesia. The elderly owner sits by waiting to test
the clapping to insure all musical notes are created.
The puppet maker is 3rd
generation and spends one week carving and painting one puppet. Very excited to
sell me two puppets for $100 and shipped to my home for $50, he’s disappointed
I don’t jump at the offer. Puppets shows (the same love story) are performed at
Hindu weddings.
The tofu maker would be called
“organic and natural” in the U.S. Seeing the process of soybeans smashed,
boiled over a wood fire, strained, formed and sliced gives a whole new meaning
to tofu.
My half day spent strolling the
botanical garden is a delight, enjoying the plethora of tropical foliage. The
surprise was the Mexican garden. I’m still dumbfounded how they have the huge
display and variety of magnificent cacti in such a wet climate. Bogor is known
as the wettest region on the island. Excited to see a zoo on the grounds, I’m
surprised to walk in and learn all the animals are stuffed. It was a great way
to experience many animals endemic to only that region that are now extinct.
Sadly, the only way to see many of these animals is via taxidermy. The extinct
Balinese tiger was memorable. Most sad was the rhino, the last existing rhino
in West Java. Park rangers killed the rhino in 1933 to preserve him after poachers
had killed his mate for its horn.
My closet experience to being a
celebrity may be here. Being the only pale skin, blondie many have seen, I am
amused at the requests to have my photo taken with them on their cell phone.
Most were giggling teenage boys and young girls. The two men working the
tourist office in Bogor said they may have an American visit once a week or,
more likely once a month. I guess I really did get off the beaten path.
With the
miscalculation of thinking there was a train that went from Bogor to
Yogyakarta, I punted. Rather than take a train back to Jakarta, I hired a car
and driver to take me to Bandung. For $45 I had a private tour guide for the eight
hours we spent driving the 50 miles to Bandung. Did I mention how bad the
traffic is in populated Java? Going the rural route, the car and scooter
traffic is constant never going more than 35 mph. It’s akin to “ballet on
rubber”. The scooters weave among the
cars and everyone gives little horn toots when desiring to slide into any open
spot. The majority of the route is lined with shanty type shops only a few feet
from the road. The merchants often live in the back rooms. Standards are far
below any Section 8 government housing found in the U.S.
We stop in route
to tour tea fields, rice fields, snacks and lunch. Hiking ½ hour through tea
fields, I’m envious at the constant stream of para-sailors gliding over the tea
fields. No amount of pleading will convince the driver to take me to the top
and rent a pilot.
Arriving at my
Bandung hotel, a mere five minute walk from the train station for an easy
departure the next day, I spend the evening strolling over to the touristy
Braga Street. I’m beginning to re-learn how to cross an Asian City Street. With
few traffic lights, the method is to step into traffic (hold my breath) and
expect the traffic to slow until you cross into the next lane of traffic while
waiting for that lane to slow. Bandung, once the “Paris of Java”, is now
congested, aging and polluted with a population of 2.5 M, or 8M with suburbs.
While Starbucks and Burger King were expected, I was surprised to see Golds
Gym. I was happy to find a couple of restaurants with a bar serving alcohol
other than beer. Muslims don’t drink alcohol, other than beer.
While standing
on the street reading a menu, I was discovered by the first pale face I had
seen since leaving the airport. Actually he discovered me and came out of the
restaurant to meet me. An engineer from Palestine, we spent the next couple of
hours chatting while I was fascinated to learn about life in Palestine. His son
is getting a Master’s degree in Wisconsin on a Fulbright scholarship, quite the
exception for a Palestinian. He lives on the West Bank and for him to travel to
Gaza, also in Palestine, he must go through four immigration checkpoints;
Palestine, Israel, Jordan and Egypt because two years ago Israel closed the
gate between the West Bank and Gaza Strip of Palestine. He has two passports,
Palestine and Jordan. Without the Jordan passport, his travels would be even
more limited. He tells of the bombings in Gaza. I mention the Hamas terrorists.
Oops. Per him, they are not terrorists if they are protecting their people.
With my definition of a terrorist, he would also consider the U.S. to be a
terrorist. After all, what is our business in the Middle East?
On a personal
note, he explains Muslims can marry their first cousin. He did, after divorcing
his first wife. Wife #2 was still a virgin at 36 and he needed to marry a
middle-aged woman to care for his adolescent children. 90%+ women remain
virgins until marriage. Muslims don’t
have affairs usually. After all, they are allowed to have up to four wives, the
rational being that there are more women than men and thus, let’s not leave out
any women without a mate. If they do divorce and the woman decides to re-marry,
she must give up her children to her ex-husband. Children are not allowed to
live with step-fathers, as a means to prevent possible molestation. But, if the
father re-marries, the children can remain with him.
Traveling eight
hours via train ($35) from Bandung to Yogyakarta is definitely the pleasant way
to get across Java. Cozied up in an executive car with laptop power, stewards
and stunning scenery of rice fields and mountains, I am able to escape the
congestion of the streets. Yogyakarta is described as the cultural capital of
Java. There is a sultan’s palace to visit, dance, puppet shows, mega shopping
(particularly batik), classes for painting, cooking, language, etc. My favorite
nightly routine was to get a 1 ½ hour massage after dinner for the stellar
price of $8. Five nights here at the cozy Andreas Hotel down a “gang” (small
alley) and soon the locals knew me. Always wanting to know my home country,
when I respond with “America”, I often get the reply of “Ah, yes, Obama!” Obama lived four years in Jakarta as a youth
and is well liked. I hired a motorcycle driver for the one-hour trip to Borobudur,
the ancient Buddhist temple. My driver was pulled over for not using a
headlight. The police were excited to meet me (land of Obama) and have a picture
with me. My driver was happy not to get a ticket because they did not want to
delay the American tourist.
The tedious art
form of batik painting is most famous in Yogyakarta. It involves many
applications of paint, each time tediously covering the paint with hot wax. Each
time a color is added, the fabric is boiled to melt the wax for the next paint
application.
I use the
various forms of city transportation. Viewing the sultan’s palace and visiting
batik shops was with a 75 year Becak (bike taxi) driver. The 40k drive to the
Borobudur temple was with a private scooter driver. The last day I rented a
bike for a solo exploration of the city, rural villages, Prambanan ancient
Hindu temple, Affandi Museum and local city market. Riding a bicycle in the
city is not for the “faint of heart”. All senses must be firing, steering clear
of the plethora of scooters and vehicles. Adding to the challenge is Indonesia
drives on the left side of the road. The
typical shoe of choice here for riding a scooter is a flip-flop. Helmets are not
required. I grimace that I was not able
to get a helmet with my bicycle rental.
The instructions to find the Hindu
temple is cycle north, over the railroad tracks and turn right at the “ditch”
(river). Then follow the river into the country-side. With the freedom of
having my own wheels, I had a beautiful tour of farming life. Farmers were
dredging rice fields barefoot with the power of an ox. Goats roamed freely.
Sheep were herded by a farmer. Ladies worked in the rice fields. The most
interesting sight was military students rappelling off the side of a bridge,
head-first to the water 200’ below them. A fisherman used a net to catch fish
in the filthy river. After seeing that river and thinking back to the day prior
spent with the “porcelain God” at my hotel after eating a “fresh” fish selected
from a cooler at the night market I decide to curtail fish consumption until I
am near the ocean. My favorite meal, ordering it three times, was grilled duck
sautéed with the sweet Asian spices of anise star, cinnamon and cloves.
The Borobudur Buddhist temple was
built in the 8th century then abandoned. It was re-discovered in the
1800’s which took two months for 200 men to clear the foliage. Now a UNESCO
historical site, it is ranked similar to viewing Anghor Wat temples in
Cambodia.
An eight hour
train ride ($12) and 1 ½ hour van ride up a steep, curvy mountain road lands me
at the Bromo volcano, standing at 7,400’ and erupting every 5 – 10 years. My
first visit to the edge of the smoldering cone of a volcano, I was surrounded
by a sea of ashen, volcanic sand similar to a lunar-like landscape. My van
dropped me off 3k from the cone which meant walking across the crater or taking
a motorcycle, horse or 4WD truck. I chose the motorcycle to travel across the
black, sandy basin. Fortunately, my young driver understood the word “slow”.
Next was a long walk to the stairway of 253 steps, stopping many times since I
was nauseous from the fumes, the altitude and my sick stomach diet of Sprite
and rice for three days. The drive up the mountain was stunning with the
beautiful green carpet and stunning gardens thanks to the fertile volcanic
soil. Never have I seen (or smelled) so many onions.
Strolling
through the unattractive town of Probolinggo while waiting three hours for my
train, I was quite noticed. Greeted by lots of versions of “hello”, I also
agreed to photo requests. Stopping for tea, one woman disappeared after asking
me for a photo. After 10 minutes of attempting chit-chat with her family, she
re-appears. She had dressed up and put on make-up and jewelry for our picture
together. I understood the pictures at the picnic table and with her husband.
Then she wanted our poses in front of their old, beat-up jeep. “One man’s junk,
another man’s jewel”?
A five hour
train ride dropped me at my last city on the island of Java in the port town of
Banyuwangi. My main interest for staying there two nights was the bargain at a
very nice resort and to relax for my birthday. Many days of the antibiotic I
carried with me was not solving the parasites causing havoc in my stomach. An
email to my doctor in the U.S. turned me onto the correct prescription
antibiotic which was so simple to get in Indonesia. The hotel pharmacy called a
drug store with my request and a taxi delivered me. For $20 I got a double dose
of Flagyl in case I need it later in my trip.
A 45 minute
ferry ride landed me on the island of Bali. Parts of Bali are very touristy and
I made the mistake of staying my last two nights in the dirty, noisy beach city
of Seminyak in order to be near the airport.
This also coincided with Chinese New Year which increased the havoc.
Bali’s
population is 90% Hindu religion so temples incense and floral offerings are
rampant. An unusual trait of the Bali Hindu’s are they name their children
(both male and female) in numeric order. First born is Wayan, second is Made,
third is Nyoman, fourth born is Katut, etc. They do not have a family name. At
birth they are given two names, the standard numeric name and a second name
which is unique. Imagine how many cafes are named Wayan Café.
My first stop
in Bali is the northwest beach town of Permutran which is a 30 minute boat ride
to the uninhabited Menjangan Island, location of the clearest water and most
beautiful coral in Bali. The snorkeling day trip included two 50 minute
snorkels with lunch in between. While there were many brightly colored, unique
fish, the coral was the main event.
The next day I
decided to do a bike trip to Bali Barat, the only national forest on the
island. Many thought the 20k one-way trip was too far to ride. After all, since
most homes now have scooters, why make the physical effort to pedal a bike?
Since tours by park rangers are required and I thought the price of $50 to high
for a 1 ½ hour walk and a 1 ½ mangrove boat tour, I skipped it. After all,
there were plenty of monkeys along the highway for me to photograph which
turned into the scariest moment of my trip. While calm for the first few
photos, Papa Monkey charged at me growling and hissing. Thinking back to the
N.Y. women whose face was removed by her neighbors “pet monkey”, I’ve decided
to keep a healthy distance in the future. Later, I met two other women with
monkey stories. One had been bit on the leg, the other one scratched on her
leg.
My bungalow in
Permutran at a guest house was the typical Balinese Hindu carvings with a front
porch for relaxing on a couch or bed. The bedroom was made with fresh flowers.
The bathroom opened to the outdoors with an outside shower faucet spouting from
the mouth of an ox. The price for lodging, meals and massage was a reasonable
$55 per day. The owner’s wife works fulltime as a chef in Greece while he lives
in Bali to raise the children. He drove me on the scenic five hour tour to my
next destination of Ubud. In route I toured a coffee plantation, a waterfall
and viewed the volcanic mountains and rice terraces.
Ubud was made
famous by the movie Eat, Pray, Love played by Julia Roberts. Ubud was her last
destination, finding wisdom from a healer and a lover to bring home. Arriving
on Valentine’s Day, I encountered a busy city with a strong vibe for organic,
yoga, music, healing, green, cultural and artistic. It’s Bali’s cultural heart with many museums,
dance performances and art for sale. My favorite night spot was the Jazz Café. Usually
the artists are local but for Valentines, we had a singer from San Francisco.
Currently my favorite singer is Sam Smith who just won four Grammy’s. Music is
a world-wide language. Listening to a local Indonesian sing Sam’s song of “Say
I’m Crazy” was memorable but also interesting how the locals can sing without
an accent but, cannot speak without an accent.
Speaking of
“green”, I went in search of the Green Village, a high-end private development
of homes constructed all with bamboo. I first learned of Green Village via the
TV show Sixty Minutes. Homes are amazing
at five to six stories, selling for up to $750,000. See http://greenvillagebali.com/. Or,
rent a bamboo home for a week or month at https://www.airbnb.com/rooms/1072746
A fifteen
minute walk brings you to the Green School (http://www.greenschool.org). A
high-end school of grades 1 – 12 with the focus on the environment and
sustainability, it’s like a mini-U.N. The 300 students come from 32 countries,
paying $22,000 per year. If younger than high school, the parents must also
move here. While having lunch there, the most interesting parent I met was a 72
year old woman from Berkeley, CA with a 12 year old son. Yes, she gave birth at
age 60 after marrying a Belize man 22 years younger using invitro
fertilization. Famous in her own right working as an expert at the U.N. on
Israeli-Palestine relations, she was a keynote speaker for the recent
anniversary celebration of the U.N.
Another parent
from California, Jeff gave me a tour of the bamboo home his family rents for
$2,000 per month from the co-owner of the nearby chocolate factory. This three
bedroom house has a swimming pool, moat, outdoor bath but no AC, a necessity
for me in the mid-80’s daily, humid temps. Price tag of house is $500,000 since
it has the unique feature that a foreigner also owns the land which it sits.
Typically, a foreign investor only owns the structure with a right to lease to
the land for 30 – 40 years.
An 18 year old
volunteer intern from Portugal invited me to tour the bamboo village where the
volunteers and high school students live at Green School. I joined the
orientation tour of an 18 year old volunteer from San Francisco. They are
tasked with writing a play and sewing costumes to produce a play for the
children of the Green School. The characters are the various pieces of trash
that eventually end up in the huge cesspool in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.
Next my driver
took me to the organic, natural Chocolate Factory for a tour and samples. The
most incredible feature is the factory is the largest commercial bamboo
structure in the world. The owners hale from Asheville, Oregon.
In Ubud, my
homestay is at Nirvana, owned by a famous retired artist. Having lived and
taught around the world, Nyoman Yoyo has also taught at Boulder University and
the Smithsonian in D.C. At one point, he owned an art gallery in Santa Fe. So
for my last day I decide to take a Batik painting course taught by his
apprentice. New to the world of Batik, it’s a multi-step process using hot
beeswax, paint and paraffin. The final steps are adding a fixative, washing in
soap then boiling in water to melt the wax and paraffin. My six hours of labor resulted in my
masterpiece to match the outdoor furniture on my back porch. The nice thing
about Batik is you can toss it in the water and wash it, whenever.
My strolls
around the city of Ubud always created a mental debate of which is less
dangerous, walking on the decrepit sidewalks or walking at the edge of the
narrow, busy streets. Often, I braved being hit by a crazy tourist on a scooter
versus falling several feet below to the city sewer. The sidewalk plates were
often missing or, placed lopsided. It brought memories of Jack Nicholson in the
movie as the obsessive-compulsive who did not step on side-walk cracks.
Speaking of scary, Ubud has a Monkey Jungle in the center of town. So happy my
new camera has a nice zoom feature!
After three
weeks in Indonesia, my next stop is the Philippines via an over-night in a
lounge chair in the Singapore airport. I’ve marked another country off my list.
Indonesia was interesting, hot and often crowded. The people were very nice but
for me, too many tourists have discovered Bali.
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