A mystery Tour

A Weekend Trip


We have just returned from a Javanese wedding in Malang. It really was a mystery tour, we never knew from one minute to the next what we were doing next apart from spending a long time in the mini bus; 16 hours each way. In that time we could have flown to Paris and back.

Even accounting for our difficulty with the Indonesian language, planning and management are not one of Indonesia’s strong points, trying to work out who was in charge was even more difficult. There were two mini buses and a station wagon carrying 19 people with one or more of the vehicles being lost at anyone time. In our bus there were 5 women and 3 men. Some of the women knew the right way to go but the male driver and his co pilot seemed to have the view that women are stupid and seemed to do deliberately the opposite to what the women suggested . It was only when we were completely lost that the men stopped and asked another man the directions while the women chuckled in the back seat.

Time means nothing in Indonesia. WE were supposed to leave at 6.00pm but did not get away until 6.45 pm. There were numerous stops along the way. First just an hour from Yogya there was a strange noise coming from the engine. We stopped and the so did the others. The men all listened and shone torches on the engine for about 30 minutes until the driver called his base and we waited for an hour for a replacement vehicle.

We watched as hundreds of adolescent boys, wearing punk T shirts, earrings, spiked hair and ragged jeans walked passed, some carrying Indonesian flags.

I asked what were they protesting about. “They are not protesting they are going to a rock concert, a famous band from Jakarta are playing”

By 9.00pm the replacement mini bus arrived and we traveled about 1 km. We had to stop for Makan.

Eating on the pavement

A simple affair sitting cross legged on a mat on the pavement, eating rice, grilled fish and chicken With our hands (right hand of course). Annick and I had some difficulty both sitting and getting the food to our mouth.

We continued on through the night with thousands of trucks, cars and motor bikes almost bumper to bumper 500 km on the main highway to Surabaya skirting several volcanoes on the way. WE arrived at Malang at 5.00am slept for 3 hours in a hotel and we were on our way the wedding.

The Muslim wedding was between one of my work colleagues and his girlfriend who he had been living with for some time. We arrived at the house of the bride, there were hundreds of people sitting at tables under a marquee and the pre wedding speeches had begun. It appeared that the guests of the bride were seated and the groom stood solemnly with a long line of his guests behind him. It looked like a battle with two armies facing each other. The speakers from the bride’s side were welcoming the groom and his supporters while the speakers from the groom.s side were accepting the welcome and telling the brides supporters what a good bloke the groom was.

The groom was dressed in a silver grey suit with the Nehru type hat and silver grey slippers to match. The bride was no where to be seen! I thought maybe she has changed her mind. Well that was not the case. When the speeches were finished the groom escorted by several of his closest friends proceeded to a room in the house where they sat on the floor around a low table. All was quiet as they waited and then suddenly the bride appeared, she looked as all brides do, stunning. She had an exquisite batik long skirt with a tight fitting white lace blouse. A lace veil covered her face. There were tears in her eyes as she sat not next to her husband to be but next to the official celebrant.

After a what appeared to be an exchange of vows there was the signing of the contract

And there two teary people exchange rings and returned to the marquee where the supporters of both clans were seated and busy devouring food.

All kinds of exotic food was being dispensed by an army of servants. A variety of soups. meatballs vegetables, rice, chicken, chili and noodles was eagerly consumed followed by an exotic fruit salad.

As quickly as the food was eaten the guests left and that was that as the bride and groom quietly disappeared.

Plaster cast policeman on duty

After the wedding at 1.00pm the group said we were going to visit an island would we like to come or would we prefer to stay at the hotel. They said would we like to change our clothes. It never occurred to us that we were doing anything else but attend the wedding so we did not have any other appropriate clothes; Annick in her crisp white skirt and white top and me in my best cotton trousers and white shirt.

Back in the minibus Annick and I looked like those statues of the bride and groom you see on wedding cakes while the others looked like they were ready for a beach party.

Just on dusk we arrived at a rather grubby fishing village on the edge of a river. We were told that we would stay the night and then take a boat to the island the next day.

Before finding a place to stay we had to have makan. We walked up a muddy track for half a kilometer to a warung elevated a foot above the sloshy track on the edge of a village. In the twilight the food arrived, a couple of inky squid on a mound of rice with some chili. Looking at the food ,I knew instinctively that it was the wrong thing to do, but I ate the squid even though I could not see if the black stuff was burnt ketchup mannis or squid ink.
The group was concerned that Annick and I did not have appropriate clothing for the expedition so we dropped in to the village to see what was on offer. Annick refused point blank to buy anything as she refused the squid. I found a pair of shorts, navy blue

With white stripes and in looking for a T shirt I had a bit of an argument with Annick about the colour, she rejected out right the bright orange one. I said “what does it matter it is only for a day” but she protested strongly from her French style point of view.

Not wanting to cause a scene I went along with the insipid light blue one , which I knew was a mistake.

After the shopping and the food it was now completely dark, no I mean black. We sloshed our way back to the river’s edge to our holiday hotel. Not many foreign tourists come here, even the Michelin guide people haven’t been here and as far as star ratings this place would not even rate as a candle flicker let alone half a star if there is such a thing.

The walls were a soft pink colour with stains that looked like squid ink but the sheets were clean. AT 6.30 pm We had a mandi(bath) and then I tried on my new outfit. The shorts were ok apart from being a trifle long but the t shirt, which matched perfectly with the shorts, according to the only fashion expert in range, was a bit of a struggle to get into and when I finally had it on it was so tight I could hardly breath and so hot that I was sweating profusely.

After a tug of war getting the damn thing off we dropped in to bed. IT was a bout 3.00 am that I stirred, my stomach was writhing ,I could not remember at the twilight dinner whether the squid I ate was alive or dead, but now it was certainly alive and struggling to get out, but which end was it going to come out. I quickly jumped out of bed and rand to the toilet or I should say the footprints on the floor and tightly closed my mouth

Cutting off at least one exit for the inky squid. Oh, what a relief. Back to bed about an hour later an encore performance.

I drifted back to oblivion until 5.45 am there was a knock on the door. Are you ready we are going to the island.

The sun was just peeking over the horizon as we had breakfast of rice and chicken, I gave the squid a wide berth and just settled for coffee.

The African Queen

We walked down to the waters edge as and climbed the gangplank on to a boat.

The boat a traditional Indonesian canoe like structure had a diesel engine mounted high on one of the cross beams with a long shaft that poked out of the stern.

It should start soon!

This was an amazing piece of machinery that Rudolf Diesel would have been proud of.

Rrunning perfectly

Diesel invented his now famous engine in 1898 for the small artisan and farmers so that these ordinary people could compete with the steam driven machinery of big business of the day. In fact Diesel’s first engine was designed to run on peanut oil. The socially conscious inventor’s vision was that with his engine the farmer could grow his own fuel and hence reduce his cost of crop production.

Engine tied on with rope

The Indonesian fishermen driven by tradition still build boats like they have always done but in stead of using wooden paddles for propulsion they now use a single cylinder diesel engine that is bolted to a long shaft. This shaft can be lowered in to the water

through the stern of the boat simply by using gravity, once the shaft is lowered a rubber strap is used to hold it down. When coming into shallow water the strap is released, the shaft floats up and a wooden peg is place underneath to hold it up. In addition the section of the shaft with the propeller out side the boat has a metal hook like structure tied to the upper side of the shaft to prevent the propeller from cutting into the hull of the boat if it is still rotating while being raised.

Propellor raised for shallow water

In order to achieve flexibility in raising lowering of the shaft, the entire engine and shaft assembly is roped on the cross beam of the boat.

The engine is started using a hand crank and the throttle cable consists of a length of fishing line that the skipper tensions with his big toe. Because there is a slit in the stern to lower the shaft means that some water from the sea sloshed into the boat. This problem is solved in two ways. Firstly the pipe sucking the cooling water for the engine is placed in the bilge and secondly if needed a hand bilge pump is operated by one of the crew to keep the level of the water at an acceptable level.

The big toe controls the throttle

The floating rudder can be raised and lowered by hand through a platform in the stern. When fully down the rudder is held loosely in place with a piece of rope. In many ways these fishing boats resemble the Australian surf boats and can maneuvered in to shallow water.

When all of the 19 people were on board the crew pushed off and cranked the amazing diesel into life and we vibrated forward passed the island into the open sea passing fishing boats returning to land after fishing in the night.

Returning to the quiet waters we came ashore on the white sandy beach of the island.

The sight of some of the Muslim women swimming and splashing about in the water fully clothed with the Hijab was something you don’t commonly see at Manly beach.

The water was warm and clear an a pleasant relief from hours of driving. After we had changed our clothes off we went back to Malang. Again we became lost in the back streets and then pulled into a Macdonald’s.

This was the last straw. But to my surprise we just used the car park and crossed the street to an ice cream shop. This shop was really a restaurant that has been here since 1930, standing proud between two Christian churches. It is owned by a Chinese family and the décor is art deco, with large black and white photographs on the wall.

While the girls came for the ice cream we came for the food and a beer.


The trip back was long and arduous. Heavy rain was falling and the rivers were swollen and fast moving. At one point we had to stop. A bridge over the river was sagging when it should have between rigid. A bus coming the other way emptied itself of passengers and crossed the bridge empty while the passengers trotted along behind.
Well after midnight we arrived in an empty Jogyakarta after travelling 1,000 km tired but with our head full of a million images of people and places.

They say yes with tears intheir eyes