The Volcano
Em, Azim and I visited Jogjakarta in Central Java for the first time early last 2006.
We were smitten by the place. Its history, courtly culture, epic natural scenery and by the warmth and graciousness of the Javanese people themselves.
We visited airy palaces in Solo, rode mischievous Java ponies, examined the ancient monument of Borobodur, trekked, ate and generally enjoyed the scenery.
On the ride to the airport at the end of what felt like far too a short trip, I eyed Gunung Merapi, the smoking volcano that stands guard over Jogjakarta and said to Em, “next time we come here, I’ve got to climb that!” Em eyed me back, a little torn between wanting to return to Jogja and wanting to put a dangerously deranged husband straight.
Well, within a year we had returned. We had taken the opportunity to have a few days off, a chance to travel before the bun is done, and to try, as always, to just get a little change in perspective. This time we came with my parents.
After the marathon in December, I had taken to climbing Bukit Shahbandar, two rounds in each weekly session, and taking the boys out for long mountain bike rides in the hills between Rimba and Jerudong. I was fairly fit, but had been enjoying my food a bit much, so had a little trepidation in thinking about the climb and my expanding waist.
On the first day we toured Jogjakarta. We started with a trip to the Kraton, or palace, of the Sultan of Jogjakarta. It was quite pleasant, a string of wide-open pendopo’s or pavilions, built around groomed lava sand squares.
We watched expertly conducted Javanese dances and inspected quiet halls displaying gifts to the palace. A pity the artifacts of state were not on show, having been damaged in last year’s earthquake. It was never the less a fascinating first look at Javanese court culture.
Court Dancers
The Kraton is located on a straight line between the summit of Merapi and the coastal site of Parangitis, all of these locations important to one another and the region of Central Java.
Kraton
Legend has it that the founding (pre-Islamic) King of the Region, Senopati entered into a pact with the “Queen of the South Seas”, Ratu Kidul. In return for his devotions, she would provide protection and guidance. The story goes that Senopati was taught warfare and statecraft by the Queen in her underwater lair off the southern coast.
Successive Mataram Kings have continued in their devotion. Every year on the anniversary of the Kings coronation offerings and prayers are given, at the Kraton, on the south coast and on the slopes of Merapi.
People are quite fascinated by Ratu Kidul. At beach resorts on the south coast, bathers are reminded not to wear green. It is the colour of the Queen and wearing it will encourage her to take you as her subject in her underwater kingdom.
The previous Sultan of Jogjakarta is quoted as saying that she ages with the moon being young and beautiful when the moon is at the start of its phase.
Some may cluck with disapproval at such goings on, but I am not one to judge. It also makes for a colourful history.
We visit the Water Palace, man-made pools built by 17th Century Kings. One place that I wanted to visit, but which was closed by reason of earthquake damage, was the “coiled well”. This is an underground chamber, built to mirror Ratu Kiduls underwater palace, designed for monarchial assignations with the Kingdoms spiritual protector.
Water Palace aka Taman Sari
Apart from the history and culture, Jogjakarta is a lively low-rise city, home to a number of universities. I appreciate the quiet dignity and gentle manners of the Javanese, which gives way great exuberance and love of life. The Javanese do love their art, dancing and music, not to mention their food.
We lunched at “Sriyati Fried Chicken”, recommended by the hotel. Real local style. We had a whole fried chicken- beak, feet and all. A whole deep fried ikan gurami. Lontong, nasi goreng, soto ayam and the batter from the chicken.
Sriyati Remains
After lunch, we visited the Affandi Mueseum. I think that Affandi is one of the 20th Centuries great artists. His impressionist work is captivating. His former house, now the museum, contains some paintings that can genuinely be said to contain the heart and soul of the artist. A tortured sensitive soul, who expresses on canvas life as he sees it, directly, without filtration.
The Affandi Museum
My dear Pater, on Javanese painters, prefers Basoeki Abdullah and thinks that Affandi is overrated, and much too fond of his misery. Each to his own I guess.
We finished off a fine day with a Rijstafel, back at our hotel, Amanjiwo.
Rijstafel Dinner
The following day was the day of my climb. The idea is that you set off at 11 at night from the hotel to drive to Selo, the highest village on the slope of Merapi. You climb from midnight to reach the summit by dawn, when the skies are clearest. At any other time, there is a risk of the summit being obscured by cloud.
We planned a restful day. A picnic breakfast and a pony cart ride around the desas surrounding Borobodur. Em and I ate lunch and napped by the pool, all the while glancing with a little trepidation at the smoking volcano in the distance.
From left, Gunung Merbabu, Gunung Merapi, Babu & Pater
Lunch By The Pool
The hotel provided one guide and two porters. This may seem like a lot for just one climber, but someone was needed to carry breakfast. To paraphrase a favorite saying from my footballing days, “it doesn’t matter if you climb the mountain or not, so long as it is done in style.”
I was counseled to remember to always memberi salam, to seek permission to take a path, and to pass through without disturbing people, or things. Thus appropriately prepared, my little expedition set off for our mid-night climb.
It was a quite pleasant climb, in a cool clear night. As we climbed higher, the lights of Central Java spread out and sparkled below us like a blanket of stars. The huge shadow of the next volcano, Merbabu seemed to loom over us at first but not as we climbed higher.
We climbed quickly, stopping only twice. Our experienced guide seemed to lose the track at one point. Being quite an active volcano, landslides and eruptions change the topography of the slope, so tracks further up come and go.
Closer to the top, the winds picked up and clouds threatened to move in. The guide said that if it rained, we would not be able to make the summit because of the threat of landslides. It seems however that we were smiled upon. As we reached the plateau on the last leg to the summit, the winds died and the clouds cleared.
We reached the plateau of Pasar Bubra in a good time of 3 hours. We rested in a little nook of rocks till 4 am for the final push to the crater rim, having a bit of tea and cake.
Picnic At 3am
We clambered up the final leg along quite a difficult, almost vertical wall. Loose stones and rocks also made it a little hairy at times, as you had to make sure that the rocks you are holding did not come away. Near the summit cracks in the rock vented hot sulphurous gasses, and some parts were hot to touch.
Sulphur Stains
The very top, Garuda peak, was reached by 5 am, where we spent an hour to sunrise. I do hate to be corny, but it was otherworldly. Hot gasses swirled around the summit, but it was completely silent. The sulphur smelt like a match being struck. I looked into the crater, dropping away deep into the mountain so the bottom could not be seen, steaming gas.
Garuda Peak
Garuda Peak
I was reminded of the joke of the American who looks down into the crater of the volcano in the Philippines and drawls, “Gee, it sure looks like hell down there’, whereupon the Philipino guide retorts, “these Americans get everywhere.”
We came off the summit before the cloud moved in, back to Pasar Bubrah. The descent was actually a lot more terrifying than the ascent, because in the daylight you can actually see how far you will fall if you get it wrong.
It would not have been an Aman outing without a meal with stunning views. At Pasar Bubrah, we had a picnic on a precipice, of tea, brownies and smoked salmon foccacia.
Smoke Salmon Sandwiches
I returned to the hotel by 10, to a rather happy Em, and my parents who had returned, by elephant, from a tour of Borobodur. We shared adventure stories over breakfast and finally slept. That night we ate nasi goreng at a roadside warung, rounding off a memorable trip to Java.
Feeding The Elephants
