Misc.

Bugs
There are no bugs here at Hotel Sarangan.  Oh, certainly outside there are, but very few mosquitoes indeed, and inside there are none.  I take it back, we did have one house fly.  Now there's something.  These house flies are the fastest flies I've ever tried to clap.  Can't get 'em, just too fast.  It's in the genes.

Entertainment
Had a wonderful time today, returning from lunch, walking by a hotel with some live Javanese entertainment.  Someone showed us in, another gave us a front row seat.  He turned out to be one of the musicians, and gave us drinks and snacks.  One of the drinks was arak Jawa (Java wine).  When the music stopped for a moment I was able to ask what percent?  About 30.  It was kind of wierd, we were almost as much entertainment as the entertainers.  It was a big tent full of chairs and the people were sitting all around the perimeter.  Most of the place was empty, room for another 50 to 100 people, and we were front and center.  After the set completed we excused ourselves, thanking everyone, shaking hands with everyone.  Really kind of fun.  And the real entertainment was Javanese vocalists with an electronic band that somewhat mimicked a gamalan jawa, but not.  It was a real treat.  This link will give you the flavor of the entertainment, add in another slinky woman, and middle aged jokester, a bit pudgy.  This particular song happens to be very very popular.  And they have been partying like that since noon (now 11PM), with the amplifiers blasting their music and antics all through the town.

Who's the entertainment?
After we leave the show we run into a gaggle of elementary school girls, who are of course quite surprised to see Occidentals in their midst.  Further surprised, when they are to shy to open their mouths, that I tell them in Indonesian who we are, where we're from, etc.  One responds with "tidak mengerti Ingris" (I don't understand English).  So now we're the entertainment.  Lets all gather round for a picture taking session with the kids and some of the parents.  Kind of fun.  Really.  Actually we go through this sort of thing on smaller scale nearly every other day.  Occidentals in an out of the way place, what the hell are we doing here anyway?  Well they don't really approach us like that, really it's always a very pleasant exchange.  We're sort of ambassadors of good will here, and it's very easy to do since everyone is sooo nice.

Shine
So I asked Juari at the hotel (He's usually the guy that waits on us.  We'll call him our butler.) about the arak 60 proof.  Not sold in stores, but 2.50USD can get you a bottle if you know who to ask.  We scored some, and I'm going to sample it in just a few...

Hand Shakes
There is a wonderful approach to handshaking here.  We in the West grip hard and manly, as if to say I'm just as strong as you, so don't mess with me.  Some might say the intent is not that, but rather to show sincerity.  You mean we equate strength and sincerity, is that it?  Anyway, the handshake is an Islamic thing.  After shaking hands softly, sometimes grasping the other's had with both hands, very gently, then the right hand is brought to ones own heart, as if to take a part of your friend and place it in your heart.  Children are taught an even more endearing approach, they will take your hand and brush it against their cheek.  The first time experiencing a child's handshake is really very heartwarming.  It was really a surprise too, I must admit, that a devout Muslim family would ask their children to shake our hands in such a way.

Taste Test
It goes down like brandy, smells like brandy but kind of like gin too.  So, no wine here, but we do have brandy, of sorts.

Holidays
Tomorrow is begins a long weekend for all of Indonesia.  The 17th is "Kenaikan Isa Al Masih" (The Ascension of Christ), and the next day is " Sesudah Kenaikan Isa Al Masih" (After The Ascension of Christ).  Yup, we're talking really Christian here.  We are really trying to maintain a pluralistic society here, this is a government holiday, and the banks are closed too.  Big doin's all weekend here.

Other updates

State of Affairs
Well, now that we have the Internet here we need to ensure we don't bruise the eyes and ears.

Censorship when it counts

While 6 o'clock news clearly depicts bodies dragged from the wreckage of a highway accident, here with this jet crash we're not allowed?  Note the "Oops" on what otherwise would have been a video clip.  So, two theories, 1 - important people are involved,  2 - big money is involved.  Will we ever know?

We'll Get to See Bali Yet

Our visa extension was a bit touch-and-go there for a while, but the folks at the very new Madiun Imigrasi office decided we really did not need to return to Jakarta, where our sponsor lives, to process the extension.  We could email back and forth the form he needs to file.  How could you not extend the visas for an old couple finding grandchildren to match the 30 year old photos of their grandparents, where no other photos exist, and photos of adults when they were children and no one could afford a camera?  Back to the office on the 23rd of May and we should be good-to-go.

Food

I have yet to find any sambal olek like they used to have, like what we can get in the US. Now we are finding some stuff from Delmonte more like Ketchup.

Friends Found

We found Mami, the woman that cooked and cleaned for me for about a year.  It was the old guy I met on the street that said he knew her and my driver, Murjono.  Murjono was not the deceased husband of the woman across the street, but that woman took my photo of Mami with her daughters and delivered it.  The next day Mami is escorted to our room by our hotel manager.  Wow!

Her two daughters are now living in Surabaya, and a son is elsewhere, sending mom a few bucks.  Mami is in pretty rough shape, still cooking, apparently selling the stuff she makes, with no pension.  We may learn more later.  She showed her right elbow to me, just the shape of it covered by her sleeve, it seems to have healed wrongly from a break.  Missing quite a few front teeth, probably diabetes, maybe glaucoma or cataracts.  She puts things close to her face to focus.  This'll make anyone cry, even if you didn't know her at 32.  She was a tough one, as strong woman.  She really stormed out of the place when I told her she needed to stay and cook during Ramadan.  What the hell did I know then?  

We've determined that we're about the same age.  Now she, like so many is sporting the Indonesian Jilbab, headscarf.  I really want to know how and when she made this transition.  We're to meet again Saturday at three.  And while assembling this post, I just figured out that when Mami was telling me something that included the word "Titing", which I could not find in the dictionary, she was referring to her daughter; that's her, the taller of the sisters, and her sister Setiowati is the shorter.  You, or at least I do, feel just so guilty, you've got to help somehow.  Why should I be so healthy and she, well, she probably doesn't have as many years left as I do.  We gave her about a month's income, the least I can do.  I'm hesitant to give handouts - I don't want to kill her pride.  I'd bring them all home if I thought they could survive the loneliness.

PLEASE DON'T FEED THE ANIMALS

sorry about the quality reduction to get these clips uploaded.

to Solo

Added a video at the bottom.  Sorry for the quality and size, the originals are in HD.  Bummer.  But I have a bit of difficulty uploading anything larger than about 3 Meg.


We took a trip over Gunung Lawu to Solo (Surakarta for short) to get Pat's heart med's. Two hours each way.  First to the hospital which I selected from my research on the web because it has a kardiak (see, you already know some Indonesian) unit including a half dozen specialists.  We had tried a number of drug stores back when we were in Madiun just to check availability and had no luck with one particular drug.  Later we bought some in Magetan, at a drug store directly across from the local hospital, and got all but two.  So we're off to Solo.  A few weeks back we had a nice conversation with two of the owners of Hotel Sarangan, where we currently reside.  He and his brother and sister inherited the old hotel which his father built during colonial times.  Very nice fellows, Pak Wicaksono and Pak Wimoko.  Coincidentally  Wicaksono has a son-in-law, in Surabaya, who is a heart specialist, who has promised to help us if we run into difficulties.  So, I said we'd make an honest attempt to do this ourselves.  

Akung, working here at the hotel, has a buddy, Budi who has an '80's vintage Toyota van and he'll chauffeur us.  $35 round trip; we bought him lunch too.

After a visit to the hospital, you see we must have a prescription form a doc at the hospital to get med's in their pharmacy.  I figured that hospital would be our best bet, kardiak unit and all.  So we went to a recommended drug store first; maybe they'd take Pat's American doctor prescription.  The others did.  Well, they didn't have the stuff anyway, so back to the hospital.  We'll talk to the doc and get a new prescription.  The girl at the info desk escorts us personally to where we need to go to get in line.  There are dozens of people in this room, maybe fifty.  They bump us to the head of the line.  Actually there was no apparent line, but we got our form (name and address) filled our right away, and she escorts us to another building across the way.  We wait maybe five minutes for the doc to arrive and in we go.  Well, it's not the doc yet, but a nurse who gives Pat an EKG.  Then we wait another five and we see the doc.  We chat, the usual about how I can speak Indonesian.  The conversation is half English and Half Indonesian.  A very nice guy, he writes the script and has a nurse call to see if the hospital pharmacy has the drugs, which they don't.  So we're off to the first of the drug stores he's recommended.  (Oh, and the bill for the EKG and consultation was about 17 USD.)  

Fortunately our driver is fairly familiar with Solo, so getting around is not a problem.  Without him, jumping in and out of taxis would have been a bit of a struggle.  The first place has one drug but not the other.  OK, we'll get one.  So off to the next store.  They have both, and the pharmacist is very nice, patient with my limited language skills.  I have to be creative with my limited vocabulary, stop the conversation when necessary, and repeat my understanding in my very simple terms so I know what the hell we're talking about.

We're good.  We got all the drugs and the pharmacist, she was so nice, caught the fact that the previous place only filled half the quantity for the one drug, and filled it too.  Thank goodness, 'cause we did not catch it.

On the way to lunch we passed by Solo Inn, a white colonial facade.  It was the only place in town in the old days, now shamed by all the others, glass and stainless steel.  Marty Johnson and I drove to the Solo Inn on a Saturday from Magetan, three hours each way, to get a hamburger, the closest place available.  I'm sure I still have a picture of the occasion.  You really need to want a burger to spend six hours to get it.

Lunch this time was good, nice shrimp, bihun goreng, and a beer.  We asked about finding a place where we could get a bottle of wine and all we got were laughs.  And we're off, on the return trip.

These trips are always exciting, everything we see is marvelous in some way or other.  And, we made it home safely.  Budi is a safe driver, and we are thankful and will hire him again.

Here's a video of some of the shacks along the way as we near Solo.

A day in the life

Up to catch the sunrise.

sunrise Sarangan, May 20 minutes compressed to 1

sunrise, Sarangan May 2012

One lap around the lake with the monyet-monyet.

keluarga monyet, Sarangan

Makan pagi (breakfast) in our room.

service first, Hotel Sarangan, Sarangan

A little web stuff, like this blog.

Trip to Magetan to get some cash, once a week.

minibus/taxi ride to Magetan

passing through Plaosan

Makan siang (lunch) at the local "Chinese" restoran.

Pat likes the food

Kim likes the food

inside out

Daftar Makanan (menu)

ikan mas goreng (Golden Fried Fish)

Chat with the locals.

Adelia and Dea (background)

 Pak Kamidin, near his home, Sarangan

Afternoon mandi (shower).

Study Bahasa (language).

Makan malam (dinner) at the hotel restoran.

dining hall, Hotel Sarangan

Study more.

Bedtime.

nightlife, Sarangan, actually most nights are quite dead

Hotel Sarangan, our room

Hotel Sarangan is likely the oldest hotel in Sarangan and is yet relatively well maintained.  It's in my view something of a monument to the grace and charm of Sarangan of years gone by (as they say).  It's all about the service, there's hotels, and there's hotels with service.  We've got service.  Pick up the intercom and they'll make it happen, whatever you want, and if they can't, they'll get as close as they can.  Hotel Sarangan aims to please.  Yeah, it's a bit rustic, but it was rustic 30 years ago, so I expected it.  I must say that it does surprise me the lack of bugs in our room.  Anyway here's what we get, visually.

We're running this video at low res, 2x speed to reduce the file size.  Hopefully we can get it uploaded.

our place, Hotel Sarangan, Sarangan 2012

More clearly expressed

This article describes the life in Jakarta for the poor better than I ever could.  The DVD is probably worth it for those with a serious interest, not in English, but the visuals are probably fantastic.
kim

Connections in East Java

good day for uploads.  all done.

We've made contact with a few people whose images I stole photographically those 28 or so years ago.

Formerly at Hotel Indah, Madiun we found
Sri - still working at Hotel Indah,
Martono - taught me Indonesian, now selling snack food via bicycle,
Mamat - now at Hotel Indah, Sarangan
and Rakimin - at Hotel Imelda, Magetan.

Now, it might be interesting to note that Sri and Martono who worked in Hotel Indah for at least 28 years have seen no apparent advancement in their positions.  And similarly for Mamat and Rakimin, although at different hotels seem not to have advanced.  Why is that?  In economic schools labor costs are said to be sticky, they move more slowly than other prices.  I'll say so!  And Martono with the most potential, with the additional language skill, survives on his snack food sales.  So what happens if they want to retire?  Here's the deal on Indonesian Social Security.  None of these people are eligible because the hotel had less than 10 employees.  Old age benefits are paid in periodic payments if the total fund accrued is greater than approx $5000 USD.  Not sure if there are any real benefits here, looks like nothing I'd want, for sure.  One of the owners of the Hotel Sarangan, a retired physician, explained that the SS benefit is too small to live on.



Rakimin, Sri, Juni, Kim, Martono 1983

??, Sri, Martono, Kim 2012

laptop image - Rakimin 3rd from left

In Magetan we found

the grandmother of Okti,

Karsini's mother,

and Sukarman and Augustri, father and son, just as they were but a bit older now.

Pak Sukarman and anak Augustri '83 

 Sukarman and Augustri at home (inside their store), Magetan 2012

Pak Sukarman at his store front, Magetan 2012

In Sarangan we found Pak (Mr.) Sukiman working at Hotel Sarangan, same as he did 45 years ago.  Now 69, and not quite as robust, he cleans the front office.  He told he how when the Japanese were here, just how savagely they treated Indonesians.  running hard labor camps, kicking those who could not keep up the pace of work and denying them any clothing.  The Dutch came back after the war and were welcomed by many, given the harsh treatment by the Japanese.

Pak Sukiman, Hotel Sarangan, Sarangan '83  

Pak Sukiman, Hotel Sarangan, Sarangan 2012 

We met Risky, her parents (Mr. Suwandi), and siblings, living in the house I once did, with the aid of Anik. We met Anik on the street a half block from my house, and told her we were looking for my old house in Magetan.  Amazingly Anik (I had no photo of her) had remembered me, thought I was Dutch, but remembered the house where I lived.  She was 15 at the time.  She lived, and still does just a few doors east from Jl Diponogoro 21A, Kota Magetan, where Risky and family now live.  Risky's father, Mr. Suwandi is in the leather finishing business.  Magetan is known as the leather capital in these parts, and you can find numerous websites displaying their products.

kim and Anik, Magetan 2012

Suwandi and family (Risky - rightmost), at home, Magetan 2012 

Mamat, from Hotel Indah, Madiun, was 18 at the time of the original photo ('83).  He married in '87 just like me, and like me he has a step child.  At the time, '83, I thought he was much younger.  It has been said that Indonesians are naive, childlike.  That really was the case then.

Sri, Juni, Kim, Rakimin, Mamat, Hotel Indah, Madiun '83

Mamat, Hotel Indah, Sarangan 2012

Karsini is now 53 with two sons Dani 14 and Arif 19.  Arif was quick to connect with Pat on Facebook.  Her mother was caught on film with an expression of a mixture of anger, fear, and surprise.  I hope it was mostly surprise.  Maybe Karsini can tell us.

Dani, Karsini, Arif, at their shop, Magetan 2012   

Karikem Ibu Karsini, Magetan '83 

Okti and her husband run a small photo shop on Jl. Diponogoro, Magetan. We were getting photo's printed for Risky and Anik, and group of men with whom we shared the old photos on my laptop.  So we had time to kill.  There's always time to kill when in Indonesia.  People are the warmest, open hearted of any on earth; part of that naivete, I suppose.  So, we shared the laptop photos with Okti while Sonny did the printing and quick touch-ups.  You can tell he's skilled at this, he knows just what contrast and color intensities usually work for nice skin tones and beautiful scenery.  He does portraits in his shop, and along with selling what you would expect in a photo shop, there's bottled water, flashlights, and a lot more.  Okti was quite surprised to find my photo of her nenek (grandmother).  Wow, just the kind of thing I'd hoped for.  It may be only the second photo of her.

nenek Okti, Mageta '83

Sonny Okti and son, their shop, Magetan '2012

Okti recognized her friend Aline Isadhora who was 5 or 6 in this picture.  Now she's 35, living near Magetan, with a 9 year old daughter.  She has not mentioned anything about a husband.  Aline and I are back and forth with email so we may learn more later.

Aline Isadhora (left) and friend, Magetan '83  

So what has happened in nearly 30 years?

Refrigeration, clothes washers and dryers, bottled water, shopping malls, packaged snack food, multinational chain restaurants, inexpensive motor scooters, cellphones and towers, ATM's, Facebook, ice cubes with purified Refrigeration, clothes washers and dryers, bottled water, shopping malls, packaged snack food, multinational chain restaurants, inexpensive motorscooters, cellphones and towers, ATM's, Facebook, ice cubes with purified water, toilet paper, covered sewers, western toilets, less deisel exhaust, less crazy bus drivers (haven't seen a one), window screen (sometimes), increased emphasis on Islam, stainless steel railings are very popular.

What's missing now?
becak are not so many, traditional Javanese sarong, bihun goreng (still exists, but with less vegetables), shrimp (I think the export price must be better than domestic prices), quiet nights in Sarangan are not so many, view of valley unobstructed by cell towers, slow Javanese pace.

I guess the sum total of the changes is better, but for me the feeling in the air is less, and I attribute it to the increased emphasis on Islam, and the resulting political conflict, and the faster life pace.  Does this sound familiar to anyone living in the US?  Just substitute Christianity for Islam?  I am wondering if Rupert Murdoch is running an Indonesian news outlet, maybe he's got a chain of mosques?  In the past the outward gestures were more humanistic, without the Muslim religiosity.  There were certainly mosques, and imams on loudspeakers, and there were a few Islamic schools, and some women and men wearing conservative Muslim dress, easily less than 10%, even in rather remote areas like Sarangan.  Today we see conservative dress everywhere on nearly 50% of the women usually with scarfs, and mosques have increased at least 5-fold.  The odd part of that is the men are not wearing traditional sarongs rather, Western pants and t-shirts.  Maybe not so odd, huh.

Sarangan, finally here

got pix, videos low quality due to connection.

The ride here was interesting, let us say. I had figured, no problem, ask at the hotel desk for a taxi, and away we go.  Well, do I know the phone number for the taxi company in Madiun?  What?  The girl at the front desk talks to me like I'm a native speaker so I get about a word per sentence.  The gist is, no can do, but if we throw our bags in the back of this LTH shipping truck he'll take us to the bus depot, just down the road.  OK, if that's the deal, then that's it. The bus ride is way the hell and gone again, and when we get there there's a bunch of old minivans, the drivers are vying for who gets to take us.  We get a guy with a very old Mitsubishi Colt, same era as '83, engine underneath the front bench seat.  I sit in front and Pat's in the middle row with the bags, windows slid open, taking a few pix along the way.  The driver takes some short cuts to get back to approximately where we came from before resuming the uphill trek.  These roads, the shortcuts are not lined with shops, rather paddy, rows of vegetables, or cane.
The old uphill road is now half again wider with strips and guard rails.  Wow!  Actually I knew that from viewing youtube videos more than a year ago.  The section with the switch-backs, 10 or so, is a piece of cake now.

shortcut north of Magetan

New Magetan Sarangan road, guardrail and everything, reflectors

Virtually no change to Hotel Sarangan, unbelievable. Hotel Sarangan, old but fairly well maintained, and a few upgrades - western toilets, hot water (a little slow), and shower heads.  And a bunch of cell towers disturbing the  horizon. Why put them there?

Handi @ Hotel Sarangan '80's, same as today (new yellow color )

Pat looks out over the lake and beyond to the distant volcanoes shrouded by clouds and says, we're in paradise.  Maybe a snap decision.  Sarangan is a tourist town, know all over Indonesia but not much elsewhere, so we will likely be the only occidentals here.  Some Dutch tourists pop in now and then to see where Grandpa headed up the colonial farm.

We've decided to take our morning mile walk, plus the 100yd down and up the mountain side, as the sun comes up to avoid the mayhem of tourists and vendors crowding the way.  Well it was Sunday after all, and a holiday weekend to boot.  The east end of the lake is like a dinky Daytona-boardwalk, and the rest of the lake's perimeter is lined with food stalls.  On the lake are about a dozen 14 foot fiberglass boats sporting 40HP outboards thrilling the adolescent passengers and disturbing the lovebirds in the plastic swan boats.  Lots of noise lakeside. 

But up here at the hotel it's really not bad, kind of entertaining, not too loud. And weekdays the boat rides have virtually stopped, and those that did run today took it very slowly.  No throngs of people and no indo-pop blaring.  We're alone here at the hotel.  I think the  30 or so hotels here are probably running each 2 guests tops.  Hard to know how they stay in business.


Sukiman is 69,
has worked at Hotel Sarangan 45 years,
grows veggies to eat and his wife sells.

Sukiman 1983

This, Sarangan, is our planned location to stay put for a while, so blogging will be slim. 
We did not get the $20/day rate I had hoped for.  After some haggling we got $25/day, breakfast included.  The room-rate list says $37 for our 2 room suite.  At one point in our negotiations I mentioned the $17/day I'd seen on the internet and she, the manager, said "in what year '80?" (my translation).  Actually it was 2010.  Lunch and dinner will run us about $10/day, and a bottle of beer for 3, so $38/day all told. I think if we root around we can find cheaper lunch anyway.  Maybe I can get beer in quantity and pour it over ice, like the old days.

Magetan, my home town

The ride by taxi from Madiun, past Iswayudi, and on to Magetan has really changed since '82-'83.  By the way, of all things, in Madiun we saw a Terminix truck.  Hard to imagine the effectiveness since I've never seen anyone use window screens.  Madiun kept going and going, and the buildings on both sides of the river obscured it.  I missed it all together; Pat saw it looking out the side window, and asked if it was the same, where I took a photo of a man defecating.  Yup.

Then at Iswayudi Air Force base, where I worked, the housing for officers and contractors has really grown.  And trees grew up at the runway touchdown zone; saw only a rack of landing lights.  All along the route to Magetan where structures were only one deep, now they are 4 and 5 deep.  I call them structures because it's very difficult, if not impossible, to discriminate between residences and businesses.  The architecture gives us no clues.  So, if the population of Java is still 90M, as it was, then all this new building is for business and residences for folks that used to live in the kampong (extended family neighborhood).  I even see American style single family home neighborhoods popping up - the burbs.  Magetan which was probably population 5000, now on one website shows 500,000, and is it ever bustling.  Wow.  No sleepy town here.

On the way here, to Magetan, I attempted to determine the point where the city began.  I guessed wrong at least three times, and only when we crossed the old major intersection did I have my bearings.

Entering Magetan

And here's a little weird one.  Checking into our hotel in Magetan we are informed that later in the day we will be interviewed by the police to ensure that we are not violating the purpose of our visa.  I look forward to it.  22:48 and no Polisi.  We call is rubber-time.  No problem.  Actually they never did interview us.

We strolled up the main drag west, uphill through Magetan toward my old house, or at least the same location.  Everything is newer, bigger, more modern, and 10 times more of it.  Stopped in a 7-11 clone and picked up a few domestic items, TP, bottle opener, wash cloth (not SOP in hotels).  Checked out the beer.  This store's got it; maybe the only one in town and only a half block from our hotel, the best in town, 25/night.  Actually the only hotel in town, that looked like a hotel anyway.

Nearing the site of my old house we passed by one that looked kind of like it.  Nope, not that one.  Onward, it can't be too far, it was about 100 yards from the intersection with the road to Sarangan, and we're about there.  But all these two story places on both sides of the road really confuse things.

New neighbors of the old house

My house was the primo house in town, back when.  If it's still here it's got a lot of competition.

Now here's a bunch of guys and maybe one is the right age to remember the house, or me for that matter.  I've got a laptop full of hundreds of photos of people in Java and maybe they're in one, or their father.  They are hanging out next to a house under construction where my house once stood.  Pat took a few pix of me in front of the construction.  So me and the guys go through all my old photos, the light is bad and they're hard to see.  We got a few hits though and I've promised to get a print made for one.  We spent about a half hour, maybe an hour doing that.  It was a lot of fun, everybody got a big yuk, particularly when a photo of one my local girl friend was happened upon.  I felt the need to explain that I was then not yet married at that time.  Still, too funny for these guys.

The boys and Me lookin' at old photos

As Pat and I make our leave and head back to our hotel we bump into a young girl (who turns out to be forty with two kids) who tells us she knows where my old house is, she remembers when a guy from Holland lived there.  But that's not me I tell her, I'm from America.  We discuss the time frame as she leads us back toward the corner and determine that she only thought I was dutch, and the house?  I take a closer look, and this one, the one I thought was kind of like, really is the one where I lived.  Wow!  Unbelievable!  Still there!  We take a few pictures in front of the house with Anik.

Anik and I in front of my old house

And then, get this, the highschool age girl behind the gate, wearing a white headscarf, invites us in to see the place.  We take some photos.  The furniture is the same!  Beautifully hand carved Java stuff, hardwood, no AC to maintain a constant environment, yet it's in near perfect shape, some not even reupholstered.  Risky is her name, she wakes her parents from their afternoon nap to show us around a bit.  Water is served.  Oh-Oh you say. Nope, this is purified water sold in cups the plastic cover penetrable with a sharp ended straw, like some juice drinks, and packaged by Nestle, by the way, the largest seller of bottled water in the world. Check out the water you buy, it's probably Nestle in the fine print. 

You know, these people invite some old white guy with a pony tail, and his wife with no scarf,  into their home...Open arms and open heart - that's the default position for Indonesians.  Tough to imagine, huh.

Suwandi and family owner of my old house

Risky, her mother, and Pat

On the way back I am overwhelmed and I am not sure why.  It really wasn't that we had found the place, rather I think, It's that I have now more Indonesian friends (virtually strangers) who I can never repay for their kindness.  Remember a time when you could hitch-hike without thinking you'll get your throat slit by some nut, or when you'd give a ride to or help a poor sole on the side of the road, without a thought of possible dangers, some kind of trap or scam?  It's like that here.  As I write I wonder how long till it gets killed.

We've got a big day ahead, I've promised photo showing to some old ladies in the neighborhood.

Anik was not in the location we found here the other day.  I ask about Anik with A 35ish woman in headdress and she directs us down what was 28 years ago a dirt alley, homes with made of grass mats, bamboo, and cly tile roofs (now stucco brick and mortar), that I would never have entered, not for fear but for respect for privacy. These kampongs as I mentioned are lifelong extended families.  I always felt that to enter there would be like walking into everyone's livingroom.  We get to a hair salon and it's name sounds like the name I heard Anik calling herself the other day and that explained why the spelling she wrote did not make sense to me.  A youngster (in headdress) comes along and with some back and forth she says Anik will be back later.  As we leave the kampong Anik and family arrive on a motor bike.  We return to her place and it's not her.  Bummer.  Wrong place, and this woman explains the address we have is back on the main drag just a bit further, and so we go.

Yup, when we arrive Anik is there.  We start right in, in the stall that sells sim cards, it's about 4 x 8 with a sales counter, and we've got a crowd around from 20 to 80 years all looking at the pix on my laptop.  We go through perhaps a hundred. Anik lets us know with each photo whether anyone in the crowd knows anyone in the photo.  Two hits. Now we'll need to find a place to make prints.

Can you imagine Pat on a motorcycle? We duck into a stall that does photocopies, on a long shot maybe they can do photo prints.  I might mention that the main drag here is lined with little stalls selling all sorts of stuff.  He says back up where we came from is a guy that does make prints, and one of the guys hanging out offers to take me back on his motorcycle.  After our ride, to everyone's surprise, he leaves me and returns with Pat.  First bike ride in two millennia.

The following day we run into an employee at our hotel and he remembers me from when I lived in Madiun at another hotel in '82, but we're in Magetan now.  We have some real trouble communicating, and I'm kind of politely blowing him off, but he's a bit insistent on getting his point across.  Oh, I finally get it.  He saw my name in the hotel register at this hotel, he was telling me about the old jeep I drove, an French guy that I was buddies with, and other details, so I finally got the picture.  He's Rakimin (pronounced rockymin).  Now he's married with two kids, working at this much newer hotel.  I think he said his wife works at the old Hotel Indah in Madiun but I can't be sure.  So we take a picture, he and Me and the laptop showing him 28 years ago.  So I need to get another print.

Rakimin (3rd from left in '83) and 2012

 We're on our way to show my laptop photo album to some more likely suspects.  The first of the suspects is not home, and next speaks only Javanese and her neighbor isn't home to translate. We take a street I think is the location of a family that once posed for me, three generations.  We find a possible neighbor and are invited inside where the light is better to run through the album.  They recognize the crazy guy, and the guy with one eye, and the other guy that's an "idiot", they call him.  It seems these guys are recognized by anyone who lived in town.  No other hits.  OK, it's back to the photo shop again to get the print made for Rakimin.

Oh, by the way, while we're here maybe Okti would like to run through the album while her husband Sonny (that's Sony to English speakers) works on the prints.  Okti likes looking through them, taking her time.  I let her drive, so at her own pace.  I demonstrate that the pix can be expanded like an Ipad.  Her son, about 10, hears that an right away wants to show us how to do it.  Okti has to nudge him periodically to keep him from fiddling.  Okti recognizes the same as everyone else.  Wait! That's my school, my elementary school! (I'm translating here for you).  But the teacher, I don't remember his name.  And later on, she finds an old woman, likely not alive today.  Okti looks very closely to be sure.  "That's my grandmother" (I'm not translating here). 

Nenek Okti - '83

Okti found her nenek

I get choked up again writing about it.  This is partly why we are here, and definitely why we're boring people with hundreds of old pictures.  I told Pat that in one respect this relieves me of a certain level of guilt.  I lived with these people for two years and what did I do.  I took as many photos as I could (most often surreptitiously), I bought stuff from them, I  worked, and then finally I left.  Really, what a jerk!  Now I can, at the very least, hand to a few souls some old photos that they otherwise may never have had the chance to have.  That might a bit sound odd, but in the '80's cameras were a not common, and I was using slide film which could not be processed in East Java, so I had no way of giving prints to them then.

I'd say mission accomplished, but it might have another connotation to some.  Anyway, Okti's husband had a 5GB flash stick so I dumped the whole album on him, and maybe they'll run across some other soul who'll recognize someone else in the album.


The second day in Magetan our walking is around the town square and the southern edge of town where the leather tanning businesses are located.  Almost as soon as we get to the square is a guy speaking English quite well with us.  An English teacher, and he'd like to bring his students to our hotel to have a live experience with native English speakers.  We all, Jamaludin Malik along with his students have a bit of meet and greet, and what our lives are like.  The students are all quite shy, and Pat, Jamal and I do most of the talking.  We prompt the students, what do you do after school, what are your plans after you graduate?  They are in their first and second year of high school.  Jamal is probably offended because I don't take him up on his offer to show us all around. Jamal, please accept my apology.  it's just that we prefer to explore on our own.

Jamal and class, without the picture taker

Hotel Indah, Jl. Kalimantan, Madiun, Indonesia

30 years later Sri is yet working at Hotel Indah, Madiun.  she's watched everything change around her,  roads paved, open sewers covered, a 4 story shopping center went up on the corner selling probably anything, groceries, motorcycles, clothing, toyotas, you name it, with a parking garage on the ground floor. And that's not the only one in town.  The becek as a mode of transportation still exists but to a much lesser extent.  I recognized her, or at least I thought so.  But when I asked her if here name was Sri, and began to explain that I once lived here, she came to realize who I am/was.  It was easier for me, the recognition, since I had come prepared to find Sri, Martono, Junia, and the others, while Sri simply was working another day.
Most of the staff at Hotel Indah have dispersed while the town has built up around it. Sri now has a daughter 30 years old, I think.  I hope I can get the story straight tomorrow.  My Indonesian language skills leave a lot to be desired.  Sri did say she'd be able to contact Martono tomorrow by telephone.  He taught me virtually all the Indonesian I know.

Rakiman, Sri, Yunia, Kim, Martono - '83?

Hotel Indah is virtually unchanged except lack of maintenance, the polished terrazzo floor is now ceramic tile, the spiral staircase - exactly the same, with open risers, and the polished stainless and glass railing.  The posts are 2 inch plexi rods apparently bubbling inside;  the wall sculpture in the atrium, those funky '50's western (vs. eastern) style globular chandeliers, chrome stalks and a half dozen globes each, the little bar (but now the glass cabinet behind the bar is empty), it's really all(most) the same.  The TV got bigger, but the fan got smaller.  Amazing, and Sri is still here.  Pat says no wonder I recognized her, her face is the same, wide handsome jaw, same black hair, same wide smile, just a little older.  Kind of like the hotel, actually.

There is one thing that I feel sorry for and that is the profound increase in the use of the Muslim head gear for women.  I've been calling them helmets - I think I heard that term used somewhere else.  Sometimes a simple scarf, and others, some serious covering up.  But it's got to be 33C in the shade.  I saw one woman at the Jogja train station, lift up the head gear skirt fanning herself, while her husband, arm over her shoulder telling her something, gestured like a rap star.  I need to get the names of the different varieties of cover-ups, but one has a tight fitting cloth around the face, room at the back for a pony tail, and the material flows down over the shoulders, back and breast for another foot or so.  Seems to me my great aunts, Catholic nuns, wore  habits similarly designed.  It is clearly too hot for a getup like that.  I thought I was going to fall asleep while translating an advertising banner in the train station.

Martono was already here at the hotel when we came down after breakfast.  At 61 years He's frail, half blind with glaucoma.  I recognized his voice immediately as Sri announced our arrival and his visiting.  We laughed a lot at the old photos I have on the laptop. I assisted him to the front steps to retake the same photo as 30 years ago.  He explains that he has plans next month to get treatment for his eyes in Solo, a 3 hour non-stop car ride, where he can get cheaper government assisted health care.  In our former lives we sat nearly every night for 3 or 4 months exchanging our languages' idioms (barang kali (baggage instance) = who knows).  And after working at the same hotel for 25 years he got nothing, now riding around town on a bicycle, rigged with a double-wide box on the back, selling grilled corn, barely making ends meet, barely able to see, sometimes pushing the bike, or taking a breather in the shade of a store.  So, what's the deal here, some weird capitalistic system that ensures down the trodden stay down?

Martono's daughter, 22 years, is out of work.  I think the '08 crash hit here in Madiun a bit too; retail outlets seem a bit over-built, the mezzanine at the 4-story super-k-mart is vacant.  She, her father, mother and grandmother live together in a "medium size" size house, he said.  Grandmother is totally blind, keeping herself company with the radio.  Martono and wife of course assist Martono's mother with her every need.

How can I help?  A handout?  A gift?  Pay for the glaucoma operation?  Martono is a proud man, struggling, but proud none the less.  I am so sad, if I were wiser maybe I'd know exactly what to do, and then I wouldn't cry.  I hope we see him again tomorrow so I can buy some of his grilled corn.
I talked with Martno about the modernity, the material changes versus the emotions.  Maybe it's our age, but he too felt the old days were better in his heart.  More things but less heart.

???, Sri, Martono, Kim - '12