Right about now would be a good time to abandon your hope. All of it.
Black water keep on rollin'
Crystalline Sulfur Deposits
Complete With A Lake of Blood
Male Modeling Just Sucks
Doel the Stalwart
Backroad to Hell
Wednesday, November 07, 2012
10/28/2012 Exodus
Last day in the area. Must find something meaningful to cap my brief vacation. An ancient Hindu temple, one of the last remaining on Java sounds promising. My original intent was to visit a waterfall in the vicinity but a helpful hotel employee suggested the very active Gunung Papandayan instead. Allegedly the waterfall is a let down.
Hire a driver for the day. A car this time as the journey will prove longer. No sore ass on this day. Early start beats traffic. Before long we're rolling down rural roads between marshy patties and crude huts. Finally we pull into a lot, across from which is a small park. There I am lead to a long bamboo raft.
The temple at Candi Cankuang (chahn-di chahn-kuang) lies on an island in the middle of a lake. An adolescent youth ferries the craft across with long bamboo pole pushing against muddy bottom. On the other side one must walk past endless shops of useless swag in order to enter the grounds proper. The temple at the top is carved in an early style. Crude. As the eager park employee at the base explains this was a Hindu holy site before Muslims took over. In typical human fashion the temple was largely deconstructed and replaced with the sarcophagus of the Muslim man who converted the people of the area. Thus the holy site of one group becomes co-opted by the conquerors.
Back across the lake I rejoin my driver for the second leg of the days journey. Traffic from people returning from long holiday chokes the narrow roads. We stop for lunch and consume delectable Padang chicken with rice. Bare fingers of course. No other way.
On the way up to Gunung Papandayan we pass several open air wedding ceremonies where Dandut singers have been hired for entertainment. The road turns jelek (ugly) and I'm glad I chose a car today. Motorbike would be atrocious on this treacherous terrain. At the top we pull into a parking area and the hiking begins. My stalwart guide Doel proves useful. His English and my Bahasa suffice for communication. I'm blown away by the scenery. Smoldering piles of sulfur, bubbling geysers, and batu warna banyak (many colored rocks.) In between the leaden sky, the spiraling columns of steam and the burnt husks of vegetation one imagines arrival at the infernal gates is imminent. Sure enough, below a peak stained with spilled sulfur lies the shore of a crater lake stained blood red. Can this be real?
Words fail me. Fortunately my camera was functioning smoothly. I'll let the images do the rest. The return trip was long and arduous with traffic packed streets clear back to Bandung. Long day demands rest. Up early Monday morn and it's back to Bogor. This weekend just couldn't be long enough.
Hire a driver for the day. A car this time as the journey will prove longer. No sore ass on this day. Early start beats traffic. Before long we're rolling down rural roads between marshy patties and crude huts. Finally we pull into a lot, across from which is a small park. There I am lead to a long bamboo raft.
The temple at Candi Cankuang (chahn-di chahn-kuang) lies on an island in the middle of a lake. An adolescent youth ferries the craft across with long bamboo pole pushing against muddy bottom. On the other side one must walk past endless shops of useless swag in order to enter the grounds proper. The temple at the top is carved in an early style. Crude. As the eager park employee at the base explains this was a Hindu holy site before Muslims took over. In typical human fashion the temple was largely deconstructed and replaced with the sarcophagus of the Muslim man who converted the people of the area. Thus the holy site of one group becomes co-opted by the conquerors.
Back across the lake I rejoin my driver for the second leg of the days journey. Traffic from people returning from long holiday chokes the narrow roads. We stop for lunch and consume delectable Padang chicken with rice. Bare fingers of course. No other way.
On the way up to Gunung Papandayan we pass several open air wedding ceremonies where Dandut singers have been hired for entertainment. The road turns jelek (ugly) and I'm glad I chose a car today. Motorbike would be atrocious on this treacherous terrain. At the top we pull into a parking area and the hiking begins. My stalwart guide Doel proves useful. His English and my Bahasa suffice for communication. I'm blown away by the scenery. Smoldering piles of sulfur, bubbling geysers, and batu warna banyak (many colored rocks.) In between the leaden sky, the spiraling columns of steam and the burnt husks of vegetation one imagines arrival at the infernal gates is imminent. Sure enough, below a peak stained with spilled sulfur lies the shore of a crater lake stained blood red. Can this be real?
Words fail me. Fortunately my camera was functioning smoothly. I'll let the images do the rest. The return trip was long and arduous with traffic packed streets clear back to Bandung. Long day demands rest. Up early Monday morn and it's back to Bogor. This weekend just couldn't be long enough.
10/27/2012 Sulfur Pits
My stomach burns with a hunger only satisfied by martabak. I venture off into the night in search of the greasy delight. Sure enough, I find a stand not far from my room. Back at the hotel I exchange language lessons with the night desk clerk. His English is very basic so we get no farther than pronouns and proper greetings but it's a start. He has agreed to call me an ojek tomorrow morning. I have a plan to visit the stinking sulfur pits of Kawah Putih.
Up early for a ride through streets already choked with traffic. I have a chance to practice rudimentary Bahasa Indonesia as my ojek asks me the basics. Dari dimana Mr? (Where from? etc.) The ride takes about an hour and a half through verdant rice paddies and grungy worker villages. Eventually we're climbing into lush mountains. Like so many other places of note on Java, Kawa Putih is a place to ensnare tourists and siphon their hard earned cash. No way to make the hike yourself. You must pay to ride a cramped shuttle bus to asphalt and hand rails. The crater hosts a small, steaming lake of opaque teal, deeply saturated with sulfur. I was able to snap a few shots of the infernal cauldron away from the throngs of people. I prefer the look of these images to the reality of the place. It should be a desolate purgatory rather than the scenic oddity it has become.
Clouds roll in fast and droves a people abandon the area. Rain begins to pelt us and we quickly make our way back to the shuttle. Back at the base my driver joins me for a bowl of Nasi Goreng. Due to a cavity that has been developing in my decaying molar for some years now my progress is slow. I must needs visit a dentist. Haven't been since high school. Good lord.
One of the ladies in the café wishes to touch my nose. She emits a little squeal of delight on contact. Can my schnoz really be of such interest? And here I always thought it an eyesore. Different worlds man. Whoa...
10/26/2012 Walk-a-bout and Dago Crew
After vacating Pak Udjo's I made my way to the notorious Dago Tea House, another performance center allegedly popular for more modern type concert. Along the way I was enchanted by honest, homegrown, meaningful graffiti. Nice to see some authentic youth culture being expressed. I was lured away from the main road, deep into the Kampung where brilliant murals adorned corroding shacks. Vibrant color igniting the worker's slum. Who can deny them that?
At the famed Tea House I stumbled across a group of musicians preparing for a feast of freshly slaughtered goat. I was generously offered a seat on the floor. Mounds of rice were heaped on a long banana leaf, along with succulent goat flesh in delicious sauce. We went at it with bare hands and eager appetites. I ate my fill and was thankful for this holiday's tradition of magnanimity.
Cool group of folk as well. Asep spoke the best English and engaged with me tales of life amongst his musically inclined community. The crew consisted of people of many backgrounds who had united under trying times in the manufacture, production and ultimately performance of bamboo instruments. At one point they busted out a slew of jaw-harps that, in my opinion, were superior in function to their metallic cousin. *Boing-bong-buong-bwawawawang-ga-baung* An impromptu jam session ensued. Such remarkably erratic encounters can only materialize amongst adventurous souls. Be bold and strong forces will come to your aid.
I took my leave in search of a nearby waterfall, Curug Dago (a'ight, check this: In Indonesian language waterfall is Air Terjun, but deep in Sunda territory as we are now, places have Sundanese names. Curug [chew-roog] is waterfall, Dago is the area. Are you with me?) It proved a stale sight, as Asep suggested, but the treasure was in the retaining walls built at the top of the ravine, bordering the Kampung there. Vast, and again, technicolor murals graced the cold gray surface, bringing life to an otherwise barren barrier. Proximity to a steep edge dictated odd camera angles but I was able to capture some worthy reproductions. I hope you will agree.
Back at the Tea House I rejoined my new friends for rounds of vile, syrupy Arak. As can be expected in such drink circles I was encouraged to quaff more than I desired. I was feeling a bit knackered from my day and hoped to find a taxi soon but they insisted on my continued company. Eventually I convinced some younger lads to take me back into town for beers. However, for some reason, still unclear to me, they were unwilling to enter a bar. Instead they wanted to find a Circle K and purchase brew to be drunk...elsewhere... We ultimately ended up in this weird mall food court with children scrambling over the sticky vinyl seating. Not my idea of a night out on the town. Is it true, can these youth not know of a proper watering hole in their own city? I feigned fatigue if only to return to my hotel. Good day but I think I'll explore some volcanoes tomorrow.
At the famed Tea House I stumbled across a group of musicians preparing for a feast of freshly slaughtered goat. I was generously offered a seat on the floor. Mounds of rice were heaped on a long banana leaf, along with succulent goat flesh in delicious sauce. We went at it with bare hands and eager appetites. I ate my fill and was thankful for this holiday's tradition of magnanimity.
Cool group of folk as well. Asep spoke the best English and engaged with me tales of life amongst his musically inclined community. The crew consisted of people of many backgrounds who had united under trying times in the manufacture, production and ultimately performance of bamboo instruments. At one point they busted out a slew of jaw-harps that, in my opinion, were superior in function to their metallic cousin. *Boing-bong-buong-bwawawawang-ga-baung* An impromptu jam session ensued. Such remarkably erratic encounters can only materialize amongst adventurous souls. Be bold and strong forces will come to your aid.
I took my leave in search of a nearby waterfall, Curug Dago (a'ight, check this: In Indonesian language waterfall is Air Terjun, but deep in Sunda territory as we are now, places have Sundanese names. Curug [chew-roog] is waterfall, Dago is the area. Are you with me?) It proved a stale sight, as Asep suggested, but the treasure was in the retaining walls built at the top of the ravine, bordering the Kampung there. Vast, and again, technicolor murals graced the cold gray surface, bringing life to an otherwise barren barrier. Proximity to a steep edge dictated odd camera angles but I was able to capture some worthy reproductions. I hope you will agree.
Back at the Tea House I rejoined my new friends for rounds of vile, syrupy Arak. As can be expected in such drink circles I was encouraged to quaff more than I desired. I was feeling a bit knackered from my day and hoped to find a taxi soon but they insisted on my continued company. Eventually I convinced some younger lads to take me back into town for beers. However, for some reason, still unclear to me, they were unwilling to enter a bar. Instead they wanted to find a Circle K and purchase brew to be drunk...elsewhere... We ultimately ended up in this weird mall food court with children scrambling over the sticky vinyl seating. Not my idea of a night out on the town. Is it true, can these youth not know of a proper watering hole in their own city? I feigned fatigue if only to return to my hotel. Good day but I think I'll explore some volcanoes tomorrow.
Pak Udjo's Mighty Angklung Armada!
Angklung Orkestra in Action
Doin' the Run-a-Round
Buck-Toothed Demon Ladies Drop It Like It's Hot!
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