After Mount Ijen, our lengthy travels continued. We took the minibus back to Problingo. Only this time the trip lasted 6.5 hours, as we had to drop the Czechs off at the ferry to Bali. It was also slightly difficult to get our driver to take us to the main bus terminal. He felt it was in everyone's interest for him to provide transportation all the way to Yogyakarta.
The bus terminal experience went from OK to slightly annoying. An originally-nice tour operator, named Toto, came undone when he realized we weren't going to get suckered into buying an advance ticket from him. 101 lies -- "Mr. Jeff, the bus no stop here, go out front. Mr. Jeff, the bus almost full, buy ticket now. Mr. jeff, Mr. Jeff" -- and three hours later, we boarded the local's ride. A non-AC, milk run bus to Yogya. It was bloody hot while we waited to drive away, which takes a fair bit of time in Java. You have to first endure the endless parade of hawkers selling everything from pencil crayons and hats to all kinds of funky food and beverages. For good measure, a group of slightly drunk local musicians get on the bus and play a bad song hoping you'll toss them some spare coin. Since night was about to fall, the 8 hour bus ride was Ni-ple-y. Overall it was worth it, considering we only spent 58,000 Rp a piece. But combined with the load of travel over the last few days, we were wiped. Thank Allah for McDonald's. The only thing that was open upon our 4am arrival in Yogya.
Later that day we checked into a bomb of a place to stay, Setia Kawan Losmen, which is run by a local artist. His murals and art work brighten every wall. It makes for a really relaxing place to sleep, and with all the little nooks for hanging out, a great place to socialize. We quickly met an odd mix of characters. A high energy German doctor who now lives in Amsterdam, a British girl who was trying to find herself (even if she didn't know it yet), and a totally Zen guy from England, Russ, who had been living in Indonesia for the past year and a half teaching English. We really hit it off with him and his visiting sister. The main lounge had a mini fridge run on the honor system. This is pure speculation, but it might have been a little too convenient. The next couple of nights we hung out and shared stories before hitting the town for tasty eats, lots of laughs and a little nightlife.
Wanting to go see Borobudur, a large and once forgotten Buddhist temple steeped in story and tradition, we hopped on the local bus, which is a major savings compared to the plethora of direct tours offered at every corner. The temple was neat and made for some great photos, but it didn't captivate us like we expected. In fact, the best part of the trip was when a group of older Muslim women wanted to have their picture taken with me. They snuggled right up and giggled like little school girls. The "I want my picture taken with the White Tourist" never gets old.
As a whole, Yogya is extremely friendly, and easy. Everywhere you go people of all ages will chat you up for a chance to practice their English and tell you about their city. I was surprised by how much they knew about Canada, especially since most of the tourists tend to be European. Heather even gave a video taped interview on the Global Financial Crisis. Problem solved.
On some local advice, we managed to catch the classic dance performance at the Sultan's palace. It was like a slow, mechanical ballet with extra makeup. But the most interesting art practiced here is Batik. We scored a piece by the famous Jaka. And the last day of our visit even coincided with the unveiling of a major new talent.
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