Val at work on her batik
I intended to go to Prambanan, a huge Hindu temple, today, but somehow managed to get waylaid. Val went off to her batik before I was up + about, so I breakfasted alone at a restaurant on Malloboro, the chief attraction there being that they serve fresh milk. Regrettably, they also serve sweet bread, the usual Indonesian bread, + that’s something I have absolutely no stomach for, so my toast was quite wrecked. On the way back to the losmen I spotted a shoemaker at work on a small stool among the stalls lining the street, so I rushed back + brought out my Australian boots for him to look at. They are in sore need of repair – their constant soakings on the Kokoda trail + since have rotted the thread + weakened the glue, so that the soles + uppers are in imminent danger of coming adrift from each other. I wasn’t at all sure repair was possible, but the guy seemed to reckon he could manage it, + tho’ his price was a little high, I did want them mended if possible, so after he’d reduced his fee by a token amount to mollify me, I set him to work. An hour, he reckoned, so I thought I’d better stay around the general area at least. Otherwise, he might reckon making more money by selling them than returning them to me. I wasn’t all that impressed by the job he’d done when I collected them tho’. He had sewn them all the way round the perimeter, but he’d used such enormous stitches, I couldn’t see them lasting.
The morning was pretty well advanced by now, + another scorcher, so I abandoned plans of Prambanan. Instead, I strolled over to the town swimming pool, but once again an Indonesian pool let me down – it had just shut for lunch, + wouldn’t be open for another 2 hours, too long a time to wait. It wasn’t a completely wasted trip tho’ – the main telephone office was also in the area, so I went in there to make some preliminary enquiries, preparatory to our traditional Christmas call home. Mind you, even obtaining information was a huge task, so heaven only knows what actually making a call will be like. They were undergoing a major building renovation project, the operators were separated from one by a thick glass screen, the place was very busy, + it seemed to be under the flightpath for Yogya airport. The good news was that the place was open 7 days a week, 24 hours a day. The bad that a call home would be devilishly expensive – Rp20,000 plus.
For the rest of the day, I as good as did nothing, except laze around, talk to a few people, + drink cold drinks. Which sounds a lot better than it is. At idle times like this, I wonder why I’m travelling at all. I am, after all, 30, + perhaps it’s about time I found a real occupation (in the broadest meaning of the word.) Val has one at the moment: her batik. She has already finished one painting, + begun another. This will cost another Rp3000, but she thinks it’s worth it. And I agree.
In the evening, we chatted once again with An An, the English student from last night. In fact, as well as being a student he is also a teacher, + had brought 3 of his pupils up with him from West Java. Presumably, they have more opportunity to practise their English in Yogya than back home.
I am fairly certain that I indulged in two rather odd conversations with one of the students… or possibly the teacher. First off was a competition to include the most consecutive uses of the word “that” in a sentence. And then a debate, about the relative qualities of rice and potatoes. He assured me that rice was far more versatile; I was equally adamant that this was far from the case. A bit silly really, but I have remembered it to this day.
I agree–potatoes.