Christmas Eve. A special treat for breakfast. Yesterday, we had bought 2 individual packets of breakfast cereal, + this morning we took them along to the café which had the fresh milk, + ate them there. Not the sort of trick you’d pull back home, but they didn’t seem to mind, even supplied the bowls + spoons. Kent called by while we were contentedly munching + crunching on our flakes + krispies, + told us that some sort of party was being organised tonight at Superman’s – at least that would be the starting point. This cheered us up considerably – we’d arranged to be in a place like Yogya for Christmas largely in the hope that something would be going on. But up till now, there’d been no sign that anything would be.
We then went off to catch the bus to Borobodur, the other great temple complex near Yogya, this one Buddhist. Took us 2 buses to get there, + I became very angry with the 2nd driver, who I felt was overcharging us – it wasn’t by much, but it was still more than the price we’d been given by the Tourist Office, + I allowed myself to lose my temper + shouted at him. I don’t really know why, people have tried to overcharge us before. The difference in response depends on my mental state as much as the differing circumstances. In any case, we ended up taking a different bus, + tho’ this guy too tried to charge us the inflated rate when we arrived, I simply handed over what I believed to be the right fare, + we left. Who says you can’t walk away from trouble.
At least at first glance, Borobodur was a disappointment, mainly, I think, because of the exaggerated reports we’d read of it. It was big, but we were expecting something huge. However, that initial disappointment over, when we climbed up the temple + began to inspect it more closely, my opinion of it improved. It is almost in the form of a pyramid, with the concentric terraces rising up to a central dome. The overall shape is concealed, in fact, by the large no of bell-shaped domes. Most of them about 10 ft high. There are also many seated Buddhas, but so many have had their heads knocked off that I can’t believe they are all accidental injuries. We believe there is a large statue of a Buddha a km or 2 away from the main temple – the story is that it was intended to sit on top but was too heavy to move – but despite several enquiries we were unable to find anyone to direct us to it. We were directed tho’, to another temple, much smaller + not of particular interest. But seeing as we had got off the bus, we took a photo of it + stopped for a drink. We had a cold drink each, + then our eyes were taken by bottles of what announced itself on the label as “Coffee Beer”. We were intrigued + it was cheap, so we tried a bottle. Perfectly foul, but the label was accurate – it was a cross between coffee and beer. We then had a quick look at the few stalls clustered there, but were pestered by kids calling the usual stuff, so were about to leave, when our ears were caught by a weird + spooky noise. It turned out to be bamboo spinning tops, which we’d seen but never heard. In this instance the demonstration certainly made the sale – we bought.
Waved 2 bemos on which wanted to pick us up – we were waiting for the slightly more uncomfortable but considerably cheaper public buses. We almost thought we’d messed things up, tho’, when the rain started to come, but God was on our side, + a bus rolled round the bend just before the rain came pouring down in earnest. And it did pour. The bus had an extraordinarily low roof, so my head was jammed up against it. That was bad enough, but then cold water started to pour down my neck. It was a relief to scramble out when we had to change buses, even if we did get soaked just running the 10 yards that separated them. The other bus was equally crowded but much higher. Plus, I believe, waterproof, in the section above me at least. Still, it didn’t make for the most comfortable journey, + by the time we arrived back at the losmen, Val, who hadn’t been feeling all that good in the first place, now looked pretty awful, + now headed straight for her bed.
Went looking for presents for Val, but was almost entirely unsuccessful. Somehow, even tho’ it was Christmas, my heart wasn’t in it. I could make other excuses too: not being impressed with the stuff available, having just used up ideas on her birthday, but these really are just excuses. I’ve done far better in less promising shopping places. The single present I did buy was another Malioboro speciality, + along similar lines to the name tag: a personalised rubber stamp. I wasn’t going to make the same mistake as before tho’ – just keep to the name + an appropriate design. After much futile wracking of the brain, I finally decided upon a yin+ yang design, + looking thro’ the bloke’s catalogue of past designs, I saw that he had one ready made, so I ordered that. It would be ready tomorrow.
A bonus was that I was finally able to get a game of chess with a local. It’s a popular activity here, they even report on chess tournaments on the sports pages of the papers, + many people can be seen on the street just sitting + playing. I watched a game until its conclusion, + then, as I had hoped + more or less expected, was invited to play the winner. I didn’t do too badly either, got myself into quite a commanding position… + then managed to lose. It’s only a game anyway.
Val struggled up + disappeared to do her own shopping soon after I returned, + tho’ she still felt like death only partially thawed, I took myself off for a present to myself, a haircut + shave by a real barber. Mind you, it was both more and less than In had hoped. The barber shop was delightfully old-fashioned – leather chairs, wooden surrounds to the mirrors – + so, it turned out, was the haircut. He asked me if I wanted it short (I think) + I said yes, well sort of, it depends. He did not wait for clarification tho’, I immediately set his mechanical shears clacking up the side of my head. I stopped him almost immediately, + lunged for my glasses to enable me to inspect the damage in the mirror. It was already too late – the hair had been shorn to within half an inch or so all the way up one side, but it was stupid getting angry. He clearly thought it was OK, he wouldn’t understand me, + anyway, it was Christmas. So I shrugged my shoulders + bade him continue – it would be an interesting experiment. The result, when I saw it, made me feel as tho’ I had recently been inducted for National Service. It was a perfect short back + sides, with no sideboards at all, yet comparatively thick + bushy on top.
Next came the shave. This would be a totally new experience for me, since I’d never been shaved by anyone else before (except, I believe, one clumsy half-attempt by Val) + never at all with a cut-throat razor. The preliminaries were very pleasant. First I had my beard lathered, then a hot towel was wrapped around my face, + then I was lathered again. The actual shaving tho’ came as a most unpleasant surprise. Far from the silky glide of cold steel across my skin, it ws a violent, + at times even painful, scrape. I was more than pleased when he finished, + fully expected to see a red + raw rash, if not actual blood, marking my chin. But he applied the hot towel treatment again, + that was very soothing. Even so, when I felt my face, I discovered I still had quite a beard. To be fair, I hadn’t shaved for a couple of days, so it was a bit long. Plus I don’t suppose he’s used to beards being as tough as mine – most Indonesian males have very soft facial hair, if any at all.
Xmas party
Val still wasn’t around when I returned, so I showered + changed, + then, feeling the need for alcohol to get into the party spirit, strolled to the nearest kiosk that sold beer + had a couple of large bottles. A couple of local guys helped me with them (the drinking, not the paying) but that was probably just as well, since I appreciated the company, + what I drank was enough to make me sufficiently merry for the early hour.
I wandered back to Superman’s, + was welcomed to join the nascent party by Kent. However, as I was about to do so, Kent’s mate Tony called by, + said he was just off to the chemists to buy his Christmas goodies. I was puzzled, + on asking Kent what he meant, discovered it was possible to buy speed over the counter. Being game to try most things, I rushed off to join Tony + his friends, + was welcomed along. Fortunately, they knew the brand name to ask for, partly because they’d been asked by Indonesians to buy some for them (the stuff is prescription only to Indonesians, but not to whiteys), so it was simply a case of marching in, asking for a packet of 20, + coughing up the dough. As easy as that. Tho’ we did walk into 2 different chemists so as not to attract too much attention.
We skipped back to Superman’s all cock-a-hoop – I immediately told Val, who had appeared on the scene, of my purchase, + we had 2 each. We then joined the party. Fortunately, there was a space saved for me in the liveliest half of the liveliest table, + Val, for her part, had acquired some dirt-cheap vodka, so we were soon k nocking back screwdrivers + having a good time. A tree had been acquired, as had lights + decorations, + soon after the singing began, with anything vaguely Christmassy that we knew more than 2 lines of getting a crack of the whip. All in all, terrific stuff. Unfortunately, it had to be cut fairly short – Superman always closes fairly early, + in any case, being just a small café + crowded with tables, was not all that suitable. However, with such a large no., it took ages to get anything else going, particularly since the forms of democracy had to be observed. Some sort of consensus seemed to favour the suggestion of a disco however, tho’ nobody was in any hurry to get moving. So rather than wait for everybody, Val + I, + 2 of our singing companions, an American couple called Paul + Julia, went off early to the agreed-on place. When we arrived, we did do some half-hearted bargaining, promising there were many more on the way, but they didn’t budge, so we paid the full fare, + went in anyway.
We were given a free drink as part of our entrance fee, which was nice, + there seemed to be quite a lot of booze floating around, so we soon managed to get quite drunk. Plus, as a result I should imagine of the speed, we both had bags of energy – Val was totally recovered from her earlier malaise. And basically, we had a ball. Not all that many people from the Superman party turned up, I think, + not all that many for long, but it really didn’t matter. I had an amazing bop to some old Stones songs with Julia, a cockney banter with an English girl all the way thro’ about 3 songs. And at one stage, I recall, Kent + I were the only ones on the dance floor, swapping Jesus jokes while some syrupy Christmas song was played. It was just ace. I hadn’t bopped like that for ages, hadn’t been to a disco like that since Benidorm – they even had a strobe. And by the end we were both dripping wet, head to toe.
We were almost the last of the whiteys to leave, + the end was spoilt by an unpleasant incident. As we were going, the people there tried to charge us for the 2 drinks we’d had when we came in. We pointed out they were supposed to be free drinks, but they said no, we’d had special cocktails, so would have to pay. Now Val + I were both firmly convinced that we’d been offered any drink on their list, + equally sure they had deliberately misled us into thinking they were free. So we refused, point-blank, to pay. And after a good deal of shouting + screaming on their part, + stubborn refusal on ours, they told us to go. Which we did. We were a little nervous that several of the other patrons seemed to leave at the same time, but we walked briskly away, + nobody followed. It still left a sour taste.
Still, we strolled home more than pleased with our Christmas so far. Not much of a Christmas for the becak drivers, sleeping in their becaks. And the Moslems, sitting on their mats on the ground, couldn’t care less. They were just bemused to see a couple of wet but happy English people, walking past them + wishing them a Merry Christmas all the same.
Well, quite a day, probably our best Christmas away, in that there was plenty to drink (aided by the speed) and good company too, even if il did end up less than pleasantly, with my second altercation – about money, once again – of the day. It was because we were always so careful about money, that whenever we felt that we were being asked for more than we should, I would tend to get seriously wound up. And yet nowadays I never get in a strop about the stuff, but that’s the result of having enough, I suppose.
Great money stories. I thought only Americans were “Ugly.” But I guess Brits can be, too. I’ll send you a short story about one of my must Ugly American experiences.