Yogyakarta

It's taken several days for Jogja's unique flavor to develop into our awareness. Initially, our impressions of Jogja were of how unlike Bali it was--hotter, larger, louder, dirtier, busier. I've come to really enjoy it here, however.

We live a few blocks off the large batik shopping district along Malioboro street which runs 10-16 blocks from the sultan's kraton to the train station. Batik refers to a wax-resist dying technique that produces elaborately patterened fabric used in shirts, dresses, sarongs, sari, bed sheets, bags, and so on. Since each fabric contains an intricite pattern, and two of the same design are rarely placed together, a street lined with racks of batik presents a visual richness that threatens to overwhelm.

There are few cars, innumerable motorcycles, frequent horse-drawn carriages, and ever-present becak drivers, as often seen sleeping or reading a newspaper in the 2-seat carrier of their becaks then peddling them.

Around 8pm, the batik stalls roll up, and large woven mats are lain over the sidewalks on both sides of Malioboro. Portable dividers are erected, stoves rolled out, and low plastic tables placed to create a 10-block open-air restaurant district. Much of the street becomes ad hoc motorcycle parking lots, overseen by vested parking attendants, and crowds of people sit cross-legged on the mats, enjoying mie goreng, nasi goreng, and other street foods, while small groups of youths with guitars and other instruments sarinande the customers. Yesterday, upon learning that I was from california, two spirited street musicians treated me to their rendition of "Hotel Yogyakarta", only slightly adapted from The Eagles' original. The restaurants all remain open until dawn.

Off Malioboro is a small street lined with cheap hotels and restaurants. Off of the small street is a series of even smaller, foot-access alleys called gangs (responsible for the excellent signs requesting "don't ride motorcycles in the gang" which I liked a lot). We have been staying in the hotel Merbabu, in gang dua. Here is a view down the alley from the rooftop garden cafe of our hotel (which is where we spent much of our time for the free wifi).

The alleys have the feeling of a small town. Grandmothers hang up the laundry and small children play alongside the entrances to family restaurants and hotels. The middle of gang II opens onto a kind of dusty square containing a concrete badminton court directly across from the entrance to the neighborhood mosque. Every evening all of the kids congregate around the badminton court, joking, practicing guitar, waing to play, or just enjoying the company. After watching two games seated on the ground, I was invited to play doubles with three 8-10 year old boys, which proved to be a pretty even game, and great entertainment for them and for me. I had made friends earlier in the day with an older boy sporting a bright red tshirt with the words "FUCK TERRORIST" on the back, and when the younger kids went to bed around 11, I played another game with him (and was roundly beaten).