More Mt. Merapi

Hello all!

It's about 1:30 am and we're staying the night in the airport in KL before our flight to Chiang Mai tomorrow morning. Since this is the most reliable internet we've had in awhile, I thought I'd post some more media of Mt. Merapi.

First, a few photos that were taken by a very nice Swedish couple who were kind enough to send them to me:

Here's a shot of some of the steaming rocks at the top.

A shot that looks like it was taking as we were climbing back down that does a good job of showing how high we were...

And one of many beautiful sunrise shots from the top....

Now two videos:

The first is my hand-held panorama right before dawn proper:

The second shows us carefully picking our way down from the summit.

Climbing Mt. Merapi

After booking an all-night bus from Jogja to Jakarta for the next afternoon, Jen and I decided that instead of sleeping, we should spend our last night in Jogja climbing the volcano Mt. Merapi. A local tour company picked us up at 10pm and drove us 2 hours to a small homestay at the base of volcano where we enjoyed a cup of coffee and met 2 other couples who were going to climb in our group—one from France, and another from Finland.

The air was a crisp 60 degrees or so as we set out walking through a heavy fog around 1am. One of the three Javanese guides headed our party, followed by Jen and I, the other couples, and the other two guides bringing up the rear. Though Mt. Merapi stands almost 9,000 ft, in the foggy night you can't see where you're heading, or how far you've come. There was no peek to be seen above—only a foggy black with our individual pale patches of trail ahead and the snake of other lights trailing behind. We walked in silence, climbing slowly but steadily up, with only the lead guide ahead of me singing softly to himself. I was starting to feel quite tired when the lead guide suggested a rest for a few minutes in a small clearing. Everyone had turned off their lights and each of the couples sat apart, huddled in their own few feet of dark. The fog had disappeared, it seemed, long ago, and a ruddy three-quarter moon was visible through the loose covering of trees. Jen heard movement in the bushes a few feet from us and my pale, dying headlamp revealed two small shining eyes peering out of the bushes, disappearing a moment later with a rustle.

The trail became both rougher and steeper when we set out again. Though my light could distinguish the trail from its sides, it was difficult to find firm foot placements and I slid unsteadily several times. My high spirits from the first break dampened with each indistinguishable step, and my mind began to dull with the effort. Sustained exertion can be surprisingly mental—convincing yourself at each moment to keep moving. With nothing but silence and night, there isn't much to focus on, as the French hikers would later tell me, except your thighs. The lights trailing behind me began to space out further and further. My pace became too slow to mark the tempo for the songs my mind used to drive my steps. Just at the point I felt I had to ask the head guide to rest, he announced “1 or 2 minutes”.

During this break, we could see thousands of twinkling lights far below us, extending into the distance. It was like looking down from an airplane that's just dropped below the cloud line, foregrounded by the silhouette of a row of tree trunks.

The fresh feeling I had setting out from our first break lasted less than a minute when we continued our ascent. At times, the trail abandoned switch backs entirely and simply climbed straight up, requiring us to pull ourselves up using slim trunks, roots, and the occasional rocky outgrowth. My mind long ago lost the energy for music, as I now mentally counted off each step, repeating at every hundred. I made an effort to pace myself; not falling behind the lead guide, but by trying to relax in the extra bits of time at the edges between steps, previously overlooked by my forward straining. A second time I felt myself so tired that without a rest I couldn't go any further and resolved to call to the guide. But, again, before I could do so he stopped at another small clearing, waiting for everyone to catch up and rest.

We continued in this way for several more marches. The trail became steeper still though, and our rests more and more frequent. The trail had left its dirt behind and now alternated between slabs of large rough stone, shallow coverings of fist-sized porous rock, and gravel. We had also left behind convenient clearings—for our rests we simply paused in place, squatting along the rocky wall of our climb; vertically scattered by 15 feet or more. Though it was still too hot to wear a jacket as we climbed, it was now too cold to be stopped without one. The lights in the distance below coalesced into a dense and delicate web which our guide told us was the city of Solo.

Finally the trail flattened along a windy ridge. Above us, we could still see the silhouette of the final peek. Our guide told us it was 4am. The trail disappeared entirely when we reached the base, and our guide chose a snaking path up through the volcanic scree. We slowly and carefully scrambled upwards for almost an hour. We now had to place our feet carefully, and often dislodged a small slide of porous stones anyway. As our path became steeper, it was frequently necessary to use our hands on the sharp rocks. Despite the cold wind, the air was filled with the harsh smell of sulfur, and vents released a steady flow of hot steam around us as we climbed. I thought about book 3 of Lord of the Rings.

We pulled ourselves to the top around 10 minutes before dawn. Looking East from the summit, we had a 180-degree view of a vast ocean of clouds below us, with a small mountain peeking through them in the distance. To the south, a sickly yellow wall of steaming, sulfurous rock, and to the North, a view of neighboring mount Merbabu, climbing to approximately 10,000 ft.

Sadly, I left the memory card for my camera back in the hotel, but we had our small handheld video recorder, so here's a shot from the summit at dawn.

And another shot of Jen ambling around the summit.

Still in Java, untouched by earthquake

As you may or may not already know, there was a strong and damaging earthquake in Sumatra yesterday evening.

When it happened, we were on a bus on the island of Java, traveling between Yogyakarta and Jakarta. We didn't feel anything (nor did anyone on Java, except for people in very tall buildings in Jakarta), and didn't learn of the earthquake until we got to our hotel this morning. So, we are completely okay and unharmed by the earthquake.

A bit of politics

Indonesia has the world's largest Muslim population, with 88% self-identifying as Muslim. But Indonesia is not a Muslim state. Sharia law is not officially recognized or enforced by the government (except in the island province of Aceh, which has a special status), and the Indonesean constitution provides "all persons the right to worship according to their own religion or belief", though it also states that "the nation is based upon belief in one sumpreme God." So, make of that what you will, I suppose.

In the US, the term umbrella term "Christian" probably masks more differences than it captures similarities. The same seems to be true of "Muslim" in Indonesia. Islam spread piecemeal through the many distinct cultures of the Indonesean islands and was integrated with local practices and beliefs in different ways for different reasons, creating, in the end, a huge diversity. And, seemingly, a healthy respect for difference. In Java, for example, there is a variety of Islam called kebatinan which is a loose amalgam of animism, Hindu, Buddhist, and Islamic (especially Sufi) beliefs and practices. Former Indonesian president (and corrupt military dictator) Suharto was a public adherent of kebatinan, and it is explicitly recognized in the state constitution. Kebatinan practice is ambiguously polytheistic since it encourages sacrifices and devotions to local and ancestral spirits, which certainly seems, on its face, contradictory to the central monotheistic tenet of Islam. In short, Islam in Indonesia is far more tolerant and inclusive than its Middle-Eastern counterparts.

Indonesia has only been a democracy since 1998, however, holding its first direct presidential election in 2004. Suharto sought to eliminate any groups, political or religious, that might threaten his power. Many of the more radical followers of Islam who had fled the country under Suarto, have since returned and are trying to gather popular support in the new, religiously tolerant, democratic atmosphere.

And although only Aceh officially supports Sharia law, many local governments have implemented laws inspired, in one way or another, by Sharia. Though this may be unconstitutional, Indonesia's last president said that this wasn't Sharia law, so much as laws influenced by Sharia. It's interesting to compare this struggle to that of the US where there is a similar tension between those who maintain the importance of a secular state, and those who can't understand why, in a democracy, the laws shouldn't respect the moral attitudes of the majority.

Politically, Muslims in Indonesia have organized more or less into two distinct groups--traditionalists and nationalists (also called modernists), whose orientations you can probably guess. Traditionalists favor the establishment of an Islamic state based on Sharia law and are generally against western and secular influences, while the nationalists are generally interested and welcoming of educational and organizational practices from the west. Elections can be quite confusing, however, since there were 48 registered political parties in the last election here. A local friend of ours said that the parties generally have trouble differentiating themselves.

Most of the island of Java is traditionalist, though the city of Jogja (where we're staying) has a diverse population, and several major universities, making it a more liberal enclave. It isn't uncommon to see women without a head covering here, though it's also true that at least one local Christian I know of here wears a head covering--why, I can only guess.

Local people I've run into universally like Obama, and frequently mention his connection to Indonesia. A restaurant owner said that before his presidency he met maybe 1 or 2 Americans every 6 months, and now they (we) visit more frequently. We read, in a local English-language paper the opinion of one government minister that his mother has strong ties here and that "family connections can cut through governmental red tape." The article didn't say what, exactly, Indonesia would hope to gain from Obama administration favor, however. The article was a lighter piece about how best to win Obama over during his impending visit. Suggestions included erecting a statue of him, and pre-selecting basketball players for the "inevitable pickup game".

When I asked a local about his sense of Indonesian feelings for the US, he said he thought about 5-10% of the population had a quite negative view of the US, shaped almost exclusively by their perceptions of US foreign policy, and were "struggling to make war" (though it's not clear how literally to take this since his English was not great). (He also said that he thought we were in no personal danger here and we would never be able to tell, walking down the street, who might fall into that 5-10%--additionally, we felt his opinion likely to be unbiased since he doesn't make his living in any way off of tourism). The rest of the population, he said, understood that America is a large and diverse place and that Americans think many different things--a neither positive, nor negative endorsement. Most everyone we've met here has been very friendly, though, again, it's hard to tell because most locals where we are make a living, directly or indirectly, off of tourism.

They're better about tourists than I am! I have to admit to being a bit of a grump about many of the other tourists. I'm suspicious of their motives, values, and general (apparent) ways of life (though it's true that my suspicions are entirely based on superficial queues, and the ones I've actually talked to, I've liked, for the most part). I'm actively working on reminding myself that they're probably very nice people, and to remain supportive of difference =)

Prambanan

We also recently visited another ancient temple complex near Jogja--this time a Hindu one called Prambanan, also built in the 9th century. How the Buddhist temple of Borobudur and the Hindu temple of Prambanan get built so close together at about the same time? One possible explanation is that there was a marriage in the ruling classes around that time between a Hindu and Buddhist line.

As Islam begin to spread through Java between 1200 and 1500, both temples were abandoned. Local stories about the temples changed their tone from admiration to fearful superstition. Perhaps it's unsurprising that ancient abandoned temples in the jungle would seem scary. Visiting or even seeing the temples was supposed to cause many ill-effects. When the nearby volcano Mt Merapi erupted in the 16th century, destroying much of both temples, there was no one left interested to repair them until they were re-discovered by westerners in the early 20th century.

Borobudur was re-constructed between 1907 and 1911, while Prambanan's took 35 years, between 1918 and 1953. Why? One reason is that Borobudur was built on bedrock and is wider than it is tall. Prambanan's main temple, however, stands 150ft tall, and was constructed with interlocking stones so they could build it without the aide of concrete, using only gravity to hold it together.

Like Borobudur, Prambanan has many bas relief panels depicting stories from scripture. Prambanan's include panels depicting parts of the Ramayana (the same story about Rama that we saw enacted in Bali), and parts of the Krishnarama (which tells the story of lord Krishna). One of the common re-occuring motives is the tree of life, guarded by two birds (often depicted with eagle or human heads). This motive occurs hundreds of times throughout the temple complex.

In the innermost area of the complex are the three main temples for the gods Brahma (the creator), Vishnu (the keeper), and the largest temple for Shiva (the destroyer). Across from each temple is a small shrine containing each god's major mode of transport. Across the from the Shiva temple, for example, is a shrine containing a statue of Ananda, Shiva's bull.

In its original design, there were 224 smaller towers surrounding the innermost area whose original sites are depicted here.

Unfortunately most where destroyed and only very few have been rebuilt. Many of the original stones are missing as they had been carried off and used in other building sites. Even the smaller shrines were ornate towers over 30ft tall, however. I can only imagine what it must have been like originally. Here is a shot of Jen amongst the contemporary ruins.

Borobudur

Yesterday we visited Borobudur--a huge 9th century Buddhist temple, about 25 miles outside of Jogja. It has a base of 6 large square levels, followed by 3 circular levels above (which can't be seen from the ground). Here's a shot of the outside:


There are 504 Buddha states in total. Here's a shot of a few of them between the 2nd and 3rd level.


The lower levels also contain over 2,000 bas relief panels depicting the life and former lives of Buddha, the story of Sudhana, and a series of independent panels with a "cause/effect" structure depicting a vice or virtue, and the punishment or reward that could be expected to follow. Here's a shot of one of the levels lined with panels...


And a closer shot of the panels themselves...


The circular upper levels contain bell-like stupas each of which contains a large buddha statue. We arrived just after dawn, so there was still mist in the surrounding jungle and mountains which was very beautiful.

Soon after we arrived, Jen, myself, and most of the other tourists on our small bus just sat on the upper levels quietly observing the surroundings.

Jogja II - other miscellany

Around dusk, as the air starts to become pleasantly cool, you can hear the near and distant singing of dozens of muezzin's in all the neighborhood mosques, giving you a rough aural sense of the geography of the neighborhoods. This performance is repeated at about 4am, and while the tourists (except us) sleep, the locals gather in the streets to chat and begin their day. Even in the middle of the night, it's the temperature of a warm summers day, and people are out walking around and doing things. Jogja really is a city that doesn't sleep--or, rather, staggers its sleep admirably well.

Just before dawn, some of the local becak drivers are still asleep in their becaks, lined up outside the gangs, while others ask "transport?" or only offer "selamat pagi", good morning. The same drivers see us walk up and down the street every day--one of them even commented the day after we moved to a different hotel, further along the street. Even though we have never accepted a ride, each of them still asks at every passing, "transport?" or "becak?", though now a few of the ones we recognize ask with a knowing smile, and a few only say hello, or wish us a good walk. I think that many of the becak drivers live outside the city and literally live on their becak for days at a time, making enough money to live day-to-day. For living such a hard life, none of them have ever appeared discontent, which surprised me. I asked a local friend and he said that he thought many of them just accepted that life as their "destiny". Some of them engage in daily games of chess with each other in the late afternoon.

Here are a few more photos from around the city. I apologize for not having more, but I'm shy to take photos when there are lots of people around--and there are usually lots of people around.