batik trail by Vera Kark

Tuesday, March 17, 1998

Today I go to Pekalongan on the north coast of Central Java. It is known for its batik. I've booked another driver to take me there, nothing like a little comfort and security. I take care of business with a trip to the post office to mail back a package of recent purchases (mostly fabric) and exposed film. I've been sending the film back via airmail to my brother-in-law who gets it developed for me. So far, everything has made it okay. My other packages are sent via slow boat, I don't know that any have made it yet, fingers crossed.

The drive north from Solo is okay. With an effort I try not to be a back seat driver and get too tense over crazy driving. We pass through nice countryside and industrial areas where fabric and other goods are manufactured. Pekolongan is definitely off the tourist track. It's a large dusty town. From the limited information in my guidebook, I try one of the hotels and attempt to bargain. I think they know they are the only game in town. The other "decent" hotel feels very dingy and dirty. So it's back to the first to get myself settled. The bargaining business is a crapshoot. This is one of those times when it's difficult to know what is going on. The hotel is okay, not overly aesthetic, but functionally okay. My paranoia, bargaining insecurities, and loneliness are kicking in. I feel exposed as I journey more off the beaten track without knowing the language or the customs. I do the best I can with smiles and watchful common sense but it gets tiring to always be on guard for what is considered good behavior.

Eating lunch helps the situation. I take a walk and look around the place. I must be a rather strange site. Kids look at me, shouting in their school English "hello, Mrs" or even "hello Mr". I'm sure the parents look out from the shadows of their windows. I return the smiles and keep walking. Tired, I go back to my hotel, have a rest and arrange for a driver who knows English to take me around the batik areas tomorrow.
Wednesday, March 18, 1998

A day of batik, batik, batik. We start by looking for the tourist information center. It is not a popular tourist destination and is difficult to find. After much searching and back tracking, we finally locate it in the back offices of a local government building. Initiatives that sound grand in large city economic development plans don't always translate into well-executed tourist information centers. The people in the office are very friendly. The designated "English speaker"

does his best to give me information on the local sites. There is a museum. Someone from the tourist office will meet us there to unlock the building and show us around. My driver finds it and I look around. It's a small building in what appears to be a newer housing development. The exhibit has been up for a while and the sun exposure through the windows has faded many of the batik examples. It has a collection of batik tools and a few samples of different batik styles.

Next the driver takes me to several different batik factories and show rooms. They are family businesses. The variety of styles, colors and number of pieces are amazing. Entire rooms are lined with wall cupboards filled with folded fabric. One place we visit is famous for its intricate work and fine detail. The lines and dots that make up the floral and bird motifs are numerous, small and precisely done. The family has done the same designs for generations. The owner lets me know that they will gladly create a custom coloring for me. They can also execute a design of my own creating. She seems anxious for my business and a bit disappointed when I purchase only a small sample piece. Her work is wonderful but not the type that I really like. I have been trying to buy things I like with as much an eye for quality as possible. I find myself drawn to bold colors and dramatic patterns. I am still learning. I believe that unless I really know about a specific art piece or value, I'm better off getting things I like. The small sample piece I purchased is an example of different batik colors and styles. If I teach an overview of batik it is a beautiful example of detailed workmanship.


A man in a batik factory places on fabric a metal cap design dipped in wax.

There is so much batik everywhere. It is overwhelming. We stop at a local place for lunch before continuing. The restaurant is casual, with long tables, chairs and a simple menu of good food. My driver orders a tasty local dish for me with rice and tea. After eating, we go on to more batik shops. Some of the work is cotton, others silk. I am cautious in my purchases. Things seem to be priced fairly steeply compared to others I've seen. I bargain some, but there is just so much that it gets to be too much. I like seeing the variety and richness of the work and realize that I can't take all of it with me, but I can enjoy looking.

As we travel, my driver tells me about himself and asks me about my family. Where is my husband? I tell him that he had to stay home and work. He asks do we have children and when I tell him no, he asks have I been to a doctor, what did the doctor say? From his point of view, a woman should be home caring for her family. He proudly tells me that he and his wife are less that 25 years old and already have four children, girls. They'll keep trying until they have a boy. The government is encouraging two children families but somehow the rules are more lax if you haven't had a boy child yet. In general, the government program has been working, my driver is the youngest of twelve children. Overall, people seem to be easygoing and family oriented. Every place we visit knows the driver and welcomes him. I'm sure it is a sort of business arrangement, but they were all genuinely friendly to each other and me. While I look through the shelves of silk, they sit back and talk. They keep an eye on me. After gathering a range of choices, I ask for a price. For some reason the prices seem expensive. I bargain, but in the end, to me the pieces aren't worth the asking price. There is no compromise point. I leave empty handed but glad for the experience and chance to see so many wonderful batiks.


A circle of women sits around a pot of melted bees wax drawing batik designs in wax.

I get back to my hotel, have a rest and then dinner in the adequate, but uninspiring, hotel restaurant. Back in my room I watched CNN. There is a segment with a woman talking about Indonesia's harsh military actions against Timor and Irian Jaya. The woman continues to describe the force and brutality being used by the military against the local population. Soon the CNN broadcast is scrambled and the reception, only on CNN, is out. The other stations' reception is fine. I realize it is censorship in action. The military has a strong power in Indonesia. My driver from Solo to Pekalongan proudly displayed his wallet with its police/military emblem. The military is a good power place to be. In Toraja, my guide told me that families save up lots of money to pay the steep bribes to get one of their sons into the military. Such a job means a steady income, health benefits and privileges for himself and his family. My driver yesterday depended on his status to keep us from trouble when he was questioned for going so fast.
Thursday, March 19, 1998

The batik in Pekalongan is wonderful but I'm not crazy about the town or my hotel. They aren't too friendly, maybe it's me. I'm not comfortable here so I plan to depart for my next destination. Ironically, during breakfast in my hotel in Pekalongan, I meet an American woman who just arrived and is interested in Batik also. I think about staying on but my bags are packed, I've already arranged for the driver and am ready to go. I tell her about my adventures and introduce her to the driver, maybe she would like a similar tour?

We drive west along the north Java coast to Cirebon another town known for its batik Again, the drive is through pretty countryside. The town is a bit larger and has a better selection of comfortable hotels. Where I stay makes a difference in my well being. I feel much better here because I'm in a nicer hotel. I must be spoiled or increasingly missing the familiar. From all my business travel; a hotel is a comfortable refuge. It seems that most modern hotels are similar with TV, standard issue furniture, carpet, one large window, small table with two chairs and a bathroom with shower/tub, toilet and sink. There is nothing wrong with a few creature comforts. The restaurant is good and there are silly movies on the TV. I settle in and then walk around.


A cupboard in the corner at the sultan's palace.
Friday, March 20, 1998

I get up lazy, shower, dress and then look for twenty minutes in a panic trying to find my key. I thought it was lost only to realize that it is in the gizmo by the door that connects the power for the room, oh well. After breakfast, I am off to town to see the sultan's palace, the market and other local sights. It looks like a prosperous place. My hotel is busier than others have been. There are a few tourists and what looks like business people. I chat briefly with one couple. They are here to visit furniture factories for their business in Holland. It turns out there are a number of Dutch and other Europeans who import furniture. One man tells me how he takes a lot of time to build good local relationships. He requires well-made furniture that is dried properly so that it will not crack in his clients' dryer climate. He has been coming to Java for many years and is proud of the quality of his business.

My stomach is a bit topsy turvey, something I ate along the way. I go back to the hotel in the afternoon. It is time for more resting and a visit to the pool with my book. I find an email place and reconnect with the rest of my world. From their email, it looks likes Parents have signed Mom and I up for a tour group in Italy. Hmm, that will be interesting. Originally, I thought we'd relax and mosey around one or two places. It turns out Mom is more comfortable knowing all the details will be taken care of, that's okay too. After the email, I give Mom a call. She sounds happy about the tour and that's what counts. I'm glad to have the time together, no matter how we do it. Other emails contain news and traumas about ended relationships and other problems. One thing I'm not dealing with is a boyfriend. That's both good and bad news. It means I don't have to worry about what he might want, but it also means not being able to share a lot of fun places and experience. Some day my prince will come, in the mean time, I'm not bored. I'm learning lots, and I'm having fun.
Saturday March 21, 1998

More stomach troubles and cramps as well. It's a good thing I'm in a comfortable place and can lay low and rest. Still, in the morning I take time for an exploration walk. More batik looking, although I'm beginning to feel a bit "batiked out". I wander around. My mood swings around like a rooster on a weathervane, from upbeat and adventurous to lonely and confused about the next steps on this journey. PMS combined with travel stress can do that to a body. I need to go to Jakarta to sort out my ticket business but it is a large city. I've heard that's where some of the problems have been and I don't really want to stay there long. I'm not sure where I want to go. I like the heat so I don't want to get to Europe before spring has a chance to warm things up. Maybe there is some place near Jakarta where I can hang out and relax for a while.


A woman works drawing designs in wax on a batik.

I take a taxi to some of the out of town batik places. There is a small town nearby that is known for its quality batik. The driver waits as I wander down the street looking in and out of a few places. I am shown the back rooms where they make the work, similar to other home batik factories. There is a sassy woman who is sixty years old and makes jokes. She won't let me take her picture. Another woman wants one of my barrettes for her child. I give it to her and then wander back to the shop where I buy two lovely pieces. One is delicate silk with detailed pattern, the other is a bold, bright, rough design on cotton. There is so much variety in the styles and colors. Our next stop is a large room that has a huge selection of very nice work. I look for a while, selecting and going through the entire place. After making my selections, the intense bargaining commences. It is a family business and I think the older brother is setting the prices. It is a very pricey collection of beautiful works. For all the other things I already have, you'd think I could walk away, but something sticks. I hemmed and hawed and tried all of my poor traveler techniques but I can't get them to budge on the price. They came down in price on the individual pieces and I think, but don't really know for sure, that there is one piece that they have mismarked too low. Eventually, after much posturing on my part, I decide to go ahead and get the pieces. That's what I' here for and they are beautiful examples of batik. My ongoing traumas with spending money be damned. I scurry back to the taxi to return to the sanctuary of my hotel and a rest by the pool.


Women paint dyes onto waxed batik cloth.

So what will I do with all these batiks? I'm not sure. They are examples of fine work and show the range and color of the designs. I can use them to make clothing, sell them, photograph them, or give them as gifts. Compared to art and fabric prices in the US, the purchase price I am getting here is a bargain. I do enjoy looking at each one. They are special and lively and unique pieces of art. I've purchase the ones that catch my eye, bold, bright with detailed clear colors, motion, texture, craftsmanship, patterns of tradition and patterns of spirit. I enjoy them. They will be fun to show and share when I get home.

Most of the people here are nice but I think that some view Americans, or Westerners, as responsible for the economic problems. It's easier than looking for a solution. There is some talk that Americans canceled a big airplane deal that caused something else to happen that started a chain reaction making everything bad. And now the Westerners, led by Americans, are holding up the release of the IMF relief funds. It's a confusing time, the problems continue, not going away. Each family is uncertain what it means to them. I am beginning to look forward to changing gears and moving into the more familiar Europe, at least I think it will be. I've been to Europe several times. America is filled with Germans, Italians, French, etc that we chould be extensions of each other. I know this is not the case, but at least our languages have a common root.

I've been traveling solo, existing pretty much on my own since I broke away from the tourist trail. I'm in survival mode, carefully guarding finances and interactions. I've been responsible for my own support for years. Fortunately I've got a great family for backup, but here, I'm totally on my own. The other half of the world is a very long plane ride away. Sometimes the challenges of solo travel bring loneliness and at other times they give strength. This trip brings lots up of thought and feeling. It's not clear if I'm changing much, but my experiences give me a chance to be a stronger, more independent person. Maybe I'm too independent at times with a dose of paranoiac protectiveness that is limiting. Even so, I'm here, away from the computer chaos and out of my comfort zone. Pleasure and adventure is the goal, not pain. Enough mental gymnastics for now, time to putter around in the pool.
Sunday, March 22, 1998

I spend the morning walking in town, going around the main streets, looking at people, store windows and watching the world go by. Occasionally I stop and sit and have a cool drink, a respite from the heat and a chance to get back fluids. Of course I wander in a few batik shops, more variety for the eye. Along with the handmade batiks, there are meters and meters of machine made sarongs and fabric lengths. They are an everyday piece of clothing, a multipurpose piece of cloth that can wrap a baby, become a skirt or be a bed sheet. The machine-printed cloth runs the gamut of quality and style. I keep looking but none of them appeal in the way that the handmade ones do. Often they are not much less in price either. Enough of the wandering, I return to my hotel for rest in the form of tacky movies on the TV. It's amazing how many truly bad movies the US exports. I spend some more time at the pool.


Detail from one of the many beautiful batiks created in Java.
Monday, March 23, 1998

In a week I'll be on my way to Frankfurt. For now, I'm going to Jakarta to sort out travel details. I need to change my air ticket. I've bought enough batik to stock a shop. I take the train from Cirebon to Jakarta. The direct route and relatively short distance to Jakarta may explain why town is prosperous. It's a good connection between the capital and the rural, somewhat industrial area near Cirebon. The train is comfortable and I watch the countryside give way to urban sprawl. A television on each end of the train car blares yet another bad American movie, there is no escape. I like riding and watching the countryside. My fellow passengers are primarily businessmen. They appear to be returning to work after a weekend in the country.

When we arrive in Jakarta, I play the safe way of arranging a taxi. There is a central taxi stand and for a minimum fee, I get a legal, metered taxi. Everywhere you go, transportation fees, especially taxis, are totally opportunistic. Drivers prey on your ignorance of the area and unfamiliarity with customs and pricing structures. I follow the route with my map. At the hotel I bargain my way into a very nice room. I am so lucky the exchange rate is in my favor. It is nice to have the security, convenience and comforts of a larger hotel, especially in a big city. After checking in and getting my things settled, I head out to find my way around and get some lunch.

Hot muggy weather combines with the noise and pollution of a large city. Cars and motorbikes roar madly everywhere, always a race. The primary thoroughfares are multi-laned and modern. Neighborhoods of ally ways and less substantial buildings are a few streets back. The taxi on the way to the hotel drove past some large homes shielded behind walled periphery. These are the homes of dignitaries and ambassadors. My driver pointed out the American ambassador's home and other leaders local "residences". Money buys the large and luxurious.

I'm looking for a travel agent to get some information about Italy and Germany. I want to figure out what I'm going to do before meeting Mom in Rome. I am also looking for the local tourist information center to find out more about Jakarta. In the same complex as a local info center is a Mexican restaurant. My oh my, why not try that for a change? Although some of the worse food I've ever eaten was in a Mexican restaurant in Australia. Maybe Mexican food does not translate well beyond the Americas? I have fajitas, they are edible, even enjoyable. The world gets smaller in so many ways.

The monetary crisis is getting worse. I think traveling will be more of a challenge. Prices for some things, like sugar, rice and cooking oil have more than doubled. The people are getting nervous because it's not clear how and if things will get better. What they hoped would be a temporary situation continues to get more serious. The government seems to operate on the status quo, cautious optimism maybe. Prices still go up and salaries are not being raised, if anything, people are loosing jobs. It's going to be a very tough time for many. It is time for me to leave, in one week I'll be gone.
Tuesday, March 24, 1998

Errands and emails, I send yet another package at the post office and find the email place next door. This is a large, central post office, but still men wait to wrap my package for a fee and help me expedite the shipping process. I pay them even though at time it feels like I'm paying bribes. I don't want to incur the wrath of the postage gods by denying these men a chance at a livelihood. The clerks behind the counter are part of the transaction. Overall, the process is works. As I walk through the halls of the large post office building, there are places to send faxes and transact other types of business. I notice that many of the offices have television sets that are on. Employees watch the current soap opera or local talk show through the corner of their eye. I've heard that the American show Santa Barbara and Bay Watch are both big favorites. What do they think of the United States? Do shapely lifeguards, red bathing suits, and the endless California beaches define us?

At the internet office strange collection of cyberfolks waits for one of six computer stations to become available. Most are young locals, both men and women. All of us hunch over keyboards as we communicate with the world beyond. Most of us are doing email, but some are surfing the web. Time flies and I leave feeling better having "talked" with the folks back home. I hint a bit at missing them or my loneliness but mostly I try to be upbeat about my adventures and show confidence in my onward progress. I take each day one at a time. Until my mind is in motion for the next step, all options are available. For one who was always planning for the future, everything in its place, this is a strange way to operate. Things work out just fine.


I look down at my foot and the elaborate decorations on the becak I am riding.

I go into a stationary/book store for a pen and some paper. Three if not more people do the job that less that one does in the US. One person follows me around to help, or to unwrap a book or get a pen out of the display case. Once I've decided on my purchase, another person writes up the order in a notebook, itemizing each product. There are specific people to write up products from various departments. So books will be written up by a different person that the pen person. Next I go to the cashier with my paper slips, she tallies the bill and takes my money. In the meantime, someone else is wrapping my purchases, again, a different one for each product department. At least this method gives a lot of young people jobs. When I walk into a store, there are usually a few of them standing around and giggling. Larger stores provide standardized shirts as uniforms. Sometimes I feel like I'm intruding. They do have nice smiles. My experience is similar in banks and post offices as well.

I feel even more that local reporting puts the blame for the economic crisis on the IMF and the US as the big bad guy. It's more complicated than orders for jets. The trappings of a modern world, fancy hotels, malls, fast food restaurants and airplane factories do not transform a country overnight. What about investing in infrastructure, education, health facilities, sewage treatment plants, and roads? The rich have a strong vested interest in keeping the status quo. As long as things are on the upswing, everyone's happy. The first big snag has everyone running for cover and protecting what's theirs. It took the United States over 200 years to get to where it is today, some of it bad, much of it good. I've tried to be a good American, smiling and being polite. Hopefully the Indonesians I've met will think better of the U.S. for having met me. My batik purchases alone help the economy.
Wednesday. March 25, 1998

I thought I would go to Bogar, a town in the mountains, but everyone said Bandung is better so I go there instead. Bandung is also in the mountains, a university town located near manufacturing and recreation centers. The three- hour train ride is spectacular, though mountains, past rice fields, over river filled gorges. I see people working in the fields and children playing in the streams. It is a beautiful vignette of the Javanese countryside.

I check into a hotel that is part of the same chain as the one in Jakarta. It's okay, but I spend the afternoon hotel hopping, going from one to the next while the taxi waits. There are some nice places. In the end, I decide to spurge on a luxurious, wonderfully built hotel tucked into the mountains. Each detail, from wood floors, to artful bathrooms is thought out. It appeals to the artist in me who wants to be pampered. My room has a small balcony that overlooks the black bottom pool and green, lush hillside beyond. It feels magical. I arrange to check in the following day and stay there before going back to Jakarta and my flight onward.
Thursday, March 26, 1998

I wander around Bandung, seeing the sights. Even though it is the third largest city in Indonesia, it doesn't feel crowded. Things move at a leisurely bustle. It's in the mountains so the weather cooler, fairly pleasant. I try to find the tourist office but the old building was torn down and the new one is under construction. The area is a production center for modern textiles. One of the main attractions is a place called Jean Street, Jalan Cihampelas. Each shop is more eccentric than the next. To draw customers, the storefronts have huge statues of King Kong and Superman flying from a roof. Colors, lights and spangles fight to grab your attention. Inside, there are stacks and racks of jeans, t-shirts and other mass-produced clothing seen round the world. I try some things on but decide the bargain is not worth the price. I can get the same stuff at home. Local teenagers cruise the street. They walk arm in arm, looking, checking each other out. I stop in a small local eating-place for a rice and vegetable lunch. It's tasty. I sit and watch the world come and go while eating food served family style on picnic tables covered with blue and white check plastic tablecloths. I wander into the local mall, another example of air-conditioned modernism emerging everywhere, complete with McDonalds and Kentucky Fried Chicken. They have a bookstore with a small collection English paperbacks. I get a few more to keep up my supply. My choice of reading material is random, from Penguin classics to used mystery novels and science fiction paperbacks traded in by previous travelers.

I'm thinking about getting a Eurail pass for my travels in Europe. I manage to find an information pamphlet in English at a travel agency. I work my way back to the hotel for a rest, to read my book and to lounge by the pool. In working so hard to be a good traveler, I forget that I'm also on vacation. I am very happy to be here, staying in such a beautiful and luxurious hotel. It's the kind of place I'd love to come back to and share with someone. The pool is sleek. When you are in it, the edge drops off mysteriously into the hillside, water flows flat to the corner.
Friday, March 27, 1998

I've been taking fewer photos lately, more content to experience the place. The desire to record each moment gives way to just being here. Sometimes thecamera seems so intrusive, at other times a bother. I'm not here as a photojournalist, I'm here to observe, experience and learn. The camera can help, or it can get in the way with its artful framing for the folks back home. Each place is a collection of postcard views and the daily mundane made unique by its different-ness to my familiar. Maybe I'll remember these places, maybe they will fade and be part of the soup of experiences that make each of us who we are. So it goes, each day rolls into the next. I write almost every day in my journal, not always saying a lot, more often recording loneliness and stomachaches. The pen and paper become companions. A place to whine, nag, complain or rejoice, examine and record. Time stretches like a blank canvas. I wonder what to do next. Ah, the daily rituals, a shower, some breakfast, and so on, puttering. What would I do if I were home? Read, maybe go out on some mission, more likely some errand, rent a movie…

Americans take so much for granted, like sewage treatment plants, telephones, electricity and other established services. We call and usually get these services quickly, at a relatively reasonable cost. A chicken in every pot and a government to make sure everything is fair and things are taken care of when something bad happens. Usually that's the case, and when it isn't, the five o'clock news is there to report every gory detail. Most important, we take for granted the opportunities we have, for education, for jobs, for housing. We have the ability to take advantage of so many resources to make our lives better. It's not the case in Indonesia or other places. Jobs are available if you have the connections and money to pay the bribes. The distribution of wealth is so much more in the hands of the have than the have-nots. When things start going bad, as they are now, there are no systems, or welfare or special emergency funds to support those in trouble.

Enough of the philosophizing. I'll go get some postcards to send to the folks back home. My hotel has a computer with an internet connection, so modern! I rent some time and do more connecting. I report that I'm having a fine time, all is well, no problems.

I contemplate the future, What will I do when I get home? What type of work? How can I bring more creativity into my life? What is the balance between making a living and creating art? Is there an intersection between the two and where is that point for me? I'd like to do more with digital imaging, maybe get a good printer and make art pieces, work with some of the pictures from this trip or some of the stacks of photographs I already have. In the meantime, enjoy where I am now. There is so much beauty, texture, variety, color, and life all around me. My awareness is heightened because I am in a world that is so different from my own.

During my morning wanderings exploring downtown, I go into a bookstore. It isn't in a fancy mall but on the main street. The lights are all off, maybe to save electricity or keep the place cool? The people that work there, about five of them, just sit or stand around. I wonder why they don't want to do anything, read, clean up, arrange, organize or even talk amongst themselves. When I am in the shop there is almost no activity. The whole street feels that way with a ghost town sleepiness. More observations, many of the yuppies have cell phones and they sit in restaurants, walk on the streets, talking to their invisible companions on the other end of the line. I've also noticed that the majority of the Indonesians are slender but when I observe the local patrons at fast food restaurants like McDonalds, KFC or Dunkin' Donuts, they tend to be much heavier that the rest of the population. Increased fat intake is a downside of modern convenience foods.


Lonely barbershop chair in Bandung.

In the afternoon, there is time for more relaxing, enjoying the hotel, lounging by the pool and taking advantage of luxury in the form of a health spa down the street. I splurge today with two wonderful treatments, a cream bath for my hair and a facial. More than two hours of total pampering. The hair treatment is a conditioner that is slowly and thoroughly massaged into your hair and scalp, the massage continues to your neck and shoulders. The facial too, extends beyond the face to shoulders and arms, very wonderful. This is how life should be, or at least part of the weekly agenda. I daydream about sponsoring the women doing the treatments to my hometown and setting them up in business. This sort of service would be very successful. Life is very good.
Saturday, March 28, 1998

Rise and shine, I awake to a soft morning, a haze hovers over the hillside, the birds tweet all sorts of nice sounds, a rooster crows in the distance. All is well. I've had a good night's sleep. Two days until further encounters with airplanes and travel. I had a dream about flying last night. It's nice to be on one place for four days to relax, and hooray, my digestion is back on track. It's the little things that can make such a difference in one's disposition.

Last night I had a wonderful dinner in the hotel restaurant, overlooking the hillside as the daylight dimmed, lightning flashed and was joined by a light rain. Bats and bugs darted in and out of the shadows in search of their evening meal. The food was good, soft music in the distance, the muted conversation of other diners, the flicker of candlelight. I enjoyed the experience very much, this is a special place.

Hunger strikes again. Today for lunch I sit in an authentic Sudanese restaurant. The air is comfortably warm, water splashes in a fountain. Maybe it will rain later, who knows. My meal is steamed spicy goldfish in banana leaves, steamed kale in a wonderful sauce and of course, nasi putih, white rice. For dessert I take a taxi to the Dago Tea house, it's not what I thought it would be, but it is a nice place to relax with some tea, listen to the thunder rumble and watch couples and families on their Saturday afternoon outings.
Sunday, March 29, 1998

Up early and all hyper, my rest and relaxation have come to a close. I enjoyed the beauty I found in Bandung. It is time to return to Jakarta before my flight onward. I take the train, once again through the beautiful countryside, back to Jakarta. It is just as enjoyable on the return trip. I've been through the arrival process in Jakarta before. I'm returning to the same hotel. I have much less anxiety about my destination. I settle in and head out to the fancy shopping mall for one last fling before leaving Indonesia and Asia.

This mall has all the upscale designer boutiques, European and Asian high end fashions. I tell myself that with the exchange rate being so advantageous, now is the time to splurge and get something really special. Armed with my charge cards I enter the air-conditioned glitter dome, in and out of the shops, determined to go upscale. I look from store to store, working my way through racks of clothes. Absolutely nothing appeals to me. It all looks like high chic cliches, an assortment of trends and trivia. For all their glamour, the clothes are of predominantly standard workmanship and average quality fabric. Some of the boutiques are better, but even there, nothing appeals. I'm much more excited by the unique, creative qualities of the batik I've purchased. Another lesson learned. There is a large department store that has Indonesian crafts from many different islands. I stock up on a few last minute gifts.
Monday, March 30, 1998

My last day here. I've decided to get a Eurail pass but need to purchase it outside of Europe. I tried to buy one from an agent in Bandung but discovered that they have to get the pass issued from an authorized agent who is in Jakarta. Fingers crossed that I'll be able to get it all taken care of before my plane today.

I get up early and stop at the post office to send one last package, less for me to lug around. Also, I'm not going anywhere in Europe where I can use my mask and snorkel so I ship them back also. After taking care of that business, the taxi driver helps me track down the Indonesian travel agency able to issue Eurail passes. I get there, we talk and yes they can issue a pass. The fee is payable in U.S. dollars. I have brought my travelers checks to pay. This is where the problems begin. The economic crisis has rippled down into many business transactions that are currency based. The office manager calls the head office to see if they can accept the travelers checks and are told, no, US dollars in cash only. Ouch. It is a dilemma for both of us. They want to sell me the pass. Business has been off substantially and continues to plummet because the government now requires a million rupiah ($100 - $150 depending on the exchange rate) departure tax from any Indonesian leaving the country. Most people don't have that kind of money, even business are unable to afford the added expenses. The only travelers are tourists and the very rich. We figure out a solution. They call the local American Express office and find out I can exchange my travelers' checks for cash and a two per cent fee. It looks like Amex gets you coming and going, when you buy the checks and when you cash them. The agency agrees to split the cost of the commission. One of the office people gives me a ride there and back in his car.

During the ride he tells me how the difficulties affect he and his colleagues. In his office, they have reduced each person's hours, and pay, about forty percent. At least they still have jobs. He knows people from other agencies who are out of work and have no prospect of other jobs. With the price of everything going up exponentially in price, there is great fear about what will happen. Stores have been looted. University students get more and more demonstrative in spite of continued dire government warnings forbidding protesting.

When we get to the Amex office, the line is long and I wait over an hour to complete my transaction. There are all sorts of people in the office, from locals handling their business accounts to tourists exchanging travelers' checks. There is a tension in the air, a busy-ness that goes beyond the normal hustle of modern commerce. It feels like people are taking stock of their financial situation and positioning themselves as best they can to weather the brewing storm

We return to the travel office and I am issued my Eurail pass. They are good people and I am thankful everything worked out. I get a taxi back to my hotel, gather my things and head off to the airport for my flight to Singapore and connection on to Frankfurt.

I wander the rather quite hallways of the Jakarta airport, glancing in some of the shop windows, feeling strange about leaving and looking forward to the next adventures. I board my plane to Singapore, goodbye.

The Singapore airport is modern, filled with shops and conveniences for the international traveler. I have several hours here while I wait for my flight that leaves around midnight. Fortunately, Singapore Airlines has a nice lounge. I sit there for a while, talking to fellow travelers, taking advantage of the shower facilities, and having a snack. Being a thoroughly modern facility, the airport has a comfortable internet area. I settle in for some quality computer connection interaction. It helps pass the time. There are lots of other connected travelers like me. The world gets smaller. Eventually, my flight is called and I board for the long flight to Frankfurt and another chapter of my adventure.

source:
http://www.verasite.com/book_travel/07_indo_batik.htm