The Stillness of Ubud, once again…

Ubud Palace

Bali had broken my heart once. An Indonesian-Javanese moslem name like me was discriminated. Hostels were unwelcome – often they said the room was full which was just a lie. It was the year of 2003. And it was only Ubud which has the exception. That is why this place is always in my heart.

Now Ubud has changed. It is more dense than before. Most balinese drivers try to avoid the monkey forest road. Shops closed, more shops open. While the famous ‘Ubud’s writers and Readers festival’ was recently held yearly, The Neka museum is becoming still as a graveyard.

Ubud still in my heart though. The surroundings kampung is still beautiful. The Campuhan valley as awesome as it was. The sound of the river down below is enchanting. And the coconut trees is breathtaking. At night, while other destination in Bali is still alive with its night life, Ubud’s night life seemed to stop, trying to be still and silent as it was years ago.

I am glad that some of Ubud’s life stay the same. It is like me. I think. As another year of my life goes by, an adventurous blood of mine is still the same. As the sound of the river deep down below tickling my ear, I encouraged myself to climbed down in the deep of the rain forest which covering the river – alone – and now without a boot nor a torch.

It was raining. Sleepy and still. The hotel’s umbrella becomes my stick. A 10.000 rupiah sandal that I have just bought almost slipped all the way down. Approaching the river, when the sound of the river is clearer, I suddenly heard another sound. I realised that in the river is not only me. A few men and women were trying to crack the river stones, making them into stone bricks.

I stopped there silently, watched them. Then slowly I watched up the line of the sky between the dense of the rain tropical trees. Just up there, upper than those trees, in one of the beautiful villa of Ubud, tourists were swimming in the cozy swimming pool, or having a slow cook lunch in one of the most expensive restaurant, viewing the beautiful dense of the trees and the valley. I was sure they never be able to see those stone breakers down below.

Beyond its beauty, Ubud is just like other places in the world, where the rich and the poor is just divided by a wall…

Carpe Diem

My Hongkong Story

one of the corner of Kowloon

Sorry that this story have to wait, but since I am dragging into the feeling blue of this monday morning, it is good to remember things – good things – that has happened but it was not told yet, to raise my spirit up again. I was literally in Hongkong for four times, but it was only the fourth and because of my impulsiveness that finally brought me there.

It was in the gate of transit when I decided to turn my feet and ran in a rush into the immigration gate. Without knowing where I go, I stood and mumbled when the train staff asked where do I want to go. “Okay, you want to go to Hongkong or Kowloon?” Without waiting another second I finally said “Kowloon, of course!” Suddenly I realised how I remember very well about Stephen Chow’s and Jacky Chan’s that usually telling the funny stories in Kowloon.

So here I was becoming a backpacker again. I grabbed a map of Hongkong, read instantly of the maps of Kowloon and decided where I should go for the only 2 and half hours visits. A minute later, while I was still thinking where is the north and the south of the map, a lady who queued the train just besides me asked: “is this train going to Hongkong?”. I was about to say that I am not sure, but I found myself smiled and answered: “yes, it is. certainly!”

Kowloon is a Kowloon that is exactly like I watched in a Jacky Chan movie. It consists of old apartments that almost close the view of the sky. The street is very narrow and every street is like a china town (of course!). It is very busy, full of food and full of people. I bet everything can be found here. Approaching my two hours, I rushed into the Kowloon garden. It was a saturday afternoon and I remembered from the newspaper that many Indonesian migrant fellows usually gathered in the garden on weekeend. Without any intention, I expected to meet some of them. Well, who knows? may be I will meet my childhood friend who is now working there (it was my mother told me so).

I saw a girl with her handphone while I entered the garden. I heard that it was in Javanese. A minute later, I saw two groups of girls gathering with their lunchboxes. I appraoched them and say hello and suddenly we became friends. We talked in Javanese. The older girl said, ” I am from Surabaya.” The other girl said,” Malang”. Finally one of them said, “I am from Kediri.” We talked again. A Kampong conversation. After a while, one of them said to me shyly, “Mas, mas, you asked many things about me. Are you intending to marry me????.”

Glek! I paused a moment.

When the train brought me back to the airport, I looked at the outside of the window glass and looked at the ocean. I felt that I am very lucky. I could be one of them as I believe I and they are raised at the same poorness. East Java, include my hometown is one of the pouch of Indonesian migrant workers. What I heard is some of them was treated badly – and often back to their village as a dead body. Before the train reached the airport and when I kept myself stilll looking outside through the window, I found dried tears on my face, trying to get the answers.

Carpe Diem!

Ahmad Zae

A Postcard from Beijing

Shantang Canal, Suzhou

I thought that I would spend 3 hours transit in Hongkong by reading Eat, Pray, Love; acting as an intelligent as I could so noone would thought that I am an ‘Indonesian Migrant Worker’ who don’t know my way to the gate. But as I left that book in a tiny single room hotel in Beijing, I am now acting this way: opening my notebook, and talking narcistically in cyberspace about my journey in China – once again, to you.

Let’s start with a bad postcard. China is no doubt a country with its highest economic growth in the world. It is not just a statistic. It is true and I believe it is going to be like this at least for the next decade. But behind its glory,  I feel pity for Chinese people.  Here in China , in the city or  in the rural area, the development is vast: industrial estates,  infrastructures, new buildings. Slowly, they forget about how blue is the sky of the earth. One  my chinese counterpart said that the last blue sky in his town is only a memory! At that night, while I was having a chinese foot massage, my mind couldn’t think what should I do as an Individual to save the earth. May be now I am going to think thousands times before buying a new handphone? a new cloth? Will I feel better?

However, once the job finished, China, of course has many beautiful places that are preserved perfectly. Suzhou – the lower of Heaven city during the Ming and Qing Dinasty is indeed a city that brought me back to the time. With its old gardens and the old kampoong houses in Shantang canal community, I could start to imagine all those chinese flying heroes which two decades ago- back in my village- I saw from a Betamax-VHS rental video in my door richest man house, standing on my toe ( bahasa Indonesia: berjinjit-jinjit) or sneaking on someone else’s armpit, tried hard not to miss every scene. Indeed I have felt lucky to be a man like I am today, but thinking that I am probably the only kids at my village who visited these, I couldn’t stop to pray to God again how lucky I am. I am indeed just goddamn lucky, especially for the next visit.

Between Tiannamen Sq and The Forbidden City

Great Wall

Beijing. Actually I couldn’t believe I was there. It wast just only a week ago when the ticket was issued that i changed my mind to fly back from Beijing, instead of Shanghai. So here i was, very unprepared about the -5 to 5 degrees winter time. Luckily, there was a very loyal driver who couldn’t speak english who dropped me to the Silk Market where i could heard the only Bahasa Indonesia spoken in China ‘Apa kabar?’ and found a cheap winter coat – though I don’t know what I am going to do with this in Jakarta. But the coat just saved me from the bloody cold wind of the Great Wall, which it was told that the winter time is one of the best time to visit. May be they are right – as I saw white ice beautifully covered the mountains where the wall is stood. But to me the best of Beijing was not coming yet. Not this. Not Birdnest nor Watercube ( though they were worth to be visited).

Great Wall and Me

But it was a Forbidden City. This palace is grander than any palaces I have ever visited – and for sure  it is rich of the stories. All the palaces inside the Forbidden city is a story: power, love, hatred, and betrayal during the last two dinasties: Ming and Qing. I spent almost four hours  walking along each  and every alley  while listening the audio tour, and feeling ‘The Last Emperor’ ( one of my favorite movie), named as Pu Yi, who was in the throne when he was six and lost his power when Kuomintang – lead by Chiang Kai Sek – took over the power.

Carpe Diem!

A Postcard from a Slumdog Millionairre City

Gate of India, Taj Mahal Hotel, and Me

This is a job that leaves me to a different feeling about India. This time, after the excellent Singapore Airlines brought me to Mumbai airport, without any hassle, the pick up guy swayed my name in the whiteboard and brought me to the old antique hotel which has an old lift like in the old movies in the downtown of Mumbai. The area, called Ballard Estate, is an old British buliding estate near the Port where most Government offices are and places of interests are just 5 to 10 minutes walks or by a yellow black Mumbai cab.

Victoria Train Terminus

Of course, Mumbai would be boring if I stay still in the comfort zone. I rejected most the offers from the company and started to have an adventure – to feel the real of India. After the office hours, I walked to Victoria (Shivaji) Terminus, and feel the dense of the millions crowds who started to leave the downtown for their home in the suburb. I stood silently between all those moving people and feel the smell of India, listening a lady voice I have missed for 4,5 years from the loudspeakers who directed which train goes to where. For a moment, I was imagining in which platfrom when Freida Pinto was dragged back to the underground Don in the movie of Slumdog Millionairre and in which platfrom they danced in the end of the movie.

Taj mahal Hotel and the Mumbai Sky

Another after office hour, I took an old fiat yellow black cab which has a funny fare sistem with a full of incense smell and flowers to Colaba where the Gate of India and The very beautiful Taj Mahal Hotel are ( if you remember, a year ago, the gunshot was frightening the hotel guests here and killed some). I Walked along the bank of the beach, felt the breeze of the wind, shopped along Colaba Causeway, which surprisingly, almost all the goods here is cheaper than Jakarta – well only if we know how to bargain of course. And after my feet was sore, I sat down on one of Indian restaurant where the old owner asked where I am coming from. He said to me proudly ” Indonesia? Indonesia is Truly Asia…”. I then smiled bitterly and replied, ” you are wrong sir, it should be Malaysia, but thanks…”

Hotel Grand Bombay, an old hotel I stayed...

But the most highlight of my journey here is when I visited Mahalaxmi Dhobi Ghat, an Indian washing system center, where hundreds half naked men in hundreds washing cubicles, were punching trousers, clothes, sheets, or whatever things that were asked to them to be washed. this Dobhi Ghat is half way to the slums, but still, watching this scene make my breath stopped. Life is not fair to some certain people indeed. Silently, I hope they still can enjoy life in their way, someway, somehow.

Carpe Diem!

Ahmad Zae

Back to India

May be I am cursed that i have to go back to India, after four and a half years ago I had promised to myself in Indira Gandhi International Airport in Delhi just before I went back to Indonesia that I am not going to come back ever again to this country. Destiny. Who is going to be able to  refuse destiny. Bad or good, we have to face and accept it.

Ah, India. To me, her memories is still vivid. The joy of traveling here was incomparable. Rage and Peace; Sad and Happy. It brought me shocks in every turn. Never I had the experience from traveling like I had in India. This country is extremely exhausting, the living standard of the poor is deadly in the rock bottom, but the memories is for sure everlasting. India, among the countries I have traveled so far, is still the best and unbeatable.

May be that is why I am cursed to be back there. Though now it is going to be different as I am not going to bring my boot or my backpack. This is a week job in Mumbai that is appointed to me which still until now I couldn’t believe why I was chosen to be going there. But when the time is approaching slowly to the time of departure, surprisingly, I m starting to feel back to the joy of the memories of India. It seems like I can smell the stink of India again. The stink of the rock bottom hostel in Old Delhi where I stayed. The stink of three tier sleeping train which transported me all over India. The stink of a real life of one of the roughest lands in the world. The stink of myself that I believe I never regretted that it ever happened to me.

The smell of India is indeed mine. And truly now, I am glad that I am coming back there again.

Carpe Diem!

Ahmad Zae

Ubud Again…

Not that I am escaping from the Jakarta blasts (again and again), but I am feeling in a very peace now in Ubud. It has been many times I spent my time in Bali in many special occasions but coming back to Ubud is really different and something. Though the plan was all the sudden, but indeed it really worth to have it as an adventure.

Arriving late at night in Bali (almost 00 am) after a job finished in Surabaya, it was the time catching up a taxy where we couldn’t find the number of a hostel in Sanur that I booked from ‘AustralianHostels’ – it was only, as a local, that the frightening that I was going to be rejected in some hostels in Bali if I just come on the spot was still haunted me. But the $17 hostel is really nice, except the sponge bed, everything is okay. It has a spacious room and spacious bed, a hot water and aircon. And the following day, after having a short look of Sanur Beach, I decided soon to have it left, to the main destination: Ubud.

Ubud, nowadays is much more crowded than 6 years ago when I arrived here for the first time. But the atmosphere is still the same. The cosmopolitanism and the vibe is puh…really fascinates me. It is indeed the centre of art of Bali ( or probably of the world?). Everywhere is just like an art gallery. Thanks God, I was not rejected in the $7 Bungalow near monkey forest which to me is just wonderful – though still, I talked to the staff in English in the beginning, expecting that I am just the right local person to be accepted to be one of their guest.

And I probably am their right guess. At least, one of the staff now has a good hitting partner to play badminton! Voila, this is really a holiday. Played a badminton with a cheerful staff, walked in the rice paddy field near the monkey forest and then just jumped to the monkey forest without paying ( I ashamed doing that but I was just following many villagers who just went back to their home which just at the right back of the forest), and dressed beautifully to have a good night in a live music bar along the main Rd where a couple from Germany invited me for another beer – only to make me stay there longer.

Woke up in the lazy morning and told the staff to bring a coffee, a pancake, and fruits to my verandah…puh… what a beautiful life ( hey, the breakfast is included of the price!). Now the time for renting a bicylcle up and down the hills and the rice paddy field which ended of shopping some masks for my blue wall in Jakarta. Having a lunch in a warung just near the rice paddy field, and finally I ended on a a very cozy internet café and drinking a Balinese coffee. Hmmm…what a BEAUTIFUL world.

Carpe Diem!

My Istanbul Tale

Ortakoy Camii and the bridge to connect Europe and Asia

Eventhough I couldn’t finish to re-read of Pamuk’s Benim Adim Kirmizi (‘My name is red’ in english; ‘Namaku merah kirmizi’ in Indonesia), I really have to finish my Istanbul tale, as time is always very relentless, moving very fast to the time of my flight back to Indonesia.

One thing that I should have mentioned in the beginning of my tale. Three years ago, I wrote about Turkish Integration to EU and because of that I received a chance to go to Europe for my first time. Now, as three years went by, right at the same beautiful days of spring time, I have another chance, to visit the country that I wrote about. Sometimes, things are working in a funny way: we have a dream, and don’t ask how, the world will support us to have it comes true.

I had been in many beautiful places in the world, but Istanbul – is a city that long ago crossed in my mind that this is one of five cities I have to visit before I die ( people can have 100 cities to visit before die, but to me, five is just more than enough). And Istanbul is my first lucky five.

My first impression was this city is very sexy. The people are sexy, with the deep eyes – middle eastern look, but as stylist as Western European. The buidings are mixed, from Ayasofya to Blue Mosque, represented into many eras: Eastern Roman, Ottoman, and now Republic. The landscape is hilly, and it seemed every house has a chance to have the view of Marmara sea, Golden Horn, and Bosphorus straits. The sound of Azan is very sexy also, they only voiced the azan in only five minutes, five times a day, instead of echoing the praying speeches like most Mosque of Jakarta do.

Their hospitality are superb, their hearts are purely warm. But still, in the market like Grand Bazaar, cheaters are in everycorner. Beggars, eventhough can be count with our fingers, they can be very agressive. And sellers are expert to try encashing every lira that the visitors have. May be this unsterileness that to me making the city is sexier and alive – and for sure: not boring.

Derwis

If I was tired about having the tourists ( it is said 25 million tourists a year visit Turkey ) and 14 million people of Istanbulish, there were always places to escape. One was Istanbul Universitesi, the beautiful university that off limit from the tourists. To me it was a bit of an adventure trying to get in. But with a bit bravery and a smile, I finally could cajole the guard of the University that I am only a stupid Indonesian, instead of the spy.

The second was, of course, Hamami, a Turkish Bath. After realising other colleagues were tired moving around, this was the time for a secret adventure – well, not a secret anymore now. Since the Turkish bath for top end tourist that advertised everywhere is deadly expensive, I knew what to do: go to Lonely Planet. And it was true that the book knows where the cheap Hamami which the local Turkish usually go is located. And with almost one third price compared the tourist Hamami, I finally went in to the most perfect sauna I had ever gone along with the most memorable funny story that I will never forget in my life with the non english speaking big hairy mustachy masseur who are very ignorant about my moaning while he soaped and wrestled me soon after I stepped my feet on the marble old sauna.

So that is more or less of my short Istanbul tale.

Carpe Diem,
Ahmad Zae

Medan, Lake Toba, and Samosir Island

When we were kids, when the teacher asked us what is the biggest lake in Indonesia or what is the small island inside the lake, believe me, we could answer it without any difficulties : “Lake Toba and Samosir island!”.

Now, after ages since I knew that answer, I am finally able to visit this breathtaking place. It is a bit shameful really, especially knowing that I have traveled to eleven countries, and that I visited this lake only because I was assigned a short job to Medan. Anyway, whatever the reason, I finally step my foot here and no doubt I really enjoyed it.

I soon forgot the job (I deliberately did this) after the ferry reached the jetty in one of the guest house in Tuk Tuk Peninsula in Samosir, a tiny island inside of the huge lake of Toba which is slightly less large than Singapore. I and a colleague of mine who apparently was infected by me to be a backpacker for a while found a Batak style guesthouse which is just in front of the Lake, in which, a minute later, I wore my beach pant and jumped into that fresh water of the lake and screamed: “Aaaaaaaaaaaaa…”, happily realizing that there is still a place like this on earth.

Lake Toba from Samosir Island

a jetstar jumping on the island

Traditional Batak house in Samosir

I bet you could imagine what we did. We walked around the peninsula where we found so many empty or unfinished hotels around the place which is so sad. We hired a motocycle and drove around the island, up and down on the damaged-mountainous road for almost seven hours that made a german-owner of guesthouse where we had a breakfast in the following morning said to us: “ No way! You kidding me!”

We met three Americans who are from Singapore and Malaysia and soon later we decided to make the island a bit noisy by walking on the road together to the adjacent town of Tomok where we could buy many cheap fruits in the market and where the Tomb of King Sidabutar is located. And that night after that long walking, we saw a Batak dance performace in our guest house, and you can bet, we happily joined that dance!

But we have to say goodbye to this beautiful island. The American is very sad that he should go to the air-conditioning island of Singapore, and we are sad that we should go back to the polluted city of Jakarta. Well, ce’st la vie! As a bunch of French tourists who never stop talking to us on the way back to Medan where our flight is waiting.

Carpe Diem!

Ahmad Zae

A Traditional market and a kitchen in Jakarta…

my kitchen

It is monday morning, and again, we have to get up from our bed and go to the office. Ah, I wish all day is weekend, so I don’t have to drive my motorcycle slowly through the traffic jam of Jakarta.

Talking about weekend, I just realized how worth weekend is, especially since I live at my own house. There are always something new that I can do at home. After getting bored gardening or bored having a coffee or tea while reading weekend-newspaper, now was the time to keep myself busy at the kitchen, trying cuisine that I have just asked from a friend.

I have to say that I am very lucky to have that house, which is only one step from the traditional market. I have only recently realized how worth is having a traditional market, especially in Jakarta where the Hypermarket and Mini market are spreading like mushroom. Like yesterday, when I was trying to find a coconut milk at that market. I thought that I would get an instant sachet coconut milk, but I was wrong. I found that the seller asked me ” half or full coconut?” while showing me the whole coconut ball. Apparently they only sell the original coconut, and they will only press the milk if the buyers buy. With my mouth half open thinking whether I am in Jakarta or at the remote village, I finally asked for the half coconut.

And when I walked back at home I already brought the spices, the fish, and the coconut milk in my hand with total only US$1 (Rp 11.000). Isn’t this very cheap and very HEALTHY? Having an original spice without MSG or whatever taste-addition that the factory usually put on every sachet-spices? Indeed, once again, having that house make me feel happy and grateful eventhough I am living in the most polluted and horrible city in the world!

Carpe diem!

Ahmad Zae

“Halo!” From Lake Maninjau (West Sumatra Part II)

Welcome to Lake Maninjau, a hidden paradise. A place that make Bukittinggi is  soon forgotten.

The beauty can be felt as the 44 U-turn started from the crater rim of the lake. The hospitality of the local people is no doubt pure, even it was promptly  showed once I got off from the full music of Minang-song public bus. The breeze of the wind  slowly then sweeped my face when the old ojek (motorbike taxy) driver drove me to the homestay with his honest fare.

Now was the time to step my foot on an only-one-person-alleyway along the rice paddy field and coconut trees to the homestay. Putting my small backpack  up on trees 60,000 Rp ($6) bungalow which facing the beach. Pulling out my boot, wearing my beach pant and sandal, and swimming on the water of the warm lake and easying my body after the long sitting on the bus.

The late of the afternoon was the time with a Turkish hippie traveller who stayed next door to walk around the village. Kids were saying hello to the Turkish, and probably to me also, while we walked in the street. One villager asked us to come by to his house for a coffee and for a talk.

The next morning was the time for 53 km bycicling around the lake, and now the time of being solitude again. Stopped in a warung in the outskirt village where the owner thought that I come from Japan. Cycling to the more remote village where the kids waving their hand to me and said ” Halo!” and I said ” Halo” back.

The next day was the time for the trekking down from the Lawang crater rim with a cheerful switzerland backpacker who stayed another next door. The weather now is pretty dodgy in the middle of the jungle, but it did not make the scenery was less awesome. It was the mist and the cloud that make the hetegeronity of the incredible lake.

It came for the night to play a chess or two, a coffee and a beer for my last night stay. Thinking how perfect this short vacation was until sleep brought me into nothingness and peace.

The last day? Time for saying goodbye to the lake and its tranquility. Coming back to jakarta with its carpe diem stories again…

Carpe Diem!

Ahmad Zae