A Day at the Beach (Ha!)

Last Tuesday and Wednesday classes were canceled due to the Muslim holy day of Idul Adha, celebrating Abraham's willingness to sacrifice his son (Ishmael) at God's command. So, we planned a couple of trips, the first to Sendang biru Beach, on the south coast of Java. A local travel agent arranged for a car and driver and a visit to a lovely island, a nature preserve, across the lagoon there. We rode through a lush green countryside of cane, rice, and corn fields and plantations of fruit trees. Our driver then crossed a mountain range. You Watauga County-ans, imagine NC 194 from Valle Crucis to Banner Elk, but three times the length and the road even narrower, and you'll get the picture.

We came right off the mountain to the beach, and one of the many colorfully painted boats took us to the island. We enjoyed the lovely view seaward as we sailed into the narrows and came to a deserted small beach. "Oh, great!" we thought, "just what we wanted."  But our guide had other ideas, and took us up a muddy trail into the jungle.  It was awful. We slipped and slid, got our sandals thoroughly mud-encrusted, and fell frequently. After a while Maria asked the guide in Indonesian, "How much further?" "Two and one-half kilometers," he replied. He probably told us there was an impressive waterfall and swimming pool ahead, but since the language barrier proved insurmountable, he resorted to "internet and computer."  We didn't want that! and told him we wanted to go back.  Later, we could laugh at how ridiculous it all was; but it was no fun being the Mud People for nearly an hour.

While we sat apart for rest and cleaning up, our guide cleaned our sandals (we should have been told to wear boots), and called for a boat, and we eventually went on to another, cleaner beach, virtually deserted, and with a lovely view of the lagoon and the mountains. And we rested: "At last, just what we wanted!" The place was beautiful; we sunbathed, read, and traded photo shots with some friendly teenagers from Malang who wandered by.

Two hours later the boat returned us to shore and our driver took us back to Malang. An exhausting day thanks to the hike, but not entirely wasted. The scenery was beautiful and the beach was just the balm we needed.

A Slametan

   Ever since arriving in Java, I had wondered if I would hear about the ancient Javanese ritual called the "slametan" that Clifford Geertz devotes so much space to in his famous book, The Religion of Java.  I did not have to wait long, as one of the staff at the International Relations Office told me early on that she often participated in these rituals to mark stages in a person's life.  A slametan is an ancient Javanese ritual meal which families hold on a number of important occasions. Slametans may mark a birth or a death, a marriage or a coming of age. Many slametans are held to mark important dates in the Muslim calender, such as the birthday of the Prophet, or in this case, to honor family members such as this couple on the eve of their departure to Mecca for the Great Pilgrimage of the Hajj.

  The slametan is a ritual feast that is not so much about eating as about making an offering to the spirits (or Allah in the most observant Muslim homes).  Very little food is consumed, though much is brought in, traditionally by neighbors called on a moment's notice, and somehow ready with mounds of rice and other food.  There is an eclectic mixture of Hindu incense, Muslim chant, and underneath it all, providing its raison d'etre, the Javanese ethos.

  Our experience of the slametan was a bit more Islamic than most, since its occasion was the going on the hajj of a husband and wife.  Last Saturday evening Habib arrived at our house, dressed in traditional Javanese cap, long shirt and sarong. He drove us to the home of his niece and her husband. She had invited us to participate in their  slametan.

  We were greeted with the warm hospitality we have grown accustomed to and joined the family members present already. With sandals off and seated on carpets, the men gathered in one room, the women in another, we conversed and ate sweets. Given that family had just arrived that day, there was surprisingly little talking among the women seated on the floor, some with a child nestled in their laps.  The occasion seemed more solemn and momentous than festive.  Only I, the"bule" as we Westerners are called, was encouraged to try each of the several sweet treats arrayed on trays around the floor.  Then the most honored guest, Kiyai Haji Askuri, an esteemed community prayer leader who had made the hajj, offered the ritual prayers and formal remarks about the importance of the pilgrimage. The husband also spoke. All responded with Amins, and joined the rhythmic chant that plays so much a part in Sufi worship: La ilaha illa'Llah - "There is no god but God," in pulsating repetitions around the rooms. 

The slametan concluded with a sumptuous meal of Javanese and Indonesian dishes. Once again, thanks to Habib, we were able to experience a very important event in the lives of the people of Java.

Prambanan

Following our pilgrimage to Borobudur, and with a lunch stop at a wonderful restaurant, we drove on to the Hindu temple complex at Prambanan. While massive Borobudur amazes, the mountain-temples here are striking in their beauty, the finest examples, we are told, of Indo-Javanese architecture. Finished in 856, Prambanan was damaged in a 16th century earthquake, restored, damaged by Merapi eruptions, and then in 2006 by a massive earthquake. Now a UNESCO World Heritage site, it is being restored again.

Rising in the center of the complex, surrounded by the jumbled remains of 214 other small temples, are three much larger temples dedicated to Brahma the Creator, Vishnu the Preserver, and Shiva the Destroyer. The architecture combines delicate grace with a sense of solidity without the massiveness of the great Buddhist shrine we visited earlier. The interiors contained images of the gods. Somewhat smaller temples stand with them, all of them tall and steep, inspired by the peaks of the Himalayas. We wandered with our guide and wondered at the sheer beauty and spiritual power of these shrines. They invite admiration for the mystical and spiritual aura of this ancient site of Javanese Hindu religion.

As we descended from the interior of Vishnu's temple our guide pointed out Mt. Merapi, and we could see steam rising from vents near the cloud-shrouded peak. Three hours later, the volcano erupted.

Borobudur, a Great Temple of the Buddhist Era in Indonesia

Borobudur is one of those subjects that make you wish you possessed genius to capture its awesome (here it is appropriate, believe me) achievement.  It was built in the 9th century, though our guide told us it took two centuries to complete.  Its greatness is self-evident but it also holds a high degree of tragedy that is not at first apparent.  As it was being finished, the guide told us, it was sinking under its own weight, its 3 and a half million tons of volcanic rock carved into exquisite scenes that are both existential and devotional.  The beautiful bas-reliefs at the first stage of the many-tiered temple began to actually disappear into the earth.  As if this were not enough, only a few decades after completion, in the 11th century, the whole edifice was buried in an avalanche of volcanic ash from the same volcano that now spews out its hot gas and ash over much of the territory around this same temple.  It seems to me a very Buddhist story of impermanence.  It remained buried for about nine centuries, until in 1814 a famous English Governor General named Sir Thomas Raffles discovered what looked like a temple atop a windy hill.  Since that time, and especially after a paper was given at a conference in Ann Arbor, Michigan, in the 1960s, Borobudur was seen for the priceless treasure it is, and was declared a World Heritage site.  The renovation of Borobudur continues today.
  To climb up the  many steps from the square ground level depicting life in this world with its temptations and choices to the highest circular level is to make the Buddhist journey of transformation.  This was the Buddha's journey, and his life is shown in much detail around the several levels on the way up.  It is also that of an "everyman" figure who could be just as successful as the Buddha.  I would like to say that the climb was a deeply spiritual one, but for me it was a hot, arduous series of steps that made me grateful every time the guide stopped at a level to explain the intricacies of its carved images.  As I stood among the many stupas of the Nirvana or highest level, I was just glad that I made it there, and that I still had enough wind in me to admire the serenity of the Buddha holding court from these heights.
  What made this visit even more poignant was that just hours after our visit, the very volcano that had buried this temple so long ago began erupting, the largest eruption in more than a century.  So this incredible sight has been closed to tourists as workmen once again attempt to uncover its treasures from beneath the ashes.

Christian-Muslim Relations

  This again is such a big topic that I have been reluctant to address it.  But some events have been forcing it into consciousness.  The Constitution republic of Indonesia which became an independent nation in 1945 is founded on a preamble like that of the American guarantee of freedom of religion.  It is called "Pancasila," the "five principles," the first of which is belief in "God as the  One Supreme Being," which pointedly does not use the word, "Allah" to speak this God.  The Constitution goes on to recognize at first five major religions, Islam, Protestantism, Catholicism, Hinduism, Buddhism, and later added a sixth, Confucianism.  One result of this classification was that everyone, even Buddhists, had to subscribe to belief in some sort of god if they wanted to be Indonesians with an identity card marking them as adherents to one of the religions.  Mystical and other sects were given a lower status as "beliefs" or "faiths," not religions.  Despite this enshrining of tolerance and pluralism, the events on the ground may be quite different. 
    A recent article in the Jakarta Post, online, tells that "Church violence is spreading outside Jakarta, and West Java, into Central Java."  While in Jakarta during our week of documentation (the first of several), we heard of a church burning in a suburb of the city.  At first, it seemed these were the more aggressive proselytizers among Christians, but in fact these Christians had been denied a permit to build a church and were meeting outside, while some young hooligans harassed them, and other Muslim youth locked arms and came to their defense.  Now we hear that some of these churches are Catholic churches as well.  The population of Christians (and here I include both Protestants and Catholics) has been variously described as 5% up to 10%, and I think given that some areas such as Papua are majority Christian, it is closer to the latter figure. 
  Last Sunday we worshipped in a Catholic church in central Yogyakarta, in a church really full of people of all ages.  This church had been rebuilt after the 2006 earthquake in Yogya (yes, another Indonesian disaster), and its walls were lined with murals depicting Indonesians in traditional dress--women bare-shouldered in long dresses with no scarves--greeting Christ like those women in the gospels.  The service was a moving one with music that was deeply spiritual.  It was good to get a bit of a Christianity "fix" in this so pervasively Muslim country.
  On the other hand, and it is a big one, we experience nothing but warm hospitality and kindness exceeding any expectations everywhere we go.  Not a note of hostility in anyone's face or attitude.  If there is "harassment," it is only that perfect strangers like to greet us and try to speak English with us.  They love American pop culture, a phenomenon we keep marveling over, as we see yet another sign in English, another American song played in restaurants and cars, American stars and athletes idolized as much here as in our country.  And of course they love Barack Obama, who went to school in a posh neighborhood of Jakarta.

Mt. Merapi

By now you probably have seen photos and videos of Mt. Merapi erupting and learned something about this volcano located in central Java about 20 miles north of Jogjakarta, and one of the most active in the Pacific "Ring of Fire." We got a glimpse of the volcano a week ago Tuesday from the steps of the Temple of Shiva at Prambanan. The mountain was letting off steam (literally). A few hours later it erupted--we safely back in our hotel--and a huge cloud of ash and gas (reaching 600 C) rolled down the mountain. Almost all of the inhabitants from the villages on the mountain had been evacuated except for Mbah Maridjan and several companions.

Mbah ("Grandfather") Maridjan was perhaps the most beloved of Javanese mystics. In 1974 he succeeded his father as "Gatekeeper of Mt. Merapi," a position of honor bestowed by the Sultan of Jogja. In his mid-eighties at the time of his death, he looked like a man in his sixties with the vigor of a man half his age, when he was interviewed for a film about him showed on Asia News International. Mbah  Maridjan described his work this way: his task was to commune with the mountain and the spirits who dwelt there, to "listen" to the mountain. He made regular walks to the villages and to the top of the volcano. Having survived unscathed the previous eruption he refused to leave this time ("I follow the orders of my King not the President," he said), although he advised all of the mountain inhabitants to evacuate. He died  of aphixiation while in prayer, along with several companions. Some say that that at the time of his death he might have been praying to the spirits to lessen their fury, to "gentle" the mountain.

Following the two major eruptions that Tuesday evening Jogja was covered with a millimeter or less of ash, and we who ventured out for tasks wore face masks. We were grateful to be far enough away not to worry about immediate threats, and very grateful that we had been able to visit Borobudur and Prambanan the day before they were closed. We did wonder if the airport would be open for our Sunday flight, but the mountain was quiescent for a day, and we got out. As we flew toward Surabaya, Maria looked out of the window and called Bob's attention to the bright red glow visible through the clouds from 15,000 feet. It was the lava flow from the smmit of Mt. Merapi.

UPDATE, November 7: Merapi had its worst of almost daily eruptions yesterday, sending a massive cloud of ash and hot gas 10 kilometers (six miles) into the air. This eruption has been described as the worst in 100 years, and the huge cloud spreading first to the north and west, then to the south and east, has forced cancellation of international flights. The government has had to move evacuees out of their camp ten kilometers down the mountain to another place ten kilometers further out and closer to Jogjakarta. A large indoor sports stadium in Jogja has been opened to refugees. Over 125 people have died, numerous others seriously burned or injured, thousands of survivors huddled in despair: shocked, ash-covered, frightened villagers, now forced to leave everything that means anything to them. As the English slogan on local TV urges, "Pray for Indonesia."