Today, Aswan’s mom’s kampung (neighborhood) took a trip to Surakarta (Solo). They rented a whole bus! Salatiga (where we live) is about halfway between Semarang (where Aswan’s family lives) and Solo, so they picked us up on the way. First, we went to a tourist place that had nothing to do with the original reason for making it into a tourist place. It was originally a sugar factory, but the tourist attraction was a children’s waterpark. Waaaaaaay in the back, we found some fun stuff for adults to do too. Like terapi ikan (fish therapy) and terapi batu (rock therapy). I had heard of the fish thing (do y’all have that in America now, where the fish eat the dead skin off your feet?), but never the rock thing. The fish were fun. The rocks huuuuuuurt.
There were all different kinds of rocks in this little sidewalk, some sharp, some rounded, some small and close together, some big and spaced farther apart. It was based on the principles of reflexology. Aswan’s sister thought it was great, but as she was telling me how much she wished she could do this every morning to feel fresh, her face suggested otherwise. It was a mixture of “someone is shoving bamboo shoots under my fingernails” and “I’m constipated”.
After the so-called rock therapy, I went to soak my poor feet with the fish again. And as I watched, a bunch of obviously redneck women in jilbabs (head coverings) walked up, threw off their shoes, and walked down the whole sidewalk like it was the softest yard of grass they’d ever walked on. I was embarrassed and thankful that they weren’t there 5 minutes earlier to see my performance.
Speaking of head coverings, a little while later, Aswan and I left and went to see if we could go into the old sugar factory. On the way there, we passed a man leading (there are some assumptions involved in this) his two wives and 3 children through the park. They were extremists (which you are way more likely to see in Solo than Salatiga), and both wives were wearing niqabs (this is the big billowy Muslim covering that allows you to see ONLY the eyes – most Indonesian Muslim women wear the jilbab (aka hijab) head covering that leaves the face exposed – Google it if you have no clue what I’m talking about). What struck me as funny was that the older of the two women was nursing a baby as she walked around. Haven’t you kind of defeated the purpose of the niqab when you’ve got your right breast exposed to the world? On a related side note, when I asked Aswan what the Indonesian word is for “niqab”, he simply replied, “Ninja”.
Anyways, after 2 failed attempts, we finally made our way into the sugar factory! It was built in 1826 and stopped functioning in the 1900s. It is in the process of being restored. According to the guy we talked to, this is the oldest functioning sugar factory left.
Work ethic – Work hard, Work smart, Work sincerely.
Dad, the B&W is for you. : )
We had planned to go hiking and spend the afternoon in another outdoorsy mountain spot that I forget the name of, but it started raining, so plans changed. Since it was mostly ladies who came on the trip, they decided to go shopping in a market especially for batik fabric and clothing. And since it was raining, they decided to spend the rest of the day there. 4 hours. Aswan and I knew we couldn’t look at batik for that long without throwing up all over it, so we decided to ditch and go for a walk. We ended up at the museum and palace of the King of Solo.
They had way cooler tile 200 years ago.
Just outside the entrance to the palace. I think this might be one of my top 10 favorite pictures I’ve taken in Indonesia.
The first palatial building.
I LOVE these giant antique bowls! Dutch, no doubt.
A HUGE oar from one of the king’s boats. Better yet, the look on Aswan’s face.
Jeff Foxworthy, anyone? The moustache!
Kings of yore. They all had the same name, just different numbers. This picture shows some of the more recent kings, Pakoe Boewono VI – X.
We encountered this sign at the entrance to the throne room and king’s courtyard. At first I actually thought I had to take off my underwear to go in. As it turned out, I got to keep them. But I had to take off my sandals.
Tower in the courtyard.
This guy might seem insignificant. But he is what is called an abdi dalam (an inside/inner servant). These people continue to work in the palace even though there is no longer an acting king of Solo. There is still a man with the title of king, but he neither lives in the palace nor governs anything. However, there are still workers in the palace who have sworn to work there until the day they die, earning 25 cents a day. They are the poorest of the poor, but they know they hold a prestigious position. Because not everyone gets to work for the king. Only the abdi dalam.
Another favorite picture of the day.
Trying to decide if we should stay at the palace or head back to the market. This is notable because it is the first photo we have ever inflicted upon ourselves.
While heading out of the palace. I really just love doors.
Back in the market, we found some of Aswan’s family. This is his older sister, Noer, her husband, Andi (a famous judo champion), and their 3 yr old daughter, Jasmin. She is way more naughty than she looks.
I had mixed feelings about today. Traveling in groups always stresses me out. But I better get used to it if I’m planning on staying here... Because nothing is more important in Indonesia than community!
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