abby in wonderland

Just so you all know: I think I’m actually cursed.

The curse of the crying baby.

It’s like they KNOW that I’m going to be travel and they send secret semaphore signals to their mothers “get me close to that lady, mommy, I must burst her ear-drums with my wailing!”

I shudder.

The horror settled in on me when I saw the little one park down in the seat in front of me. Likewise when, on the train back to Jakarta, another little one sat opposite me.

DOOOOOM….DOOOOOOM!!!

They cried throughout the night. I think the one on the second one was worse… he was more strategic about it.

The first child would just cry and cry for about two hours. Then slept. Then cried again while we pulled into Yogyakarta.

But the second child was sneaky. You’d be asleep, or at least mildly comfortable, and there would be a lovely peace around the carriage (Christmas Eve was, after all, just a few hours away) and then

ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!

He SCREAMED. Not your average baby cry but a ‘oh I’m about to DIE’ cry of terror.

How fun for yours truly.

Needless to say, I didn’t get any sleep that first train journey. We travelled from 8:45pm to about 5:30am and I didn’t get one minute of sleep. At around 2am, Pur brought out the thermos of coffee and pack of beef rendang and potatoes she’d carried along for us. We feasted, eating potatoes like apples and guzzling the beef like famished stray dogs. But even on that full stomach I did not get any more rested.

Which did wonders for my mood.

Pale, shaky, and wanting to hurt anyone who made me use my precious energy, I arrived in Yogyakarta.

This is actually a nice city, even though I hated everything about it upon arrival. To be fair, I hated everything full stop. Me, dad, the people on the train, the train, the world, etc.

Yogyakarta is actually a province – the second smallest of Indonesia (the first being Jakarta) – located in the south-central region of the island of Java. This is where Pur’s family live, so we made plans to go up the mountain and visit them as soon as was possible.  Its name is derived from the Dutch spelling ‘Jogjakarta’ and is often heard of as its nickname, ‘Jogja.’

Yogyakarta is governed by the areas pre-colonial monarchy. It’s the only province in Indonesia that still does so! Its elected governor is The Sultan of Yogyakarta, who lives in a palace in the capital of the province, also named ‘Yogyakarta.’ The palace, or ‘Kraton,’ is at the centre of the city. Throughout the rest of the city there are some of the best universities in the country, along with a notable collection of classical Javanese fine arts to be seen – batik, ballet, music, poetry, puppet shows and drama can be found in practically every street.

In 2003 the area had a population of approximately 3 000 000 – one of the highest population densities of Java. Add to that number the amount of tourists and you have yourself some mighty dense crowds to manoeuvre through. Window shopping is an effort!

Anyway.

Pur’s son and his friend picked us up from the station. This was a welcome thing as he carried my bags for me, of which I thought I might collapse under in my weakened state.

We stored our bags at our hotel (as it was so ridiculously early, we couldn’t properly check in) and I was taken to a coffee-house. A beautiful traditional café (who knew they had traditional cafes!) where the coffee was like the elixir of life to me. I woke up.

We killed time there, with me attempting to follow the conversation between the four Indonesian-speakers at the table. Eventually, I happily gave up and drowned my thoughts in caffeine. Win for all.

When we’d killed just about enough time (it was around 9am by this point) I was taken to see the Kraton – The Sultan’s palace.