abby in wonderland

On our second day in Yogyakarta, we planned to take a trip up the mountains to visit Pur’s family.

“It’s a two and a bit hour trip,” Dad assured me. “Not long at all.”

FOUR HOURS LATER we arrived.

Just. Pur’s son drove like a madman. So much like a madman that we had to stop for ten minutes along the way because WE HAD HIT A MOTORIST!

Cringe.

I eventually found out that Pur’s son had only had one day’s practice of driving before this day.

One day of driving. EVER. In a manual car.

Oh lord.

No wonder I was terrified.

I spent a lot of our car journey clinging to my seat, wishing I had a seatbelt, and playing ‘what would I do if….?’

The game didn’t end well for me as I had no idea where I was, nor did I know the emergency number to call for help.

So all  I could do was close my eyes and pray for a safe arrival.

And arrive safely, we did!

We pulled up to Pur’s little house in the mountains. Within minutes, people began spilling out of the door to welcome us. It appeared that the entire family had come to welcome us.

Little children, cousins, brothers, mothers, aunties, friends of the family… even the town chief had come by to see what was going on. (The ancient town chief eventually engaged Dad in a long conversation about his time during the Japanese occupation in WWII…. I’m really glad I don’t speak Indonesian sometimes!)

It was an incredibly familial atmosphere. As I approached cautiously, arms flung out and pulled me in for hugs and kisses on my cheeks, stroking my hand and jabbering away to me in Indonesian. From their tone I guess it was lovely welcoming things, they were all really nice people, but I can say for certain that I had NO idea what they were saying OR how to respond.

So I smiled and clung to Dad’s side, just like any good daughter would.

This sparked his fatherly intuition and, after we had some lunch, he suggested that I take a nap in the bedroom while they contained talking.

THANK GOD.

I escaped into the bedroom and dozed off; incredibly thankful that I didn’t have to pretend what was going on for one minute longer… it was beginning to hurt my head!

After a while, I was woken up and we were taken to Pur’s family home, a little way down the street. There I met Pur’s father, who insisted I take the comfiest seat in the house, and fretted when I didn’t drink my coffee immediately (their hospitality standards are pretty high!).

I used the little Indonesian I knew to converse with Pur’s father, brother and son, with Dad. All the women were hiding in the kitchen. Apparently the lounge room was for men, and fancy guests –yay me.

It was kind of nice to be in a family home. Everywhere I looked there were pictures of the family, and everyone spoke to one another in such soft terms, with touches and looks that only family members can give one another.

It made me miss home…

I felt the love though.

When it was time to leave I was dragged into embraces left, right and centre. I couldn’t escape the love even if I wanted to!

This was kampung life. Tiny houses, filled with love. Chickens walking by the front door every now and then.

It was lovely.