Poking around in Ponorogo

Reyog dancer in Ponorogo (Photo: T. Rizzo)

(Story published by Perth Edition magazine)

Amri was unusual for a Javanese.

Instead of smiling for most of his waking hours, he wore a lugubrious expression on his drooping face.

We were in the East Javanese city of Ponorogo, and although it was tempting for me to hive off with some of the more personable Indonesians about the place, it eventually proved worth my while to spend long hours chatting to Amri.

At about 5am one day we were sitting together in the foyer of the Kencana Dewi, the city’s premier hotel. Now don’t get any fancy ideas. We’re talking one star maximum here.

Amri decided to teach me a poem which uses English, Javanese and Bahasa Indonesia to produce a lilting rhyme. Translated it goes: “Good morning, good morning, your yellow shirt is attractive”.

I learned it because I knew if I could recite the poem to locals it would have the same kind of effect a foreigner’s intimate knowledge of cricket has in Australia. It would win hearts and open doors.

Pick the foreigner (the author) in Ponorogo.

Keys to a good time

There are three keys to having a good time in Java. The first it to get up early. The air is crisp, the coffee is fresh and the people perky. If it is after 9 am the locals are almost ready for their midday snooze.

The second key is to avoid the tourist traps. The third is to give the language a go.

Those keys open the padlock that guards the real treasure of Indonesia — the charm of its people.

That early morning rave with Amri was the start of a great day. Look, Ponorogo is on  nobody’s map of the wonders of the world. It’s a bit hard to get to. It is stuck between the cool mountain city of Malang and the sophisticated cultural centre that is Solo.

Ponorogo is, yes, a bit hicksville. But that is partly why it is worth visiting. Western visitors are still a curiosity but not a star attraction. You get attention but few hassles.

Amri and I strolled out of the hotel and hopped into a becak (a bicycle powered rickshaw). The driver wore a hat that looked like a flowerpot, a fashion for his trade.

We headed for the centre of town, stopped at a gap in a row of shops, paid the driver and plunged into the shadowy alley that is the market.

No tourist gimmicks there. On sale were plastic sandals and schoolbags, sleeping mats and prayer rugs, badges and books, fruit, rice and brightly coloured pyramids of spices. Everyday items for the locals transform into objects of interest for a foreigner.

Half-wit

“Why didn’t you say it to her?” Amri’s voice pierced my hypnotic focus on what is usual in Java — the unusual. “Who? What?” was my dazed reply. “That woman,” he said, with the  irritated impatience of someone who believed he was dealing with a half-wit. “She was wearing a yellow dress.”

Curses, I had missed that chance. Indonesians love word play. As I discovered on later occasions, a Westerner delivering a line about her attractive yellow clothing would have won a smile at least but more likely a few jokes and then a cheery farewell.

I obviously needed a pick-me-up and they’ve got just the thing in Java. It is Indonesia’s famous health drink, jamu.

The beauty of the local women is attributed to the herbal concoctions. There are many varieties: some to induce good muscle tone after childbirth, some to keep the skin taut  and glowing, and some used by both sexes just to give the system a boost.

I chose the last one. It was a bit hot but easy enough to swallow. I didn’t notice much change in my condition. Maybe you need to take it three times a day before meals.

Rest

Ponorogo is one of the few places on the planet that lacks a Chinese restaurant but that’s okay. The eating place along from the Kencana Dewi has the standard fare for that part of the world. We gobbled up our rice and veggies and then it was time for my midday rest.

Amri slouched off to his room. I went into mine and was grateful the air conditioning made such a racket. It drowned out all the noises of the outside world.

I woke up in time to head for the Reyog Festival procession, beginning in the late afternoon. This mind-blowing parade occurs in July and is worth timing your visit  for.

Troupes of traditional dancers, complete with their spiritual and physical strongman, the Warok, danced and played their way down streets lined with so many people it became easy to recognise that this is one of the most densely populated areas in the world.

But no need to worry. Indonesians know how to operate in big crowds. Nobody pushed and shoved, the kids were safe.

We all admired the towering tiger mask backed by arches of peacock feathers, the men in black jackets and red and white shirts, the dainty, colourfully-dressed young women.

Dancers

We followed the parade into town. Speeches preceded the performances by the dancers, who demonstrated their prowess under colourful banners.

Night markets are always a buzz but that festive evening in Ponorogo all the stops were out in the dimly-lit town square. Medicine peddlers used anatomical models with detachable body parts to sell their pills, martabak pancakes were on sale, gamblers tried their luck,  and hawkers pushed everything from rings to T-shirts.

A stallholder called me over. “Where are you from?” she asked in Indonesian, adding: “My goodness, you’ve got a long nose.” That was my opening for a tease about her great beauty. It got everybody laughing. The crowd gathered round for more joking.

There are plenty of interesting places an hour or two from Ponorogo: Lake Ngbel with its delicious mangosteens, the erotic temple of Candi Sukuh, and the burial place of President Sukarno at Blitar.

But for me the real fun, the true satisfaction was being among the ordinary people in an ordinary city in extraordinary Java.

Factbox: Get there by flying to Bali and then taking a domestic flight to Surabaya. Take a bus or tax for a night in Malang