Yogyakarta Travel Blog› entry 22 of 96 › view all entries
We had another early start at 5.30am in order to catch the 7am train to Yogyakarta which we were travelling to in Executive class,which is still cheap and not as good as normal trains anywhere else.I was looking forward to the air conditioning but after about 30 minutes it was playing up and getting hotter and hotter.Great!
We got to Yogyakarta around midday and after I got us lost we had to get a rickshaw to a guesthouse,which had a heat busting pool. Back of the net!
In the evening we went for a walk and Stacey made a fuck up.She wore a strapless dress and the locals were not amused.Some where shouting,tutting, and laughing. Not a wise move in an Islamic country.
On our second day in Yogyakarta we went for a walk to the Kraton (Sultans palace) and on the way were besieged by the rickshaw drivers. Ive come to realise that people in Indonesia and probably south east asia as a whole don’t walk anywhere. I know its hot but whenever you say you are just walking they just laugh at you.Muppets!
After the way some locals had been to us in Indonesia we were on a kind of defensive and didn’t want to meet any locals which was a shame.
As we were approaching the Kraton a man came up to me and grabbed my arm to try and read the Arabic writing on it. I immediately told him to get his dirty fucking hands off me,which I would soon regret as he turned out to be a really nice guy. He was a local teacher and gave us every tip possible for our stay in the city, and he walked us right up to the main gate of the Kraton. Whilst doing it he walked blindy into a mega busy junction and waved for us to follow. How he wasn’t killed I will never know.We waited and crossed in a safer place.
We got to the Kraton and were lucky enough to get a free guide,which was excellent as the place itself was utter shite but with someone showing you round giving you the low down its much better.
He told us a funny story about the Sultans daughters who had got married.The first two were very petite girls and as part of the ceremony they are supposed to be carried by their husbands.But the third daughters was abit on the weighty side and her tiny husband didn’t or couldn’t carry her.I suspect he was what we call a “feeder”.
The excellent guide also warned us about the local Batik mafia who try and sell you sit batik at extortionate prices.So he loaded us into a rickshaw and paid a local price and sent us to the official Batik gallery where we bought two paintings and watched them make it.
In the evening I tracked down somewhere to watch the mighty Coventry city attempt a Fa cup upset against Chelsea.I sat in a posh hotel lobby shouting at the tv but alas we failed.I was close to tears.My dream was over. I would not be flying home to Wembley!
On our third day we did fuck all to be honest, we just hung around and headed to a shopping mall to sample some air conditioning.I did manage to find some excellent chocolate milkshakes however!