Java—poverty beneath the gold dust

Press, 3 May 1977, Page 19

Java —poverty beneath the gold dust

By

MARTIN ADLINGTON

With more than 70 million people struggling for an existence within its 51,000 square miles, the Indonesian island of Java is crowded. It is an island of extremes — of wealthy rulers and desperately poor peasants; of antiseptically clean hotels for tourists and the filth of the suburban streets. The national monument with its enormous spire (gold-plated, it is rumoured) towers over Jakarta. Four hundred metres away run open sewers

and people toss their rubbish into the street and beggars sleep on the pavement. In this capital city are many modern banks, hotels, and gigantic bronze statues — symbolising such ideals as liberty and peace. Imported Mercedes jostle becaks (pedicabs) aside. The heat, reflected from the concrete and glass, becomes unbearable. The air is almost pure smog. Here, restaurant prices can be four times as much as those in the towns. Take a taxi and you do an expensive tour of- the city before arriving at your destination. Everybody seems to be on the make — with all the competition there is, no wonder. But less than . two hours away by Mercedes bus, in the hills to the south, it is cool, quiet, and green. The foothills start at the city of Bogor. where in the grounds of the governor’s palace, miniature Japanese deer contentedly graze. Eastwards, towards Bandung, are the hillside tea plantations, small lakes, and a Government reserve. There are

many secluded hotels where it is pleasant for the traveller to rest-up for a few days and drink in the peace and quiet.

Further east is the city of Jogjakarta, the handicraft centre of Indonesia. But don’t be misled. It is not a peaceful artisan's township — just another Asian city.

Amid the ruins of the First Sultan’s Water Palace is the bird market where exotic birds twitter and preen in their bamboo cages. There are huge turkeys, tiny finches, parrots, hawks, talking

birds, thieving birds, red and yellow birds. You see fighting cocks, too, with their strident challenges and foppish tails.

Around town are several antique shops stacked with puppets, opium weights, bronze figures, old coins, chests, tapestries, chairs and weapons. Most vendors ask high prices, but browsing around and bargaining can result in some reasonable purchases.

The world’s largest Buddhist temple — Borobordur — is a hot ride by bus from Jogjakarta. Built in the eighth

centun- the temple is impressive, mainly because of its sheer mass. It is best viewed at dawn. In contrast to Jogjakarta’s handicrafts, the capital, Jakarta, has several large department stores and supermarkets offering a w-ide range of imported goods. On the ground floor of the Indonesian Hotel I found a small shopping mall which included a bakery selling excellent, pastries. Nearby was a butchery with New Zealand and Australian meat — “Flown in daily,” according to the sign. You cannot avoid noticing in Indonesia that Asian life is centred on the streets. People here do not dwell in privacy or seclusion; they live outside, crowding the streets and lanes — buying, selling, delivering, dumping. Java is, a land of people sleeping, eating, gossiping, and hustling. The Javanese are more vibrant than Westerners. Dirtier and much noisier, to, but also more open. These people are not afraid to be themselves, nor to have others see them as they really are.