Kebaya - Indonesian Traditional Dress for Woman

History of Kebaya

There is much speculation as to where the kebaya could have originated from. There are some who say that the kebaya originated in the Middle East, while others argue that it may have come from nearby China. Derived from the Arabic word kaba meaning “clothing” and introduced to Indonesia via the Portuguese language, the term kebaya has come to refer to a garment whose origins appear to be a blouse. It was first worn in Indonesia at some time during the 15th and 16th centuries. This garment is similar to what is described as a “long, fitted, flared kebaya known as kebaya panjang6, worn in the 16th century by Portuguese women arriving on the south-western coast of Malaysia, situated across the Malacca Straits from Sumatra, in northwestern Indonesia.

Many sources also cite Chinese influences on clothing of the time, one source c

omparing the kebaya to an open-fronted long-sleeved tunic worn by women of the Ming Dynasty. The introduction of this kind of dress were accredited to two major occurrences of this time; the emerging influence of Islam and the arrival of the Europeans to the archipelago. Whether it was Arabia or China that brought us the wonderful kebaya, there is no denying how quick the use of this garment was made uniquely Indonesian and spread from one island and ethnic group to another which its own regional variations. This quick diffusion of the use of the kebaya was also linked to the spice trade that was happening during this time in history.

Origins of the Kebaya

After Dutch colonization, the kebaya took on a new role as the formal dress for the European women in the country. During this time, the kebaya was made mostly from mori fabric. Modifications made to this traditional costume later introduced the use of silk and embroidery to add design and color. The most dominant form of kebaya worn on the islands of Java and Bali today, can be visibly traced to the kebaya worn in Java and Sunda from the late 19th - early 20th century onwards.

Many of the easily recognizable features of today’s kebaya – a tight fitting blouse that enhances the torso of the woman; the fold-back collarless neck and front opening; long sleeves; and the type of semi-transparent fabric – are evident in the kebaya of the past centu

ry. Traditional kebaya required the torso of the women to be wrapped with a long piece of cloth called a stagen. Women of higher social status would have help in wrapping their torso with the stagen however women who were not so fortunate to have help could dress themselves by tying the end of the stagen to a post and literally wrapping themselves into it.

The semi-transparent kebaya blouse was then worn overtop of the stagen. This blouse was fastened with a brooch rather than buttons and buttonholes. It was customary to combine the kebaya with kain – a length of unstitched cloth worn on the lower part of the body, often (and incorrectly) referred to in the English language as sarong. This kain was wrapped around the body with the pleats being placed at the front of the body. Traditinally this kain was dipped in a cornstach solution and then carefully folded by hand into pleats and pressed to produced the crisp look that was desired.

Indigenous Dress in the Making of a Nation

Considering the enormous historical – political and social – shifts that have occurred in Indonesia during the last century, the form of the kebaya, has remained relatively unchanged. Its function and meaning however, in contrast to its form, has seen major changes in colonial and post-colonial Indonesia, operating to meet different groups’ political agendas, social needs and aspirations. The kebaya has come to symbolize the emancipation of women in Indonesia through a representation linking the kebaya to the 19th century “proto-feminist” figure of Raden A. Kartini.

During the 19th century, and prior to the Nationalist movement of the early 20th century, the kebaya had enjoyed a period of being worn by Indonesian, Eurasian, and European women alike, with slight style variations. During this time distinguishing class and status was important and produced variants of the basic costume. The kebaya of Javanese royalty were constructed of silk, velvet and brocade; Javanese women belonging to the commoner class wore figured cottons; the kebaya worn by Eurasian women was of white cotton trimmed with handmade European lace during the day, and of black silk in the evening; while the Dutch women preferred a shorter white kebaya. It was even possible for Dutch women planning to travel to the Dutch East Indies to purchase their kebaya in the Netherlands prior to leaving.

Bali’s Kebaya

In Bali, the kebaya has a much more recent history. The Dutch, whose occupation of Bali began as late as 1849 in the north of the island, and whose direct rule did not begin until 1882, are believed to have enforced the wearing of the kebaya. At the time Balinese women’s breasts were uncovered, except for formal and ceremonial occasions, during which a sabuk might be wound tightly around the upper torso, covering the breasts but leaving the shoulders and arms exposed. The women of Buleleng, the regency of northern Bali, therefore would have been some of the first to adopt the kebaya.

Other sources however, do not locate the kebaya being in use until the early 1920s by which time it was in full use in other areas of Indonesia. It is via the royalty and the palaces that the kebaya appears to have been disseminated out into the community. New dress codes adopted by members of the royalty returning to Bali from Java were passed down through the caste system. Yet despite the fact that clothing is often used to separate class, there seems to be no evidence of the time to indicate that there were any rules delineating styles of kebaya according to caste. Differences in kebaya cloth were more likely to be an outcome of differences in wealth.

Emerging as National Dress

By the 1920s however, and with the full emergence of the nationalist struggle in Indonesia, European women stopped wearing the kebaya because it was identified with typical Indonesian attire. For the European colonizers the Kebaya had become associated with Indonesian nationalism.

During the period of the Japanese occupation of Indonesia (1942-1945), educated Indonesian women prisoners-of-war chose to wear kain-kebaya rather than the western dress allocated to them as prison dress. A different set of political conditions produced a reversal of meaning. In this situation the women employed a cultural code (of traditional dress) to assert their political position, differentiating themselves from their European women that were also prisoners-of-war.

During the Proclamation of Independence by President Sukarno on August 17, 1945, the only woman in attendance, Ibu Trimutri was wearing kain kebaya. This image helped transform the kebaya from mere traditional dress, elevating it to the status of national dress for Indonesia women.

From the Palace to the Street - Popular and Traditional Images

While the kebaya is worn by a wide range of women from the former President Megawati to the jamu street vendor, the kebaya could never be claimed to operate as a social leveller. Women who sell jamu (traditional herbal medicine), from young to old, and right across the islands of Java and Bali are wearing kebaya. Today, in Indonesia the image of a woman wearing kebaya sells a variety of products from traditional herbs to Betadine to fried chicken. As an icon the women in her traditional clothing - kebaya - sells tradition and all the purity and goodness belonging to Indonesian cultural traditions. Perhaps she also evokes an element of nostalgia for urban consumers. Traditional as a way of life, is often less about the differences between rural and urban settings, than about socio-economic and class distinctions. For women 50 years and older, whose occupations and way of life come to distinguish them as traditional, traditional clothing of kain-kebaya is their choice of daily dress. These women, the majority of whom belong to the lower socio-economic group, often work in traditional settings such as markets, are employed as house servants or work in the agricultural sector.

Today’s Kebaya

If we try to define what a kebaya is, it may prove to be difficult as it is constantly changing to reflect the changing times and fashions that Indonesia is experiencing. Nonetheless, it is possible to make some generalizations about the kebaya. Most Kebaya are made from a lace brocade. Most kebaya fabric uses a floral motif either printed or woven into the textile and its length can fall somewhere from above the waist to below the knee. It usually, but not always, has long sleeves. It is usually fastened at the front, and if not, then gives a semblance of doing so. Some variations of the kebaya will use a batik sash, which is coordinated with the kain, draped over the shoulder as an added accessory.

Although women in the market can be seen wearing kebaya, we can also see exquisite variations of them in government gatherings and parties and high society social functions. The beauty of this national dress is undeniable. Some of the most influential women in Indonesia are married in kebaya that can be described as “works of art” with their hand embroidered detailing and beading. Designers such as Ami Amianto have helped to promote the kebaya not only as a important part of Indonesian clothing history but as a very beautiful item of clothing that Indonesian women are proud to wear.

So the next time you see a women wearing a kebaya you will understand that she is not just wearing a functional piece of clothing but she is also wearing a symbol of Indoneia’s cultural history which represents national symbolism and high fashion too!

This article was written by Gene Sugandy, with research from the following sources:

Reading the Kebaya by Victoria Cattoni

Kebaya - Wikipedia

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Guardians of the Sacred Forest

“The mountains may not be destroyed, the valleys may not be damaged, What is long may not be cut short, what is short may not be lengthened, We must remain faithful to the ways of our ancestors." – Traditional Baduy verse

Written by Irfan Kortschak


For tourists, journalists, and anthropologists alike, the very idea of a people who live deep in the forest, excluding all outsiders, has a powerful fascination. A ‘Keep Out’ sign exerts an allure as powerful as the locked cupboard at the end of Bluebeard’s corridor, and for no better reason than that outsiders are not welcome. In our hearts, perhaps, each of us secretly believes we are special, and will be welcome at spectacles and events closed to ordinary mortals.

It was this fantasy that had led me, clambering up and down steep, slippery footpaths, past dry rice fields and through light secondary forest and bamboo glades, to a rickety looking bamboo bridge that creaked and swayed gently in the breeze. I sat, scowling and biting my nails, and wiping the sweat from my face with a hand filthy with mud.

I couldn’t cross this bridge, and not because it looked too rotten and fragile to bear my weight. At any rate, a fall would not have been the catastrophe in might have been elsewhere. The water in the stream was clean and pure, unsullied by the household waste that turns the banks of rivers elsewhere in Indonesia into fly-infested eyesores. But I scowled at the babbling brook, in no mood to be impressed by its song. For me, the river was just the boundary that separated the territory of the Inner Baduy from the outside world. On the other side, where I couldn’t go, lived a community whose members are required to maintain a stringent degree of ritual purity. And they didn’t want me anywhere near them.

It was nothing personal, nothing that I’d done. It was what I was, a foreigner, a city dweller, a luxury lover. For the Baduy, outsiders in general and foreigners in particular are a polluting influence, and are permitted to enter only rarely, by the grace of the custodians. Unsullied by the presence of outsiders, the sacred forest is protected by the ritually pure guardians of the sacred forest, at the centre of which lies the Arca Domas, an ancient megalithic site about which little is known.

Precisely because the Baduy turn their back on the world, refusing to explain or justify themselves, they exert a powerful attraction. Peering in through the cracks in the forest, outsiders strain to make sense of the incomprehensible by projecting their own fantasies and fears. For believers in magic, the Baduy are powerful wizards; for environmentalists, they are noble savages; for the religious, they are unrepentant pagans. Confused observers variously describe them as a lost tribe, aristocratic Hindu refugees, or the Amish of the East. Meanwhile, the Baduy continue to live their lives, entirely indifferent to whatever outsiders choose to believe.

While much remains a matter for conjecture, some facts are known for certain. Members of the innermost community live in one of three villages, Cikartawana, Cibeo, and Cikeusik, located on the forested foothills around Mt. Kendang, southeast of Rangkasbitung, in the province of Banten.

The beliefs of the Baduy require villagers to cultivate subsistence crops without hoe, plough, or irrigation, practicing slash and burn agriculture and rotating the use of land. The Inner Baduy may not alter the course of a stream or level land for any purpose. While the men fish, hunt and gather fruit and honey from the forest, they do so in the least intrusive and destructive fashion possible. Also, the Inner Baduy refrain from the use of manufactured goods of any sort. They produce all their own household and personal items, their own tools and agricultural equipment, using materials they gather or grow. They dress in plain cloth that the women spin and fashion into clothes. Men wear a white headdress and shirt and a black sarong with vertical white stripes, while women wear a black sarong and bodice. Only certain basic materials, such as raw iron used for fashioning knives and raw cotton used for weaving, are imported from the outside world. The inner Baduy do not ride horses or vehicles of any sort. When they travel abroad, they walk, always, no matter how far.

According to those who have made friends with them, the Baduy believe that they are the direct lineal descendents of the first people to occupy the earth. As the home of the first people, the land they are born from is a living mandala, a representation of the entire universe. In order to prevent devastation and calamity throughout the world, they strive to live here in harmony with the earth and in conformity with the laws prescribed by their ancestors. There are no schools, no medical facilities, and no government officials of any kind.

Surrounding the holy sanctum is a buffer zone where members of the outer Baduy community live. Comprising almost eight thousand individuals living in sixty-seven villages, members of the outer community speak the same archaic dialect of Sundanese as do the insiders, to whom they are related by ties of blood, marriage, and ritual. The taboos and rules that govern this group are considerably less rigorous than those regulating the inner group, although the use of vehicles, machinery, electricity and chemicals within their territory is still forbidden, as is the cultivation of commercial crops. Members of this group may travel in motorized vehicles when journeying outside the area, however, and have far more frequent interactions with the outside world. While some outer Baduy wear a few items of mass-produced clothing, such items are always plain black or dark blue.

***

On my walk to the river’s edge, I had been accompanied by Katamsi Nurrasa, my guide from Jakarta, and Sarmin, a member of the outer Baduy community. For the last several days, I had been staying at Sarmin’s hut in the village of Cijengkol. Like all Outer Baduy dwellings, his home consisted of a raised platform with a slatted floor and walls made of woven bamboo, divided into five sections: the veranda, the guestroom, the storeroom, the storage space above the fireplace, and the main area, which also functioned as a bedroom. The roof was made of sago palm leaves and thatch palm. The sparse furniture was made from bamboo, cut from the forests. All kitchen utensils were also hand-made, with the exception of a few basic cooking implements. There was no electricity, no running water, and no bathroom.

Katamsi went across the bridge to Cibeo, to ask the representative of the Pu’un, the spiritual head of the community, if I might visit. While Katamsi was also an outsider, he was Indonesian and had been visiting the Baduy for more than five years. Over time, he had made many friends in both the inner and the outer community. A retired marine engineer with decades of experience of traveling the world, he had a deep respect and affection for the Baduy. To a large extent, the community had accepted him.

Without a good guide to explain the taboos and mores of Baduy society, it is virtually impossible to visit this area. At best, the unprepared traveler can visit the tourist gateway at Ciboleger, where Jaro Daina, a member of the Outer Baduy appointed as the official mediator between the community and the outside world, holds office. From there, accompanied by one of the many aggressive local guides, you can walk to Gajebo, a frequently visited Outer Baduy village located far from the inner community. I shuddered slightly at the memory of the paths littered by the frequent school groups and the slightly furtive offers of coca-cola from villagers who may or may not have been genuine members of the Baduy community.

Seated by the side of the river, Sarmin, my Baduy host, began to talk. Like most members of the Baduy community, he was reserved and sparing with his speech. While not appearing to be disturbed by the presence of outsiders, neither are the Baduy particularly welcoming. On my trip in, when I had passed through outer villages, the inhabitants barely glanced up from weaving, fashioning knives, and other tasks unless I approached them directly, when they answered my questions shortly and without fuss. While Sarmin was hardly loquacious, this was the second time that I had stayed with him for several days. He was beginning to open up a little.

I told Sarmin that I’d heard that the Baduy were forbidden to use cash. When he replied, he spoke simply, and looked me straight in the eye. Unlike people in the cities, the Baduy are not shy about eye contact, even with people they barely know. “No,” he corrected me, “There are lots of rich Baduy. We sell knives, cloth, honey, fruit, and other things from the forest to outsiders. There isn’t much to spend our money on. We just save it.” He looked away, and added nothing further. It is not in the nature of the Baduy to volunteer information about themselves, and they are not embarrassed by silence.

I prodded a little. With little on which to spend their cash, Sarmin admitted that some villagers accumulate significant savings. He added that outsiders in the surrounding areas often borrowed money from members of the Baduy community to fund their consumeristic lifestyles, offering up plots of land as security. “A brother of mine lent a man near here fifty million rupiah to hold a wedding for his daughter. He couldn’t pay it back.” The Baduy celebrate weddings with the simplest ceremony imaginable, a shared meal and a few words. In the villages outside their community, poor farmers mark the same rite of passage by hiring a band, staging puppet performances, holding a feast. When the villager couldn’t repay the loan, he surrendered a block of land to the brother. Members of the Outer Baduy often grow some cash crops on these newly acquired lands outside their traditional territory, although most maintain their simple lifestyles.

There are exceptions, however. Sarmin talked of a former member of the Outer Baduy community, Haji Kasmin, who had a driving ambition to attain a formal education, something forbidden by customary law. “He was a rebel. He had to leave,” said Sarmin. Curious about the ‘rebel Baduy,’ I later asked people in the nearby villages, outside the community, for more information. They laughed: everybody knew Haji Kasmin. After leaving the community, he had converted to Islam and gone on to achieve considerable success in the business world, eventually being appointed as a member of the national parliament. In fact, there was little shame or disapprobation attached to his departure – Kasmin remained a frequent visitor to the Baduy territory, and played a valuable role as a defender of Baduy interests at the national level. While the most prominent of those who leave the community, Kasmin is hardly unique, and a significant number of others have also left to assimilate into the surrounding villages. “Life here doesn’t suit everyone,” Sarmin said, adding with some understatement: “It’s very simple.”

Katamsi returned from his walk to the inner villages, puffing slightly with exertion. Katamsi is softly spoken and polite to a fault, but he shook his head and spoke without mincing his words. “No, I’m sorry. You won’t be able to cross the bridge.” I was crestfallen, but there was no point in arguing or pleading. It was the law.

Apparently, it was a particularly sensitive time. It appeared that the annual Kawalu festival and the ceremonies that accompany it had just ended, several days earlier. As is customary at this time, members of the inner community were busy preparing to walk to Serang to offer forest produce as tribute to the Governor of Banten. Katamsi explained that Kawalu was a village cleansing ceremony held at harvest time. During this time, Katamsi said, the inner area is completely closed to outsiders. “The Pu’un set up a band to go around the Baduy villages, house by house. They check that people don’t have things they shouldn’t have. Stuff like plates and crockery with patterns on them, or battery operated torches,” Sarmin chimed in. “If they find stuff like that, they take it away. They give the family a warning or some kind of punishment. Depends on what they find.”

In the inner Baduy community, infringements of the law often mean expulsion to the outer community. Sarmin told a story of one inner Baduy member who had seen a bus pass by in the area outside his territory. On an impulse, he had succumbed to temptation, and taken a ride. “He just wanted to see what it was like. Then he went straight to the Pu’un and told him. The Pu’un said he and his family would have to move to the outer community.” He was not shamed or shunned, and he retained friendly relationships with his old community – but they felt he had forfeited the right to live with them. His conduct had placed him outside the inner circle.

The three Pu’un, one each from Cikartawana, Cibeo, and Cikeusik, are the spiritual leaders of the entire Baduy community. Their word on matters of taboo and ritual is law. While the position of Pu’un is usually hereditary, they are leaders in matters of ritual only. While they have many special responsibilities, they have few extra priveliges, and no extra luxuries. After ensuring the purity of the community during the Kawalu ritual, the Pu’un conduct the annual pilgrimage to the Arca Domas, the primordial megalithic site deep in the sacred forest. As the three Pu’un and their assistants are the only people ever permitted to set foot in this forest, and only at this time of the year, practically nothing is known about the site and the rituals conducted there. When I pushed Sarmin for details, he just looked away, not even bothering to shrug.

On Katamsi’s visit to the inner zone, he met an old friend, Naniek, a member of the Inner Baduy and the son of a former Pu’un. Naniek joined us on the walk back to Sarmin’s village. On the way, he asked me where I lived. I told him my address in Jakarta, certain it would mean nothing to him. To my astonishment, he said: “Oh, yes. Near the Hilton Hotel, isn’t it?” I stared at him, this man of the forest in his home-spun rags, holding a bamboo staff. I couldn’t believe that he could possibly know anything about Jakarta’s premier five-star hotel, but he nodded in a positively blasé fashion. “I often go to Jakarta,” he said, then grinned widely for no apparent reason, displaying teeth that had obviously not benefited from modern dentistry. When I asked why he made these trips, he just shrugged. Katamsi chuckled. “He just visits for the fun of it.” Still not quite believing, I asked how he got there. “I walk,” he said, as though it was the most obvious thing to do. Pushed, he said that he made the 120-kilometer journey on foot in two days or three days, following the railway track and sleeping in public places or the houses of acquaintances. Katamsi backed him up. “One day I came to work. My office is on the 25th level of the Menara Batavia building. Naniek was sitting on the floor of the lobby. The receptionist was having a fit. Naniek wouldn’t use the lift, so he walked up the stairs. He didn’t want anything in particular, he’d just come to say hello.” Katamsi and Naniek laughed at the memory of the flustered receptionist, and at Katamsi’s valiant insistence that he would walk down the stairs to accompany Naniek back to the street.

As we wound our way through the hilly terrain, Naniek and Katamsi found further sources of amusement, laughing at stories of outsiders who come to the inner community in search of spiritual advice or magical solutions to their problems. Again, Naniek shocked me with his blasé manner. “President Soekarno used to come here quite often. He walked in,” he said casually. He seemed to find it perfectly natural that the head of state should find the time for these ventures into the forest. There is a historical precedent – Javanese nobles would often boast of their special relationship with the men of the forest, which they felt was a source of magical power and potency.

In the modern era, the attempt of some powerful individuals to fit the Baduy into their own world view has backfired hilariously. Naniek spoke of one particular case: “When Soeharto came, he flew into the region by helicopter, but it couldn’t land in the forest. He wanted the Pu’un to meet him, but they wouldn’t come out. The Pu’un don’t go out of the forest.” Remembering the almost fawning respect nearly every Indonesian showed the former strong man, it struck me as amazing to meet people who declined an invitation to meet him. “The Baduy aren’t rebellious. We showed respect. The Pu’un sent a member of the outer Baduy to meet the president. But the Pu’un didn’t go,” Naniek said. Then he grinned broadly again.

Smiling, Katamsi added his story of a distraught teenage girl who had asked him to take her to Cibeo only several weeks previously to seek the solution to some adolescent love crisis. “She was looking for a potion or charm. She wanted something to make her boyfriend take her back,” he said. Many of the visitors, it seems, seek charms, potions, or other instant cures for their problems. If anything, the Baduy seem slightly embarrassed by this insistence that they possess powerful magic and sorcery. Instead, they insist that they merely live simply and modestly, in the forest, the way their ancestors did.

We arrived at Sarmin’s village before dusk. Naniek continued on his way, unperturbed by the impending darkness. As night fell, the shrill screech of cicadas, the wind rustling in the bamboo leaves, and the dogs’ howling prevailed. I thought about Naniek’s stories and the irony of the frustrated, the ambitious and the broken-hearted turning up here and begging for help. It may have been misguided, but I understood why outsiders – kings and presidents, artists and back-packers – have been drawn to this refuge for centuries. There is magic here, but I wondered if outsiders could walk in, wrap it up and take it away in their pockets.

At the bridge, earlier in the day, I had been disappointed that I hadn’t been allowed to visit the Baduy’s inner sanctuary. By the end of the day, I’d realized that I shouldn’t have even tried. After all, their villages and the forest they guard remain sacred only because they are undisturbed. Living according to their stern and austere code, the Baduy guard the secret glades well. A consecrated community rather than an isolated tribe, they are not ignorant of modern civilization. Rather, they deliberately reject it. That is their gift to us. We have much to learn.

About the author

Until the beginning of 2006, Irfan Kortschak was employed as the Editor-in-Chief of Garuda Indonesia’s Magazine and other publications for more than two years, a position which has involved the writing of feature articles; the collection, compilation, and editing of feature articles by Indonesian and expatriate contributors; liaisons with the Editorial Board and other officials of Garuda Indonesia Airlines; interviews with central and regional government figures, tourism industry operators, and others; and the training and supervision of a team of journalists, photographers and designers. In this capacity, he traveled throughout Indonesia and abroad, to destinations in South-East Asia, East Asia, the Middle East, Europe and Australia to write and take photographs for feature articles.
This article remain the copyright of the Author (Irfan Kortschak). Under no circumstances should the photos or text be used without the express written permission of the Author (Irfan Kortschak). He can be reached at irfan@wayang.net

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Down The River

Banjarmasin has two floating markets: the one at Lok Baintan and another at Muara Kuin. The market at Lok Baintan is still authentic whereas the one at Muara Kuin was built by the government specifically for the tourist trade.

Pak Johan, an amicable man in his forties who is always happy to shoot the breeze, was telling me all about the floating market - pasar apung - on the Barito River in the city of Banjarmasin, South Kalimantan.

He is the owner of Borneo Homestay, my accommodation during the time I was visiting Banjarmasin. A row of flags from around the world and the slogan “home for backpackers” out front reminds everyone that this simple hostel is a favourite haunt of budget travellers, many of whom are foreigners.

“My name is in the Lonely Planet travel guide, as is my homestay,” explained Pak Johan.
Several tour packages include accommodation at his homestay and Pak Johan as the guide. One of them is a trip to Lok Baintan Floating Market by klotok (which means motorboat in the local language).

In fact there are two floating markets in Banjarmasin: the one at Lok Baintan and another at Muara Kuin. The market at Lok Baintan is still authentic whereas the one at Muara Kuin was built by the government specifically for the tourist trade.

The city’s increasing infrastructure means that the floating market is under threat from the ordinary markets, especially with all the bridges that are being built.

“The city with a thousand rivers is turning into the city with a thousand bridges,” grumbed Pak Johan.

Pak Johan and I crossed the Martapura River on our way to Lok Baintan where we planned to take a closer look at the everyday activity in the legendary floating market.

Travelling in the rather small motorboat is not so easy. It is 5 metres long and only 1.5 metres wide, and with it frequently rolling left and right, I felt unable to move around when I first stepped aboard this classic Banjar mode of transport.

It was 4.45 am when we made our way along the tranquil Martapura River. Left and right I saw people’s homes still in darkness with no signs of activity. However in some of them I saw the lights on and people offering their dawn prayers.

The sound of the call to prayer that accompanied our little voyage and the morning mist drifting on the river was truly enchanting.

Leaving the residential area behind, the motorboat passed through an area of sparsely populated sedge grass meadows and plantations. Here it was dark and I could see the stars scattered across the sky even though they were starting to fade as the sun was beginning to rise. We saw other motorboats along the way. My guess was that they were carrying the market people we were about to see at the pasar apung.

“The boats with empty baskets onboard belong to the merchants,” said Pak Johan.

Pak Johan’s explanation made me realize that the people who run the floating markets are farmers and merchants. These farmers bring their yields directly to the merchants who purchase them in bulk. Then the merchants, with their klotok, take the farm produce and sell it to local people.

“That’s why the floating market can only be seen bewteen 6.00 and 8.00 in the morning,” added Pak Johan.

The motorboats carrying the empty baskets belong to the merchants who are going to fill them with the farmers’ goods which are bought wholesale. The motorboats stacked full with fruit and vegetables belong to the farmers. Almost everything bought and sold at the pasar apung is agricultural produce although there are a few traders selling clothes.

This business model, according to Pak Johan, has been passed down from generation to generation, although he does not know exactly when the tradition began. Communities have been located on the land either side of the river which is exposed when the water level is low, since long ago. They have therefore been using boats to go about their business for a long time.

We’d spent an hour on South Kalimantan’s second biggest river when we finally reached the village of Lok Baintan. There wasn’t much going on when we arrived at the pasar apung, which according to Pak Johan can move around depending on the river currents.

We dropped by a food stall near the jetty in Lok Baintan where the floating market is often located. Our breakfast that morning was a glass of hot, sweet tea and some local speciality cakes. The tea cost only IDR500 and the various light snacks - or wadai - were wrapped in different colours. One example was a cake made using a traditional recipe called untuk-untuk which is like a kind of bun with green bean paste filling.

I took the opportunity to head for Lok Baintan’s Jembatan Gantung (suspension bridge). I’m not sure exactly how high this bridge is but I had to hold on tightly to the steel cable as I crossed it because I found the swaying motion scary at times. From here the sunrise panorama was quite beautiful. As I took it in could see the klotok pottering back and forth beneath me.

Pak Johan suggested we return to the motorboat and go back across the river. By now the activity in the market, on a bend in the river not far from the jetty, was clear to see. The colourful fruit and vegetables decorated to the increasingly bustling river.
Most of the people working in the market are women. There were only a handful of men doing business there.

The folks in the market were unperturbed when we approached them and took some photographs. They seemed at ease and some of them even greeted us enthusiastically. We waved and took a moment to chat with them.

It is so busy here that motorboats often bump into each other. In fact collisions are commonplace at pasar apung. The ladies who move around using smaller klotok are experts when it comes to poise. They nip nimbly in and out of the nodding throng of boats without hesitation.

The fruit and vegetables sold here cannot be bought singly or by the kilogram like in the conventional markets. There are no weighing scales and plastic wrappers here, just big baskets ready to be filled with the produce. And there is plenty of bartering going on.

At 7.30 am we left the market and headed back to my homestay. Pak Johan’s motorboat made its way down the calm River Martapura. On the return trip I saw that the atmosphere had changed. Now there were people going about their business everywhere. People bathing, doing their laundry, and buying things from the merchants in their klotok.

I began to understand Pak Johan’s concern that the new infrastructure being built in the city represented a threat to the river’s potential as a tourist attraction.

“We need motorboats, not bridges,” said Pak Johan.

Life here is inextricably linked to the river. So many of the city’s houses are found along its banks. However, uniquely, these are not shanty town type dwellings like we see in places like Jakarta. These houses are orderly and clean. Indeed, many of them have garages at the rear with cars parked in them. We can also see plenty satellite TV dishes.

“Even though their activities involve the river, the water never smells,” explained Pak Johan.
Throughout my journey on the klotok, not once did I detect any foul or rotten smells from the river even though the local people use water from the river for their daily activities. Pak Johan was right: let’s hope the city with a thousand rivers does not become the city with a thousand bridges.

Getting to Banjarmasin:
Garuda Indonesia flies the Jakarta-Banjarmasin-Jakarta route 21 times per week.

If tourists want to see the Lok Baintan floating market, they can use motorized transport to reach the village of Lok Baintan. However, the best recommendation is to hire a small motorboat - a klotok - in Banjarmasin. Several hostels and guesthouses along the riverside offer tours to Lok Baintan.

The prices of package tours differ depending on the hotels offering them. At the Borneo Homestay visitors can pay IDR100,000 for a tour to the floating market in Lok Baintan.

Where to Stay:
The recommended accommodation for backpackers is Borneo Homestay at No.33 Jalan Simpang Hasanudin. This rustic guesthouse is mentioned in the Lonely Planet guide. So don’t be surprised if this very modest hostel is always full of backpackers from overseas.

With a limited number of rooms available it is best to book in advance. The contact number is 0511 436 6545.

Let's Explore the beauty and unique of Indonesia

source: garuda inflight magazine

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Echanting beauty of Baliem Valley

Once you read or give it a deeper study to Danis way of life, dont be surprised that you may find your eye lifting or forehead wrinkling. Why? Because the Dani is uniquely amazing.

The Dani men and women sleep separately in different honai (Danis traditional house). The men sleep grouped in one honai, while the women and children slumber in another honai. As descended from their ancestor, sex is taboo for the women after giving birth, for 2 or 5 years. As the result the Dani generated healthier kids since the women focus on babysitting the kids during the most important phase of growth.

This situation makes the men vulnerable to polygamy, its a true fact of life that the Dani men are allowed to have more than 1 wife or as many as he can afford. A man should give 4-5 pigs to the girls parent he wants to marry. For Dani men, his social status are initiated by the number of wives and pigs he has.

Another remarkable custom of Dani is that women will amputate their finger when their relatives die, hence don't be surprised when you see women with missing finger.

To enhance the quality of your experience in Baliem Valley, a guide is essential since there are no clear maps or signage initiated for visitor. The guide will help to lead the track, communicate with the local people and in advance. The guide will also inform you about local dos and don'ts.

Getting There

Flying might be the only way to access the Baliem Valley through Wamena. Here are some alternatives on carrier from Jayapura to Wamena: (For further info, ask the officers at Sentani Airport Information Center). Trigana Air Services provide daily flights into and out of Wamena. Spot the Trigana Air Service Offices at Sentani Airport terminal and Wamena Airport terminal.

MAF

AMA

Yajasi

Manunggal Air

Hercules carrier provide by Indonesian army (TNI)

To access Baliem Valley, you can rent car or public bus from Wamena.

Getting Around

Would you mind if we say ON FOOT? Through trekking, you can witness traditional ceremonies, traditional markets and the people of Dani. There is no restaurant inside the Baliem- Valley, a guide could bargain the Dani people to provide simple meals. Its stoutly advised, that the visitor bring their own meals and snack during the trekking. Meals and snacks can be found in grocery store at Wamena.

To Do

The captivating Baliem Fiesta/Festival is held on August around 10 - 17 August every year. The festival performs traditional dances, pig races, ancestral fighting and races. Today, Baliem Fiesta is one of the main reasons why tourists visit Papua. Its a magical Fiesta says most of the tourist.

Try visiting the large and busy local market at Sinatma, or spotting mummies at Kurulu Village.

To Stay

For those who are adventurer and cultural observer in heart, stay and mingle with the Baliem Valley people is possible, just make sure your guide booked it before your visit. Go show? Affordable. If the first alternative is way too extreme, you can stay at hotels at Wamena:

• Wamena Hotel at Jl. Homhom 61
• Srikandi Hotel at Jl. Irian 16
• Pondok Wisata Putri Dani at Jl. Irian 40
• Nayak Hotel at Jl. Gatot Subroto 63
• Hotel Syah Rial Makmur at Jl. Gatot Subroto 45
• Hotel Anggrek at Jalan Ambon 1
• Baliem Pilamo Hotel at Jalan Trikora
• Baliem Valley Resort (3 star resort), www.baliem-valley-resort.de

To Buy

Souvenirs can be easily found on the valley as you can buy the crafts directly from the Dani people.

• Stone blade is a major favorite among visitors
• Sekan: rattan bracelate
• Noken: made from trees bark
• Head and arm necklace
• Jogal: grass skirt
• And other head decorations

Tips

Guide is needed to explore the valley

Dont forget to bring the copy of your Surat Keterangan Jalan

Best time to visit is between March and August

If you travel during the rainy season, be prepared with cold weather equipment

Ask your guide about Dos and Donts in the Baliem Valley

Foreigner must obtain a travel permit letter or known as Surat Keterangan Jalan to get the access into the interior part of Papua. You can obtain the Surat Keterangan Jalan at main town police station such as Jayapura, Merauka, Timika, Biak, Nabire, Monokwari and other main city. The permit of lasts will depend on your request, from 1 week until 1 month or even longer. Please prepare copies of your passport, recent photograph and list of places you wish to visit. Its easy to get the Surat Keterangan Jalan, because the officers are friendly and helpful.

You can ask your travel agent to arrange the Surat Keterangan Jalan. And Let's Explore Indonesia.

Source: Visit Indonesia

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The Great Wall of Bromo

Text and Photos by Teguh Sudarisman

There's no such thing as a bad day to visit Bromo. Even when it's cloudy and raining, it displays another side of its beauty.

Since mid-day yesterday, even before we set foot in Ngadas village, heavy rain, strong winds and fog have been here to greet us. The trees seem like black shadows wreathed in white fog, as do the terraced rice fields on either side of the village road.

"When the weather is clear, the view here is magnificent," says Purnawan, a lecturer and researcher on the Tengger community, who is accompanying us to Ngadas.

Our destination is Segara Wedi Anakan – the upper "sea of sand" – located to the south of and–next to Bromo's crater. Until recently, most people only knew about the sea of sand below Mount Bromo. Ngadas (2,140 meters above sea level), the highest inhabited village in Java and located within Bromo-Tengger-Semeru National Park, is our base camp.

This very morning, we canceled our plan to see the sunrise over Bromo from the south, because of the relentless rain and fog. Our plan to find Segara Wedi Anakan also seems rather uncertain. And the weather has been like this for ten days now. Some of the villagers on the west slope of the Tengger Range have resumed their activities, but most are wrapped in sarongs and shivering with cold – which seems odd to me, since they've lived here for generations.

Someone suggests that we pay a visit to Pak Ngatrulin, the dukun (traditional leader) of Desa Ngadas. "Why not request help from Pak Untung, the local pawang hujan (rain control expert)?" he advised us. When we ask Pak Mulyadi, former village head of Ngadas, park ranger, and the owner of the house where we are staying, he takes us there.

Pak Untung is sleeping when we arrive. He grumbles when his wife awakens him. "If you need help now, why didn't you tell me yesterday?" He's a big guy, with a fierce face and hair, rather intimidating; we say nothing. But he doesn't seem angry. He brings out his cigarettes and squats out in the front yard; we see his mouth uttering a mantra, and his eyes staring far off into the sky. The ritual ends after about five minutes.

He doesn't object when Pak Mulyadi asks him to bring out his "pets" – masks of a tiger, white leopard, cow, white ape, and buffalo, and a–kuda lumping (flat horse image) and its whip. Pak Untung is a pawang of Bantengan, a traditional Tenggerese art form. He tells us that each mask has a penunggu (inhabiting spirit) which needs to be regularly fed with incense and various offerings, so that whoever wears it is not possessed.

It's still cloudy when the five of us set out for Gunung Bromo. Apart from myself, Arif the photographer, Purnawan, and Pak Mulyadi, we have hired as our guide Pak Puliono, a native Tenggerese who spends his days gathering wild mushrooms and medicinal plants in the Tengger Mountains. Only he knows the route to Segara Wedi Anakan.

As soon as we set out down the hill, the weather clears; the grassy plains in the valley between Gunung Kursi and Gunung Jantur start to show green, and the small hills below, often called the "Teletubbies", are bathed in golden sunlight. We can clearly see the concrete road through the fields, which later becomes a dirt road heading toward the lower sand dunes. "Hmm, it seems Pak Untung does have the power," Arif chuckles.

Though the summit of Mount Jantur is still blanketed with fog, the landscape here is truly extraordinary. The mountain is composed of vertical layers of stone. In contrast, Mount Kursi, with its long, flat summit, is covered with knee-high elephant grass and ferns, fennel plants with yellow flowers, purple-flowered trasinan, and occasionally tiny edelweiss.

"Why don't we just climb Gunung Kursi? Isn't Segara Wedi Anakan behind this mountain?" I ask. Pak Puliono shakes his head.""The route from here is too far and too steep, and on the other side of this mountain, we'd have to climb another. It's much easier to take the Bromo stairs." I look again at my Google Earth printout of Bromo, and he's right.

The four-wheel-drive Jeep driven by Pak Mulyadi cuts through the grassy fields, follows a sandy road with the odd rain puddle, and finally comes to a plain entirely covered in sand; the lower sea of sand. We see Bromo emitting white, sulfurous smoke to our left, and the hills below it covered in a silvery color – ash from the recent eruption.

The weather turns overcast again, and fog and sulfurous fumes from the crater greet us when we arrive at the bottom of the natural stairway to the peak of Bromo (elev. 2,229 meters).

We're all coughing; we cover our mouths with handkerchiefs, which unfortunately don't help much, because if you breathe through your mouth, the fumes still get in and make you cough. We climb the stairs – it is said there are 249 of them – and we see who we have left behind: Purnawan. Although he regularly visits Tengger for research, it seems breathing sulfur fumes is a new experience for him.

When we get to the top of the stairway at the rim of the crater, we take the route to the left. "You can also turn right, but the terrain is more difficult," says Puliono, now 53, who has been exploring Tengger since he was 17.

We walk along the crater rim. The right side has a fence, but the left is an open ravine. Visibility is only about ten meters, and the crater rim itself is only two or three meters wide, so we have to walk very cautiously. Pak Puliono is in the lead, I'm right behind him, then Arif, Purnawan, and Pak Mulyadi taking up the rear. Pak Puliono strides quickly ahead of us; several times I have to shout to him to wait up.

After walking only about 50 meters, I stop suddenly. The fence along our right has just ended, and the completely fenceless path ahead of me vanishes in the fog. So should I keep going or not? There's also a strong wind from the right. I wait and shout "woooii" several times. I hear a reply from behind me, and then they emerge from the mists. We can faintly see Pak Puliono in the distance, carrying our supplies on a pole across his shoulders.

So we continue walking slowly along the crater rim. Breathing becomes more difficult, as we're climbing a small hill and the sulfur fumes are still bothering us. The wind and fog bring an occasional drizzle, and we have to keep shouting to each other whenever we get separated in the thick fog. Despite my anxiety, I think how great is God, who created this Tengger caldera. Probably if the weather were clear, we would get a much nicer view from here. But even in these foggy conditions, the seemingly endless trail, the crater, and the ravine cloaked in silver present a stunning panorama. '"It feels like we're walking on top of the Great Wall of China," says Arif.

Then the wind helps us; the smell of the sulfur fumes suddenly vanishes, as does the thick fog covering the trail. On our right stretches the vast crater of Bromo, with many fissures emitting white sulfurous smoke.

We climb again, stopping frequently to drink and catch our breath. Purnawan, holding his knees, groans, "Is it much farther?" Pak Puliono, who hasn't even taken a sip of water the whole time, simply smiles. "It's close, just one more hill."

Well, what's "close" for him is far for us, and this last hill is the highest yet. We get split up, and Purnawan falls behind. Puliono is calmly squatting at the summit, watching us climb up one by one. "Come on, this is the last safe spot!" he shouts from above.

"After that?" Arif asks.

"Not safe any more. Hahaha!"

Eventually, we all gather at the highest peak (elev. 2,354 meters), a three-way junction. From here, there's a path on the left that rises slightly, and one to the right that's a sharp descent. It starts to drizzle again and we all put on our raincoats. But which way is Segara Wedi Anakan? "Over there, below us," says Pak Puliono, pointing to a wide valley before us, completely white with fog. "All we do now is go down to the right, just about one more kilometer."

We're flabbergasted. Going down shouldn't be too bad, but coming up again? And with this rain and fog, will we even be able to see the sea of sand?

The rain and wind get stronger, and we decide that this is far enough. "At least we now know the way to the upper sea of sand," Purnawan says to console me. And we have to proceed very carefully on our walk back down, with the rain beating on our backs.

Getting to Bromo from Malang

The Malang-Tumpang-Gubugklakah-Ngadas-Bromo route is an option worth trying. It's more challenging, but also more interesting than the Surabaya-Pasuruan-Wonokitri-Bromo route or the Surabaya-Probolinggo-Sukapura-Cemara Lawang-Bromo route.

From Ngadas, we enter the Bromo area from the south. From Ngadas, you can also head toward Ranupani, the gateway for climbing Gunung Semeru from the north. The road to Ngadas and Bromo is poured concrete, and requires a four-wheel-drive vehicle with an experienced driver. It's recommended to get a local Tengger resident to drive, or try to find a driver in Tumpang. Contact Purnawan (0341-5406678, purnawan_dn@yahoo.co.id) or Mulyadi Bromo Putro (0341-9731001).

Garuda flies to Surabaya 108 times a week.

Source: Garuda Indonesia Magazine

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Muara Angke Wildlife Reserve “It’s Hard to Imagine...”

Text by Virgina Veryastuti Photos by Jan Dekker

Birds chirping, dense growths of mangrove and pedada trees swarming with long-tailed monkeys – it's hard to imagine that all this can still be found in Jakarta, but it is, at the Muara Angke Wildlife Reserve in North Jakarta.

Entering the wildlife reserve, I was greeted by birds calling to one another from the mangrove and pedada trees. They seemed to be welcoming our arrival with the sounds of nature. It was all so peaceful and pleasant.

The Muara Angke Wildlife Reserve (Suaka Margasatwa Muara Angke, SMMA) is a small conservation area of mangrove forests on the north coast of Jakarta. It was originally established by the Netherlands Indies government as a nature preserve on 17 June 1939 with an area of 15.04 ha, and later expanded to 1,344.62 ha in the 1960s.

Unfortunately, steadily increasing environmental pressures from both within and outside the Muara Angke area have damaged much of the reserve. Therefore, 60 years after it was first designated as a nature preserve, in 1998 the Indonesian government changed its status to that of a wildlife reserve.

As the last remaining mangrove forest in Jakarta, SMMA, which has a conservation area of 25.02 hectares, is Jakarta's last line of defense against seawater abrasion and rising tides, as well as functioning as lungs for the city and a runoff area for floodwaters.

That afternoon I was accompanied by Edy Sutrisno, a volunteer from Jakarta Green Monster, and two German tourists who had been staying in Jakarta for seven months. We enjoyed the view of the clusters of mangroves and pidada and nipah trees by hiking along the 800-meter bridge trail, which was completed in March last year.

Now and then we saw birds emerging from the dense mangroves; several long-tailed monkeys seemed to be holding a caucus in the trees, or even crossing the trail. Edy said that this bridge trail will be extended to circumnavigate the SMMA area and connected to the protected forest so that visitors will have an even more interesting experience.

Within the reserve there are at least 30 species of plants, of which eleven are trees. The types of mangrove trees here include bakau (Rhizophora mucronata, Rapiculata), api-api (Avicennia spp.), pidada (Sonneratia caseolaris) and buta-buta (Excoecaria agallocha). Other tree species such as ketapang (Terminalia catappa) and nipah (Nypa fruticans) are also found here.

Apart from these species, several others have been introduced as part of the reforestation effort, such as asam jawa (tamarind, Tamarindus indica), bintaro (Cerbera manghas), kormis (Acacia auriculiformis), nyamplung (Calophyllum inophyllum), tanjang (Bruguiera gymnorrhiza), and waru laut (Hibiscus tiliaceus).

The SMMA is also a habitat for many species of birds and other creatures that are becoming scarce, particularly within Jakarta. Jakarta Green Monster has recorded 91 bird species found in the reserve: 28 species of water birds and 63 of forest birds. Around 17 of these are protected species.

I also had the chance to observe the birds from the ‘Bird Hide', a sort of platform placed securely in the middle of the path. From there, we could watch birds gathering food and engaged in other activities, without disturbing them.

Among the bird species commonly found at SMMA are Pecuk-padi Kecil (lesser cormorant, Phalacrocorax niger), Cangak (heron, Ardeola spp.), Kuntul (egret, Egretta spp.), Kareo Padi (white-breasted water hen, Amaurornis phoenicurus), Mandar Batu (moorhen, Gallinula chloropus), Betet Biasa (red-breasted parakeet, Psittacula alexandri), Merbah Cerukcuk (yellow-vented bulbul, Pycnonotos goiavier), Kipasan Belang (pied fantail, Rhipidura javanica), Remetuk Laut (golden-bellied gerygone, Gerygone sulphurea), and many others. Several of these species are endemic to the mangrove forest, such as Sikatan Bakau (mangrove flycatcher, Cyornis rufigastra). The SMMA is also home to the Perenjak Jawa (bar-winged prinia, Prinia familiaris).

Several other endemic bird species found hare are species found only on the island of Java, such as Cerek Jawa (Javan plover, Charadrius Javanicus) and Bubut Jawa (Sunda coucal, Centropus nigrorufus). The Bubut Jawa is a world endangered species that exists in only a few places, including the SMMA.

The Bubut Jawa population in SMMA is currently no more than ten individuals. Another endangered bird species that lives here is the bangau bluwok (milky stork, Mycteria cinerea). The only place in Java where this species is known to breed is Pulau Rambut, an island not far from Muara Angke.

In addition to the bird species, the SMMA also has several bands of long-tailed macaques (Macaca fascicularis). There are currently around three large bands of these monkeys, each comprising around 20 to 30 animals. Their main food is the young leaves and fruits of the mangrove trees, such as pidada (Sonneratia caseolaris) fruits. These long-tailed monkeys play an important role in the Muara Angke Wildlife Reserve, because they help disseminate the seeds of the forest plants; these indigestible seeds are expelled in their feces.

Another mammal species that lives in the SMMA but is much more rarely seen is the berang-berang cakar-kecil (small-clawed otter, Aonyx cinerea). This small carnivore, which feeds on fish and other water creatures, is mostly nocturnal.

The SMMA is also home to various reptile species, such as biawak air (water monitor, Varanus salvator), ular sanca kembang (reticulated python, Python reticulatus), ular sendok Jawa or Javan spitting cobra (Naja sputatrix), ular welang (banded krait, Bungarus fasciatus), ular kadut belang (puff-faced water snake, Homalopsis buccata), ular cincin mas (gold-banded mangrove snake, Boiga dendrophila), ular pucuk (green whip snake, Ahaetula prasina), and ular bakau (dog-faced water snake, Cerberus rhynchops). Local residents also claim that buaya muara (estuary crocodile, Crocodylus porosus) are found here.

While walking along the bridge trail, we were surprised to see an eagle circling over the SMMA area. Edy suspected that it was a crested serpent eagle (elang ular bido), a species that would normally be seen in the mountains.

SMMA is also an important transit area for birds migrating between the northern and southern hemispheres.

"It's hard to imagine you can find a place like this in Jakarta. I'm so happy it exists, but at the same time a bit sad because the area is too small," said Guido, a German tourist who is also an entomologist.

The operator of the SMMA is the Natural Resource Conservation Unit (BKSDA). This agency is technically under the Department of Forestry, but in practice it is assisted by other institutions such as the Jakarta Green Monster community, whose volunteers publicize the reserve's existence, share their knowledge by inviting school groups to visit, and conduct monitoring survey of the animals found in the reserve.

Currently, most of the visitors to the Muara Angke Wildlife Reserve are students or tourists who want to see the Bubut Jawa. It's also a great alternative tourism destination in Jakarta – a place to relax after your intense daily routine. Listening to the ceaseless chirping of the birds, or looking at the colors of the insects as they flit among the trees, helps us to forget all that – it's really hard to imagine you're still in Jakarta.

source: garuda magazine

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TMII (Beautiful Indonesia Miniature Park)

Taman Mini Indonesia Indah or Beautiful Indonesia Miniature Park was built to be the showcase of Indonesia, in this park visitors will find many Indonesia natural & cultural richness such as unique replication of traditional houses (pavilion) from all around Indonesia, an Indonesia archipelago shaped lake and many other fascinating attraction. The park is an Ideal spot for week-end family outing and also international tourist who did not have enough time to explore Indonesia.

It started with the idea of the late Ibu Tien Soeharto (former Indonesia first lady). The construction of TMII began in 1971 and it was official inaugurated on April 20, 1975.

Since its existence and in the course of time TMII continues to grow and developed in line with the dynamism of the community life of Indonesia. People are the more aware of the great advantages of the existence of TMII, with the mission to be a vehicle for the preservation and development of the culture and a means to strengthen the unity and integrity of the people of Indonesia.

TMII is considered as a vehicle presenting the diversity of the people of Indonesia and the variety of cultural wealth enables the community to gain interesting experience, knowledge and information regarding various aspect of culture, tradition, customs, forms of art as far as the introduction of cultural objects.

The beauty and cultural wealth presented by TMII can easily be observed by the community through the availability of a more complete and interactive means of information. It is expected that through the website the information can be disseminated widely all over the Archipelago and even abroad so that it will facilitate the community to better know about the culture and customs of the people of Indonesia.

Getting There

From Central Jakarta, TMII is about 25 kilometers away. Five kilometers, if you're in Halim Perdana Kusuma airport (local airport). It is reachable by public transportation, taxi. Rent a car for a more comfortable journey. Below is the list of public transportation heading TMII. But you may need to have a local companion to make sure you get on the right car or bus.

* Metro Mini T. 45 (Pulogadung - PT. II TMII)
* Angkot KWK S. 15 A (Ragunan - PT. II TMII)
* Angkot KWK T. 01 (Cililitan - Bambu Apus)
* Angkot KWK T. 02 (Cililitan - Cipayung)
* Angkot KWK T. 05 (Cililitan - Setu)
* Angkot KWK P. 15 (Cililitan - Cilangkap)
* Angkot KWK K. 40 (Bekasi-Kmp. Rambutan)
* Angkot KWK S. 19 (Depok - Pinang Ranti)
* Bus Gandeng PPD BT. 03 (Grogol - TMII)


Getting Around

This is a mean of transportation to get you around the "Archipelago" by shuttle cars. Sky Lift Indonesia (Kereta Gantung). Want a quick and easy geography lesson? Take the Sky Lift for an aerial tour of the park and one of the sights that will stay with you is a scale model of the islands of Indonesian archipelago set in a smalll lake.

To Do

Istana Anak-anak Indonesia:

Indonesia Children Castle, featuring fairy tales painting from Indonesia and all over the world.

Perahu Angsa Arsipel Indonesia:

Swan Boat to explore Indonesia archipelago shaped lake.

Taman Among Putro:

An amusement park for children fully equipped with games and fun activities.

Taman Ria Atmaja:

a 60 Sq m stage in an 4000 Sq m area, well known as Dangdut Terminal (Dangdut: popular unique music genre in Indonesia).

Taman Renang Ambar Tirta:

Swimming pool for adult and children, equipped with trainer and lifeguard.

Teater Imax Keong Emas:

A shopisticated IMAX technology snail shaped theatre, with several IMAX movies featuring Indonesia natural and cultural richness.

Desa Wisata:

When a day is not enough to explore TMII, there is Desa Wisata, a hostel for individual or groups visiting TMII from outside Jakarta to stay overnight.

Titihan Samirono/Aeromovel:

Another way to get around is the fast train, Aeromovel. This is an example of the fast and efficient train that could provide nowaday mass transportation for Indonesia.

To Stay

Inns and hotels in and around Jakarta

Graha Wisata Remaja. Ideal for teenagers and those with limited budget. It is within walking distance to small restaurants, cable car station, pool, and several museums. Have overtired legs? The terminal for transportation is nearby. The shuttle cars there will transport you to other attraction within the park that you desire.

Padepokan Pencak Silat. This accomodation equipped with meeting rooms.

Desa Wisata. Mainly for young people in groups. This place sometimes hosts several meetings, events, and seminars. You can rent the cottages for more privacy. Food and beverages is available to order. An open theater is also available.

To Eat

Restoran Caping Gunung

Its natural lighting (no light bulbs, light is provided with roof made of clear materials) and tasty food will provide a unique dining experience.

Pasar Tiban (Tiban Market)

Food sellers inhabit this small complex consisting of many buildings. You can eat at small restaurants scattered around this area.


To Buy

TMII sells many small trinkets that will enable you to remember your experience here. Various shirts, hats, postcards are widely available.


Tips

TMII is quite huge, consisting of more than 100 hectares of land. If you don't have much time, join a tour. That way, you'll save money and time. (You'll get a discount if you travel in a group). If you want to explore this site fully, it is best if you spend the night within this area.


Should be on your list:
1. Take a trip on the cable car.
You'll be able to see TMII from the top a delightful experience.
2. Watch Indonesian movies at Theater Imax Keong Emas.
3. Visit several museums in this area.
4. Visit the orchid garden and bird park.

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Wayang Kulit, the Art from Nusantara

The Indonesian word 'wayang' is derived from a word meaning 'shadow' or 'ghost'. These intricately cut and perforated shadow puppets are made from buffalo hide. 'Kulit' means 'leather' or 'skin'. 'Wayang Kulit' has a documented history of existence of at least 800 years in the Indonesian archipelago.

This was an open air performance under the stars. A temporary bamboo platform had been constructed in the village square. It had a raised stage on which the puppeteer and musicians of the 'Gender Wayang' orchestra sat cross-legged. A fine cotton screen, called 'kelir', separates the dalang from his audience. This screen represents the universe and the light from a bronze oil lamp, called 'blencong' just in front of the dalang throws magical flickering shadows onto it.

There is no hiding the mechanics of the show as in Western theatre since the bamboo platform had no sides. The audience is free to sit either facing the screen, or can watch the dalang at work.

Before a play begins, the dalang undertakes several ceremonial acts and rituals to assure a successful performance. With great reverence, he taps three times on the wooden box containing all his puppets in order to wake them up. Figures of deities representing good and evil (sometimes over one hundred) are ranged in their prescribed place to the left and right hand sides of the screen. When quiescent, the puppets are spiked into the soft flesh of the trunk of a banana tree at the base of the cotton screen. This represents the earth.

The dalang underscores the action and the rhythm of his chanting while sitting cross-legged by tapping loudly with quickening tempo on the wooden puppet box at his back with a little bronze knob held between the toes of one foot. He also uses this device to conduct the small Gender Wayang orchestra of xylophones and gongs sitting behind him, all the time maintaining a number of different body rhythms as he manipulates the puppets.

The dalang is a highly venerated artist with exceptional powers over the elements at his command. He is a complete performer who excels in many things. He displays enormous physical and mental endurance. He is an orator with a prodigious memory who must be able to repeat many lengthy texts word for word but also improvise entire interludes ranging from ribald jokes to philosophical conversations. He is a scholar of literature and yet keeps himself abreast, not only of national events, but of everyday happenings in the district including the latest gossip and scandal. He must know all his figures, about one hundred or more, their nature and symbolic importance, and have such vocal dexterity as to give each its proper tone and pitch at times creating the illusion of conversation. He deftly composes scenes on the fly, all the while paying particular attention to the artistic arrangement of his figures. He poses them in stances appropriate to their character and situation and in keeping their relationship to each other. He has to compose and sing songs as well as direct the orchestra that accompanies him. Besides all this, he is a poet-playwright who shares new wisdom in a way that satisfies public taste.

So what is the effect of all this? When the puppet is pressed up against the cotton sheet, its shadow is sharp and steady. Where it curls away from the screen a little, the shadow rapidly softens. The flickering light from the uncertain oil lamp causes these indistinct portions to quiver and waver. Sometimes puppets are presented to the screen from behind the lamp instead of entering from the wings. When this happens, they seem to magically materialise out of the very air itself as soft indistinct forms darken, gathering form and substance as they near the screen. The effect is ethereal and utterly mesmerizing.

The compelling visual appeal of a Wayang Kulit show might easily be explained by the physical laws and properties of light. The spiritual and metaphysical dimensions of the shadow play are much harder for a Westerner to describe.

The shadow play is magically powerful. At times the dalang appears to be in a trance. It is commonly believed that the audience is protected from evil influences during a Wayang Kulit performance. Its vast repertoire of tales covers all aspects of life. As well as having an educational role in society, its stories provide spiritual guidance for the people. It is as though this translucent screen with its play of light and shadow is the interface between two realms of existence - a small rectangle in the fabric of the world mediated by the dalang from where spirit beings from other planes of existence impart the wisdom of the ages to mankind. Wayang characters provide types to be emulated, giving the young an idea of what qualities to strive for.

The balmy night air was sweet with the scent of clove cigarettes. The audience, from the very young to the very old, including one white man, was held spell bound by the skills of the dalang and the stories he told. Little children, cradled in their parent's arms, stared wide-eyed at the screen, transfixed by its magic. As the night wore on, they valiantly fought a losing battle against the relentlessness of sleep, their heads occasionally jerking, wanting so desperately to stay awake.

Exciting battle scenes are usually staged shortly after midnight. These are truly fantastic to watch and is technically one of the more exacting test's of the dalang's dexterity in manipulating his puppets. Some fight scenes require the physical engagement of characters, up to six at a time, and in others, opponents use a combination of weaponry and magical powers to achieve their ends. These sequences are rich with special effects. Cutouts representing balls of fire, lightening or tempest might be used. With a trick of light and shade and a deft exchange of the puppet, characters were made to transform before a wide-eyed audience into mystical beings, a garuda, a snake. There were moments of enthralling, almost cinematic action, which I thought compared favorably with the most exciting fast-paced fighting sequences from Hong Kong Kung Foo movies that you could imagine. Characters lunged at each other, their staccato jousting movements under scored by the rapid tapping of the brass knob between the dalang's toes. They wrestled back and forth across the screen, or were thrown bodily into the air to spin 360 degrees before being slammed into a dead stop against the screen by another puppet entering the fray from the back. As delicate as they look, the leather puppets are remarkably robust, and during fight scenes, are thrown roughly about the screen. At times the oil lamp is set swaying to heighten the chaos of the battlefield. This was better than television!

At other times the story demanded large formal chunks of dialogue spoken in Kawi, an ancient Javanese tongue derived from Sanskrit which nobody but the dalang understands. Such sequences are characterised by courtly speeches delivered with astonishing vocalisation. The dalang can modulate his voice from strong and powerful delivery to the very softly spoken. Sometimes shadow plays are broadcast on the radio without any imagery. The figures jerk forward ever so slightly when speaking and with restrained refined and measured gestures, use their outstretched hands to accent words. The technique is beautiful to watch. During these lengthy passages in ancient Kawi, the audience stretched weary bodies and moved about. Teenagers stood up and picked their way through the crowd to perhaps buy some roasted peanuts from the vendors gathered around, or a drink, or to chat with their boyfriends and girlfriends.

But it is the clowns such as, Semar, Bagong, Petruk, and in Bali, Togog and Bebrodesan, which are most loved by the audience, educated and illiterate alike, and with whom the Indonesian people most readily identify. They are cohorts allied to either the good or wicked. Since the clowns figures speak the everyday language of the people, they are also used to interpret the events within time-honoured stories told in ancient tongues. Witty, crude and forever trading crass insults and innuendoes, the buffoonery of these characters allows the dalang to launch into marvelous ad lib comic sequences that embellish stories with topical village gossip, political intrigue and scandal which can leave the audience clutching their stomachs in hysterical laughter.

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