Plumeria flowers bloom throughout the year in my Southern California neighborhood. The flowering tree native to Central America produces colorful five-peddled flowers that resemble stars with a scent that’s more delectable than a rose. For many people images of tropical beaches and lush mountain retreats arise in the subconscious mind when encountering their magical aroma. I, however, am transported back to a place where the trees, locally known as jepun, are used ceremoniously in every facet of life. Their flowers cover temple entrances and make up the bedding for the palm leaf boxes that carry incense and sticky rice towards the heavens. Mosques, Hindu temples, and ancient Buddhist ruins alike are surrounded by this pungent flower. For me, to be transported back to this land of limitless islands, of terraced rice fields, endless surf breaks, diverse languages and cultures, and rich culinary traditions outdating many in the West, is to bring me to my happy place. Here I am, sitting in my office after hours, with a dried up Jepun flower picked on my morning commute on my desk, thinking back to the times when it was just myself and my surfboard on the back of a motorbike, riding endlessly towards the next village or reef. A memory that can only be found in one place: Indonesia.
If I could condense my frequent excursions to this island archipelago I’d start in Central Java. Buying a sturdy 125- 150cc motorbike would be the way to go. Statistically road safety in Indonesia can be really poor. Families of six or more can be seen piling onto a single bike like it’s nothing and don’t forget about the wandering water buffalo and lack of observable traffic laws; your safety and everyone else’s is left to God, or the gods depending on which island you’re on. Police will stop you and most likely will expect a few 20,000 rupiah bills tucked underneath the ticket. Annoyances and personal danger aside this is, in my opinion, the best way to see the country — period.
Motorbikes greatly outnumber vehicles on Indonesian roads, creating a traffic pattern that’s closer to fluid dynamics than orderly laws. A crossing pedestrian will part the flow of vehicles like a boulder in a raging river in a calm show of bravery and trust. To be thrusted into this chaotic yet functional pattern offers respite to any insatiable thrill seeking behavior. I developed a few habits on the road that heightened my own experience. Offering rides to people became one of them. I loved the act of picking up elderly locals and having them jump on the back of my bike, groceries in hand, for a few minutes of terror as this unsure foreigner brought them a few kilometers to their homes. The locals do this a lot in the villages and the appreciation and human connection I made was addictive.
Indonesia is an archipelago consisting of over 17,000 islands, each with a unique language, culture, and history. Islam is the dominant religion in most islands other than Bali where Hinduism remains strong. The common language is Bahasa Indonesia, a mixture of old Malay — used as the standard lingua-franca of trade for centuries — and Dutch loanwords adopted from the country’s colonial days.
With so much diversity, it’s hard to choose the perfect itinerary. Most people follow their idyllic Eat, Pray, Love inspired dream and visit Bali. Others head to the more remote corners for surf and rainforest expeditions. And although you can still contact lost tribes in the jungles of Borneo, much of the islands are developed and easy to explore. Over the course of five visits to the country, I chose to spend my days on the islands of: Java, Bali, and Lombok. My trips were focused on surf, history, food, and music that brought me to places off the grid where I made everlasting connections and remarkable memories. From here on out, I’ll condense my adventurous road trips into one itinerary, in the hopes of inspiring the reader to set off on their own adventure through this bewitchingly beautiful island nation.
I’ll begin my ideal road trip in Yogyakarta (Yogya for short) — the capital city of the Special Region of the same name and the only Indonesian Royal city currently ruled by a monarchy. The city is a center for education and the fine arts with many cultural centers and museums throughout the city. Traditional crafts like Batik — the technique of using wax to form patterns on fabric and dyeing the exposed surfaces — are world renowned in the city.
My favorite medium of Indonesian fine art is through traditional music and dance. Yogyakarta is famous for the theatre style known as Wayang which fuses traditional storytelling and choreographed puppetry to tell comedic takes on the Hindu epic Ramayana. Using the shadows of wooden puppets projected onto a cloth screen, the puppeteers twist and contort the puppets throughout the performance, using their voices to convey a unique interpretation of the timeless tale. Much of the beauty lies in the intricately carved puppets themselves, an art-form that’s been preserved for centuries.
Accompanying wayang theatre, festivals, and traditional dance is the traditional music known as gamelan — the largely percussive ensemble of metallophones, mallets, and hand drums. Each instrument pair is tuned slightly off from its accompanying instrument. This gives a unique cyclical undulation to the sound waves produced. This wave-like pattern combined with the other harmonic sounds and beats gives the listener a truly out of body experience.
Just a few kilometers outside the city lies two of Southeast Asia’s most iconic landmarks: Borobudur and Prambanan Temples; mysterious and enchanting monuments left by the former kingdom that ruled Java for centuries. Before dawn, I geared up to visit these incredible landmarks, to spend a day wandering around these ancient grounds, an experience that has been on my bucket-list since grade school. Setting off in the predawn darkness that envelopes the Javanese country-side, I stopped to listen to the flocks of birds making their nests in the rice fields surrounding me. From the 8th to the 11th centuries, the very spot I stood on was the center of a vast network of cities and trade networks.
Arriving at my destination I queued up in line, feeling incredibly sleepy. The morning coffee hadn’t kicked in yet and the other visitors and I were already being curraled like farm animals up the steep medieval steps. Buddhist pilgrims, western tourists, local school children, and a few fellow surfers all climbed together. I couldn’t see anything when I reached the top but could feel the roughness of the chiseled volcanic andesite below me as I sat down and peered out towards the black space ahead. Then in an instant, light started to pick apart the morning mist, splintered morning rays that seeped into the conical stupas, illuminating the 8th century buddha statues carved inside. There I lay, surrounded by these monuments with the jungle of central java stretched out beyond the horizon. Borobudur was like nowhere else on earth, and for that moment, I felt like I was in a fanciful dream, transported back in time.
Abandoned during the 14th century, the world’s largest Buddhist temple lay undiscovered, hidden in volcanic ash and dense jungle, until 1814. In its discovery, clues to a largely forgotten empire emerged. Characterized by the spread of Mahāyāna Buddhism and a cultural renaissance, the Shailendra Dynasty ruled Central Java during the 8th and 9th centuries, creating this marvel.
As the sun rose higher I began exploring the temple grounds and stupas. Over 500 Buddha statues cover the entire structure. 2500m of reliefs depicting the life, death, and enlightenment of the Buddha are etched in its walls. The temple is built on six square bases, with three additional circular levels underneath the main stupa, representing the three realms in Buddhist cosmology. Rising over 35m over the vast Javan landscape the stupa stands in stark contrast to any structure around. A group of meditating monks sat beside me as I spent my last hour in contentment, taking it all in.
After stopping for lunch in a little roadside warung — Indonesia’s unassuming, cheap, and satisfying small local eateries — I took a detour Northeast of the city. There in front of me, Mt. Merapi, the 3000m active volcano, loomed in the distance; a reminder of nature’s constant threat to the area. Within a half an hour from the city, rising like pyramids out of the morning mist, Prambanan Temple stood. It is one of Southeast Asia’s most beautiful and iconic religious buildings. Dedicated as a UNESCO World Heritage Site, the expansive grounds of ruins stretched out from the central compound in an array of fine masonry and carved reliefs that depict the era of the powerful Mataram kingdom that built it.
It’s hard to imagine today that these incredible structures laid buried in ash and overgrown vegetation until a British expedition uncovered them from the jungle in 1811. Built on a raised platform, the main temples tower over the land like giants, illuminated in the tropical sun. The largest, known as Candi Shiva Mahadeva, rises 47m from its base and is covered in detailed carvings of the Ramayana — the ancient Hindu epic that depicts the abduction of Lord Rama’s wife Sita and her freeing by the monkey god Hanuman and Sugriva. Two temples dedicated to Vishnu and Brahma stand at the main temple’s side, while three smaller temples stand across from them, representing the gods’ earthly vehicles known as Vahana. Hundreds of smaller outer temples once surrounded the main square. Now, laying in ruins, they are being laboriously reconstructed.
The complex was most likely built by the Javanese king Rakai Pikatan, marking the return of the Hindu Sanjaya Dynasty to Java after a century of Buddhist rule. At the center of the kingdom, the mythical temple stood, inhabited by priests and royalty for decades. That is until a series of natural disasters and possible political struggles led to its abandonment. After the political center of the kingdom shifted to the east, the temple was abandoned.
Wandering around the complex is awe inspiring to say the least. 9th century statues and stone reliefs create a vivid scene that takes you on a voyage through timeless hindu epics mixing hindu and buddhist imagery, a sign of the harmonic fusion of the two religions during the Mataram era.
After spending the better part of a day here I headed back into town with an empty stomach. Yogya is a foodie heaven. Street food and superb restaurants are located throughout the metro area and offer an array of options from super casual to upscale. One of my favorite specialties of the region includes a dish called gudeg — unripe jackfruit cooked in a blend of palm sugar, coconut milk, teak leaf and spices served with rice, boiled eggs, and spicy beef skin. Another favorite of mine is sate klathak — a skewered goat satay served with a rich curry soup and rice.
Rice, often cooked with tumeric and served in the shape of a cone in Yogya, is a staple and served with every meal. Yogya’s food is heavy on spicy root vegetables like ginger, galangal, and tumeric; not to mention the harmonic balance of shallot and coconut milk to stew it in. A must try is the ayam kampung — lean, happy, and incredibly flavorful free range chicken.
Alcohol can be bought but is generally frowned upon by most people here in Java. Here, coffee rules and few places in the world serve it better (aside from neighboring Bali perhaps). Often brewed with fresh ginger and a healthy serving of palm sugar, Javanese coffee is the pungent liquid of my dreams.
A few hours north of Yogya, in the central highlands of Java, is the less visited Dieng Plateau, a place that’s famous for its stunning volcanoes, unique cuisine, and Hindu temples dating back to the 6th-8th century Kalingga Kingdom. Situated 2000m in elevation, it’s no surprise that the plateau has a much different climate than the rest of the island; often experiencing frosts and extreme temperature drops that require a heavy jacket to endure. Rice terraces cover the landscape along with several great hikes leading to magnificent caves and waterfalls.
After the thrill of Prambanan and Borobudur, visiting the plateau’s much older Arjuna Temple complex is a must. Most tourists skip this region of Java so finding yourself alone amongst these grand temples early in the morning is one of the highlights to be enjoyed. After exploring the beautiful natural surroundings and losing yourself in the ancient ruins it’s time to enjoy the unique food that’s a product of this unique subtropical highland climate. Dieng is famous for a small papaya known as Carica. Sour and slightly sweet it’s flavor and aroma is very unique. Tempe, fried fermented soya beans, is used in almost everything, along with more cool climate vegetables like cabbage and carrots. Tea is the region’s most popular beverage and tea plantations can be fun to explore, with plenty offering tours.
Following an exciting week in Yogya and central Java I packed up and headed south towards the island’s Southern coast to do what many come here to do: surf. Just a few hours from Yogya is the small town known as Pacitan. The village is known for its limestone caves and more importantly to me its surf breaks. Like most surf towns it has a laid back atmosphere and plenty of bored out their mind girlfriends sitting on the beach. Down time was spent riding bicycles through the countryside and stopping to take in the wildlife that calls this beachside paradise home.
The Bay of Pacitan is dotted with beach breaks that are perfect for beginner and intermediate surfers. For those who enjoy what Indonesia does best — a heaving reef break — a short motorbike trip west to the small village of Watukarung is needed. A small channel lies in between two shallow reefs flanked by cliffs standing majestically on the shoulders of a small bay in front of the village. Southern ocean swells surge into the small bay, their energy focusing on the eastern and western reefs, creating perfect peeling waves that stay hollow for several meters. Watukarung is a dream — a perfect left and a perfect right within paddling distance from each other; one of the many perfect setups in the world’s most wave-rich nation.
Injuries related to the open road and shallow reefs are all too common; and then, there is the wildlife. While surfing Watukarung on a building swell, my companion and I had our own unique run-ins. With heaving barrels aplenty and an uncooperative southerly wind making it all but impossible to drop in, it was time to call it a day. My friend’s last wave was a steep spitting monster that ate him up and sent him straight to the inside reef. Hobbling ashore, I could see his bloody leg from the lineup and realized that we needed to get him to the hospital, or at least to some limes and bandages (the fruit’s acidity acts as an antibacterial agent against wounds caused by live coral). Catching one of these growers with the side-onshore wind was impossible on my 5-10 rental board; the swell had doubled in size within a couple hours and was now borderline scary. Wanting to head in, I caught the shoulder of a wave towards shore and immediately found myself stuck in the current pulling back out to sea, its energy getting stronger with the surging waves. Round two, same failure. Round three, something else went wrong. As I’m being pulled back to sea, I turned around to see a huge serpent, its giant rectangular head swaying back and forth only a few meters behind me. I took a deep breath and came to terms that it too was stuck in this horrible current with me and was probably washed from shore. At this point I had enough. I paddled into the take-off zone, ready to take on the reef, and found myself on a diamond in the rough that gave me a great ride and took me to shore. Luckily, my friend’s reef rash was not as bad as I had thought and I hadn’t been bitten by a snake that looked identical to a king cobra. Our exciting day was finished as we hopped on the motorbike and drove through the village of smiling locals, back to the guesthouse kitchen where freshly caught fish was being prepared with lemongrass and herbs.
Motorbikes in Indonesia operate like herds of buffalo on an open savanna — when one moves to a prime location the others follow. If you don’t, you’ll be severely left behind. As a foreigner fending for yourself in this new environment there are a few rules to follow: wear a helmet, keep your legs in, follow traffic WHEREVER it’s going even if it doesn’t make sense, watch out for potholes and other obstructions, have insurance and the correct drivers licenses, and (controversial, I know..) carry bribe money to stealthfully slip into the hands of corrupt police if you’re stopped without one of these items. Follow these tips along with being a pleasant person and your road trip will go smoothly.
Heading into East Java on Highway 3 you pass four massive volcanoes and lush national parks. The problem with being a surfer in Indonesia is that you spend most of your time surfing and not exploring and I missed out on the city and the region of Malang. Known as the city of flowers, Malang is famous for having some of the largest and most beautiful waterfalls in Indonesia as well as being the gateway to Mount Bromo — an active volcano famous for its smoking caldera. There are other incredible volcano hikes including the famous Ijen Crater. Exploring this region on a motorbike should not be missed and setting aside a week to nestle into the natural surroundings wouldn’t be a bad idea.
Deep inside Alas Purwo National Park on the very southeastern tip of Java, a place of incredible significance to local Javanese culture, is Plengkung Beach and the famous Grajagan reef or ‘G-Land’ as it’s popularly known. Originally made famous by surfers Gerry Lopez and Peter McCabe back in the 80’s, the wave is a perfect left-hand reef break blessed with direct exposure to every angle of south swell and generally perfect offshore trade winds. The wave is divided into three main sections: King’s, MoneyTrees, and Speed Reef, each coming alive during the powerful southern ocean winter months of June, July, and August.
Bali is only a few kilometers’ ferry ride from Ketapang harbor, just north of the city of Banyuwangi. With the ‘island of the gods’ at such a short distance there have been many proposals to link the two islands via a massive bridge, and although it would most likely be economically beneficial, it was not well received in Bali. Much of the reason is that Bali happily maintains its cultural independence from the rest of the country. For the foreseeable future this sleepy little town is your last stop in Java before crossing the narrow channel and beginning the second part of this journey.