On Bicycles and Such...

So it's been a while since I've posted; much as I'd like to attribute this lapse to the fact that I've been getting into adventures and working on my research as opposed to laziness, I have to say it's probably a combo of those three things. Although a lot's happened since I last posted, because I miss my US biking buddies, and cycling in general, this post is going to be all about bikes.

Touring Solo:



Several of my friends had birthdays in January, so we all congregated in Solo (a sleepy city an hour from Yogya) to celebrate. As is our wont, Stephanie and I made it a "cultural" weekend, with some spa sprinkled in, and it was lovely. Our first tour (and probably my favorite tour in Indo so far) was chartered a 20 K bicycle tour that had "industrial tour" in its description. We set off into the streets of Solo on our granny bikes (baskets, bells, 6 gears, banana seats) with our friendly tour guide, and soon left the city and wandered into a kampung (village). And in this kampung, there was a raging brown river, and on this river there was a wooden bamboo boat, and on this boat we went with our bicycles, along with some small school children and their little bikes and backpacks. And over the river we were pulled by the bamboo boat captain, who led us along a pull line through the roaring waters to the other side, where old old women with large large bags of rice crackers balanced on their shoulders waited.



And into the "industrial villages" we went. If you're thinking "industrial" as in smokestacks and workers in matching uniforms and conveyor boats, you're as wrong as I was. The industries we saw took place in people's homes. In the gamelan (gong) village (each village has its own industry), we saw men working shirtless over fire pits as they shaped with swings of their sledgehammers the musical instruments Indonesia is famous for. In the tofu village we saw people boiling, cutting, and creating tofu in dusty barns. In the tempe village we saw people adding yeast to soy (bought from the US because it's cheaper than Indonesian soy because of unfair trade laws) and carefully packaging it to create tempe. In the tile village, we saw people creating clay tiles for roofing and we even got to make one of our own, under the careful tutelage of an old cheerful man who insisted we carve our names into our creations. In the arak village, we saw people fermenting the local alcohol, supposedly for medicinal purposes, but also for recreational purposes. As we rode from village to village, where items are made fresh and sold locally, children ran out of houses shouting "hello" at the top of their lungs (one even reached up and gave me a high 5!), and in between villages were acres and acres of bright green, sun-warm rice paddies, with people doing back-breaking work yet still willing to smile and wave as we rode by. This was a different world from the crowded, busy, polluted streets of bigger Javanese cities--so different from my own life, in fact, that it is difficult not to descend into a cliche about "country life" that is patronizing or idealistic. I'll just say it was a wonderful tour and leave it at that.

And it inspired me to buy my own granny bike to tootle around on in the busy, somewhat harrowing streets of Yogya!

Yes. I bought a granny bike--it's called "Daiyama" which means "big mountain" in Japanese, but believe me, this bike won't be going up any big mountains any time soon, with its 6 gears, basket, and lovely purple shade. It has given me freedom of movement, though, which I've mentioned in previous posts is the thing I miss most about adventures past (in Japan and the U.S.). I no longer have to rely on Mas Moko and his motorbike to take me through the sleepy backstreets to work. I now can ride through the friendly fruit-tree lined cobblestoned "mouse streets" to work, occasionally catching air as I hit a strategically placed speed bump (which in Indonesian, they call polisi tidur, or "sleeping police").

I also venture into the chaotic traffic of the main streets, (often in the company of my friend Bret who bought an identical model for himself) to go to the gym, to the grocery store, to buy fruit or bread. From a taxi, the traffic looks terrifying, but, strangely, when I'm on my bike I actually feel safe. People here are so much more aware of vehicles around them here--and the traffic dance, though terrifying to the newcomer, incorporates people daring enough to venture out in it quite willingly. And I now feel so much more in touch with Indonesia. The slow pace and open air are a far cry from the stop and go of taxis with tinted windows. I can pull over when I want to buy some fruit to bring home in my basket; I can get lost in the side streets and explore new avenues; and I can interact with local people so much better. I like to think that people smile at me because I'm a fellow traffic dancer, though they are probably laughing at me because I'm the only person on a bicycle wearing a helmet in the entire city (unless Bret is with me, of course). No matter, though. I've got my wheels and I love it.