Jogja is a city of red roofs. I went out right after a morning rain which left everything wet and dark.
After Jakarta we flew to Yogyakarta (variously pronounced JogJakarta or simply JogJa) in Central Java and based ourselves in the wonderful Phoenix Hotel (not pictured here). This is a part of Old Jogja, along a swollen stream that cuts through the city.
Not all of Jogja is slum-like . . . it is an old world city with jumbled housing.
I walked along a bridge near my hotel and looked down on the red roofs of the houses that lined the river and saw a mother and child.
If I were to live in Jogja, I would want to live in this house . . .
. . . but I do not know what it would be like to grow up as a boy in these alleyways . . .
. . . or as a gild in a wedding veil crossing her fingers . . . for something to happen, or not to happen.
Most of Jogja seemed locked in time (not a bad thing), but there was a little new construction going on.
Jogja still shows it history everywhere you look.
An Old Order way of life persists here. One of the reasons I like to travel is to experience a sense that human life is not really teleological; it does not converge on some final perfect ending point. Human life is just being.
Jogja people were friendly and courteous.
The little I know about Indonesian politics is that it is rough and tumble.
Because New Years Day was approaching, everywhere we went there were colorful horns for sale.
Almost every block seemed to have a fruit stand.
The important distinction to make about Islam here is that it is Indonesian, not Arabic.
It was great walking around Jogja, camera in hand. It was also great to get back to the beautifully appointed Phoenix Hotel.