Borobudur

It's been a chock full day, so full that I'm breaking it down into a few posts.

I'll start with arriving at the airport, since it was within the past 24 hours. There was a group of women who looked like they were approaching 50 or had reached the milestone recently. One carried a day pack that said Canada in several places, usually in large print. Clearly she's not familiar with travellers protocol. You bag, and possibly your clothes, she have a discrete logo showing they came from Mountain Equipment Co-op.

Curiosity got the better of me, and I struck up a conversation by the luggage carousel. She and her companions are from an undisclosed place near Toronto. They support a number of projects, and they are visiting these projects. They had recently been in West Timor.

My hotel offered a driver service, and I had decided that I didn't want to deal with the taxi gauntlet at the airport, so I requested a ride. My driver held up a sign with my name spelled correctly, a good sign, and took my extra bag. He walked me to the port cochere, and told me to stay put. Ten steps later, he turned around and asked if I would be more comfortable going through the parking lot with him. You bet I would.

I got to the hotel, and the receptionist offered refreshment in the sitting room while they did the paperwork. That sounded nice. She sat me down, gave me sparking water with ginger and a hint of cinnamon and a three tiered cake plate with delicacies. Very very civilized.

A bus group pulled in just after me, so I was extra glad to avoid the check in area.

Someone appeared, asked me to check my registration details, and sign here, here and here.  I got my key and my driver reappeared with my bag.

Now I thought I was paying attention, although later I learned that was not the case.

This morning, I was supposed to be in the lobby at 3:50 to start the sunrise tour at Borobudur.   I could not find the lobby. After five minutes of wandering the corridors, I found a house phone and asked for directions. They didn't help (take the elevator downstairs and go to where the cars). I found the guest car park three times and was no closer to finding the lobby. I told the operator my room number and he gave me decent directions.

In case I forget, I'll include the return debacle here. I took the power card this morning, not my room key. So although I found my room, I could not get in without a visit to the front desk. They did not offer that wonderful drink that time. Sigh.

I tried to sleep on the one hour journey to Borobudur. Every time I watched where the diver was going, and that he was going 90 in a 40 zone, I closed my eyes. As in East Timor, the centre line is for centring your car, not marking lanes of traffic. Ecause of this, we arrived in plenty of time for the sunrise, though not as early as some. Promptness is ideal, in my book.

A quick, relevant, health note. My throat is no longer sore, but I cannot talk loudly enough for anyone to here me. Yeah, I can hear your cheers from here. My cough is pretty bad, and what doctors call productive. It's what I call disruptive and a nuisance.

Our tour guide’s name is Attie, and she became a tour guide unintentionally. She was running a guest house and teaching young people how to become tour guides. A writer from Lonely Planet stayed at her guest house and published that she provides tour guides.

So many people called, and she felt bad for always saying no that she started guiding tours herself.

Our group consisted of two Dutch men also staying at my hotel and a couple also from the Netherlands staying at a guesthouse. Attie sent us up to the top of the temple to enjoy the sunrise, with a request that we find her there at 6:00.

I didn't count the stairs. There are 10 levels to the temple, and the stairs are of usual irregular height. Temple stairs tend to be steep.

We didn't have a colourful sunrise. It just gradually got light. Even so, it was spectacular. The temple sits in manicured grounds, surrounded by forests. It's peaceful and powerful.

The temple was built in the eighth century by a Hindu prince who wanted the amorous attentions of a Buddhist princess. So he built her a temple.

Attie later said this may or may not be true, since it likely took a hundred years to complete, and neither of them would have survived its completion.

Javanese, prior to contact, had a way of life that relies on introspection. The transition to Buddhism was easy, the way she explained it. And Borobudur underlines and illustrates the teachings of Buddha. The top dome (stupa) illustrates enlightenment. It is solid, showing no more lessons are necessary.

The stupa on the next layer have square holes, signifying stability and near enlightenment.

Layers seven and eight (remember, we went in reverse order) had diamond shaped holes in the bells of the stupa, showing achievement was still precarious. Layer seven had rougher diamonds, less polished than layer eight.

We walked eached layer clockwise, slowly, meditatively. At the top, when Attie was telling us about the struggle for enlightenment, and how the 72 stupa at layers seven to ten, I had to continually excuse myself to cough. Once we started our walk around each layer, my throat calmed down. When I stopped for pictures, I'd cough again.

I noticed on layer six, the first square layer (the top layers with stupa were round; the bottom layers with reliefs were square), that I was felling agitated. The walls seemed closed and uncomfortable.  Maybe they were higher? It didn't make sense that the change of shape would evoke a strong reaction. Layers two to six inclusive has reliefs in the stone showing various common struggles to face while seeking enlightenment (wine women and song is a gross oversimplification, but gives you the idea, along with the Bible’s seven deadly sins).

Layer one told of Siddartha’s life. Siddartha is the man that the spirit of Buddha filled in his earthly life. He was born to royal parents who gave him a privileged upbringing.  His father tried to shield him from sorrow, worried that if he saw sorrow, he would chose a monk’s life rather than that of a political leader. He was married to a comely wife and fathered a son.

However, once he saw sorrow, he left the family and went amongst the sorrowful. He had ten followers, five of whom died in the period of restraint (extreme depravation of food and drink). He started to eat again and returned to his family a more humble man. Then he sought out his remaining five close companions and they led a good life.

We left via a private route, avoiding most of the hawkers, and seeing some surprising views, had coffee and a gamalon lesson. It was great fun.

A gamalon is a lot like a marimba, and I was actually on the wooden xylophone. Our teacher used a drum to keep us in time. Occasionally, I wandered, despite his excellent tutelage. Always the rebel, sometimes I'd hit a key once instead of twice.

Next stop, some rural fields.