My apology folks, I failed to mention that I had actually been away since May 14—visiting Indonesia, that is. Almost three years have passed since I left; so I was kinda anticipating many changes in the country. So changed, it had been, by progress and failure; fears and hopes. But I found it to be more beautiful than ever.
As we arrived on the Soekarno-Hatta airport in Jakarta, Zsolt and I went the separate ways. He and his mother applied for visa-on-arrival, while I had to get our baggage. After twenty minutes, I became a little bit worried because they had not appeared; when a gentleman came towards me and said that my husband was in trouble. He explained that Zsolt would need his ticket to apply for the visa, and I had it with me. But he said there was nothing to worry about, and he’d help us. He proceeded to lead us out of the airport, changed some Rupiahs and find us a shuttle bus to the domestic terminal—and refused the money I offered. He was only doing his job, so he said.
Meeting my parents and relatives was of course the biggest pleasure I had. I’m not good in writing travel stories, so do not rely on my judgment. Take a look instead at the pictures we have taken—they speak for themselves. Mind you, not all are beautiful.
On our visit to Yogyakarta, we were already alarmed about the volcano activity lately. We were nevertheless glad to find all was well. Only three days after we left; on May 27, that is—Zsolt asked why the lamps in our house were shaking. I had no idea, thinking he was just trying to scare me. But he wasn’t. Then we heard that an earthquake had occured in Yogyakarta and some parts in Central Java. Ibis Hotel where we stayed was still closed a week later. Luckily my parents’ place is quite far from it. Still, it hurts to talk about it so I won’t start to. If you would like to donate for the victims, please click here.
On June 3, we continued the trip to Malang—a city in East Java which seemed to remain calm. We enjoyed being there, but not for long. On the way home, we were caught in a traffic jam. The highway was closed because there was mud flood coming from the gas exploration nearby. They said it was one of the aftereffects of the quake in Central Java. It was 6 PM. We were supposed to be home at 10, but we couldn’t. The cars ran like snails along the road. There were two pick ups carrying chickens—most of them were dead already. The radio reported that the traffic could run at 30 km/hr on the opposite side. We were not that lucky, even walking could have been faster. The only one who did not seem to be exhausted was my eleven-month-old nephew. He was fast asleep in my mom’s arms. It took three hours—which meant 9 km—until the driver found a short cut to get out of the traffic jam. We arrived home at 1 AM.
Some things have changed, but the others remained the same. And it’s them that make the journey worths it. Here I am, hoping to see them all again someday in the future.
