The Road Back (16 page)

‘No wonder it was a place of prayer and pilgrimage,' I said. ‘But it's heartbreaking to see how much has been broken off and taken away.'

‘It was built about twelve hundred years ago, but over the years fell into disrepair. Sir Thomas Stamford Raffles heard about this fabled place when he was briefly Governor of Java in the early nineteenth century.'

‘You mean the Raffles of the hotel in Singapore?' I asked.

‘The very one. He heard about the temple and encouraged the Dutch to take an interest in it. They did, and gradually throughout the nineteenth century they developed the site. Unfortunately, looting was rife and happened on a large scale. The Dutch allowed many of the statues to be taken away. In the early part of the twentieth century, they began to look seriously at restoring Borobudur, but it all stopped with independence as it was not a priority. Still, hopefully UNESCO will step in now. It will be a tragedy if this place is not properly preserved.'

‘It is amazing that such an incredible place could be built long before the cathedrals of Europe were even thought of,' I said.

‘Europeans don't have the monopoly on extraordinary and impressive buildings.'

It was a long hot day. Sometimes we stopped and sat to simply try and digest the richness of all that surrounded us in the magnificent temple. We passed several local people praying and making offerings. At sunset we made our way back to the guesthouse.

After the cooling
mandi
, I changed into a sarong and a loose top, and picked some small frangipani flowers from a tree in the garden to pin in my hair. Their perfume was heady and that, along with the slim-fitting sarong, made me feel as though I was gliding rather than walking.

Jimmy jumped to his feet when he saw me and kissed my cheek.

‘You look so beautiful, Susan. Just lovely.'

We sat in the garden at a small table while the staff lit candles and burned small kerosene flame torches. They brought us cold drinks and plates of peanuts as well as crispy
krupuk
, a deep-fried prawn cracker. We still had a lot to talk about after our exploration of the ancient temple.

‘There are so many extraordinary places to see in Indonesia. Every island has something different and special,' said Jimmy.

‘Where else do you think is a really brilliant place to visit?'

‘My favourite place is Lake Toba, on the island of Sumatra, the biggest volcanic lake in the world. It's more than fifty miles long and like a clear deep blue ocean. In the lake is a massive island called Samosir, which is attached to the mainland by a tiny isthmus. There are a few little guesthouses scattered around the steep hillsides as well as an old Dutch colonial hotel, which I like. Swimming in the lake in the calm morning or in the melting sunset is like being lost in the mists of time. And the other amazing thing is that it's full of goldfish!'

‘Sounds incredible. How romantic.'

‘It is. Very.' Jimmy smiled at me.

Our meal was served: noodles, a delicious fried fish and a salad with my favourite
gado gado
, or peanut, dressing. We drank two Bintang beers and talked more and laughed a lot. I was tired, my legs aching from all the climbing and walking, but I felt exhilarated.

And then, when we went to our rooms, Jimmy kissed me at my door. But this time it was a very passionate kiss and we were both breathless. He pulled away and opened my door, saying, ‘You'd better go inside, right now, or I won't be able to stop kissing you.'

I knew then that he felt as I did. And it was a warm and wonderful feeling. I knew that
I was in love for the first time in my life.

While I continued to
research life in the
kampong
, my thoughts turned constantly to Jimmy. I couldn't stop thinking about him. We were seeing each other regularly, and while the boys teased me about him, they agreed he was a nice bloke.

‘Not too much of a Yank,' laughed David.

‘What does that mean?' I asked.

‘Doesn't go on about how great America is, I suppose.'

As a group, we had become very close since moving to Bogor. Even though I spent most of my time in the
kampong
, I saw the others regularly in town. Evan and Norma had rooms at a hostel beside the hospital where they worked, while the others were housed with local families. Norma was happy for me to share her room when I stayed in Bogor overnight. Mark was billeted with an ethnic Chinese family, the Tans. The family had been born in Bogor, but clung to its cultural heritage. If Jimmy came for a weekend visit, he would stay with them as well. He could have afforded one of the small hotels, but he knew that the Tans appreciated the money he paid them and he enjoyed their friendly hospitality. It was more fun than staying in a soulless hotel.

Much as we liked getting to know the local people, we were a band of Aussies glad of each other's company. Every Friday night we would meet at a local eating house and talk about our work as well as simply let our hair down. We soon learned that Norma would never leave a mother in labour, but she joined us when she could, picking carefully at what she ate and saying she came for the company, not the food. She was not the most joyous companion. She was one of those people who lacked a sense of subtlety, taking everything at face value and looking annoyed when she realised a comment had been made as a joke.

Alan could also be a bit taciturn at times. I quickly realised that if things were going well for him then he could be good fun, but if the project he was working on was experiencing difficulties, he was not really interested in anything we had to say, and instead would brood over his own problems. Generally, though, on these nights out we had a lot of laughs and it was always good to exchange notes.

‘One of my problems is that the villagers, especially the farmers, are all so conservative,' David complained one warm evening as we sat together enjoying the fading light.

‘That is certainly true of my
kampong
,' I said in agreement. ‘Although, to be fair, the younger ones see the need for progress. But the older ones, especially those in authority, don't want to change anything.'

‘How true,' said David. ‘But sometimes not wanting to implement radical change can be for the best.'

‘How so?' asked Alan. ‘I think that any progress is good for the villagers.'

‘Recently the Javanese officials wanted to modernise the rice industry, by bringing in massive rice-processing mills from overseas and pushing the locals into more intensive planting, that sort of thing. But it didn't happen,' said David.

‘Sounds like a good idea to me. Produce rice more efficiently more food and more profit. Good for everyone,' said Alan.

‘Not for the women in my
kampong
,' I replied, swatting an insect. ‘A big mill would mean that the money the women earn through grinding their own rice would dry up.'

‘I think that the main reason the idea didn't take off was that people don't trust the government to be able to provide them with rice at affordable prices. They think that whoever controls rice production controls the local economy,' David explained.

‘I think they are probably right there. So, what have you done for your local farmers?' asked Mark.

‘I've managed to get them working together, doing simple things like cleaning out the irrigation drains. I've also organised some agricultural students to come along and introduce some new ideas, like planting high-yield rice varieties, and we're supplying them with fertilisers,' said David.

‘That sounds pretty good,' said Evan. ‘It's unrealistic to expect us to be able to implement big changes, but if we are able to make people's lives better, even in a small way, then I think we can count ourselves a success.'

Jimmy, who'd come from Jakarta for the weekend, nodded and said, ‘That's exactly how I felt about the Peace Corps. We couldn't make a lot of big changes, but the ideas we introduced, even if they were small ones, did have a positive effect. You guys are all doing a great job.'

‘Thank you, sir. Round of applause for our Yank mate,' David responded, and we all laughed and clapped.

The more I saw of Jimmy, the more I fell in love with him. I had never been able to talk so deeply with anyone else before. I loved how courteous and thoughtful he was with other people, whoever they were, Indonesian or foreign. He was perceptive and intelligent and popular with my Australian colleagues.

Later that same weekend, as we walked through the beautiful Botanic Gardens that made Bogor famous, I told him that I wondered what he saw in me. I said that I felt so provincial and unsophisticated.

Jimmy put his arm around my shoulder and gave me a squeeze.

‘Susan, I love your sincerity, your unpretentiousness and the fact that you have volunteered to help the Indonesians. You are genuinely interested in other people, especially me. And I'm really glad that you like it here. Maybe you could stay on after your contract is up. You would have no trouble getting a job.'

Then he again raised the subject of Lake Toba.

‘Look, can you get away for a few days? How would you feel about taking a little trip with me? Going away to Lake Toba on Sumatra, where no one knows us, means we can have some wonderful time together.'

There was no mistaking the look in his eyes. I felt the same, a bit shaky, excited and nervous. I certainly had never been away with a man before, but I didn't want him to know how inexperienced I was, so of course I said, ‘I'd love to. You know how interested I am in Sumatra. And Lake Toba sounds wonderful.'

‘Count on it.' He gave me a huge smile. ‘It will be really special to take you there.'

A week later, we flew to the
large and bustling town of Medan on Sumatra. Once we left Medan, we headed through
kampong
s and padi fields in a wheezing 1950s Chevy, driven by Suhaimi, a pal of Jimmy's he'd known from his Peace Corps days. We passed large rubber plant
ations that gradually gave way to tea and coffee plantations
as we started to climb the high winding road up to the lake. The car began shuddering on the steeper inclines and was overtaken by rickety buses coughing oily fumes, even on the dangerous bends. Jimmy and I exchanged glances and I clutched his hand.

The higher we got, the more spectacular the scenery became. Eventually we reached the steep approach to the lake and the car drove along the thickly forested ridge of the ancient volcano until we finally rattled into the courtyard of the Parapat Hotel.

The hotel was an old Dutch place still showing bits of fading colonial glory. Painted scenes of Lake Toba and murals of stylised
wayang kulit
puppets adorned the walls. Batik cushions sat on heavy leather lounges and dusty plastic flower arrangements decorated the cavernous lobby. Jimmy checked in for both of us, but I felt embarrassed when I handed over my passport, revealing we were not married.

We were given a warm, overly sweet juice to drink before being shown to our room. As we stepped outside the reception area I caught my breath. Below us stretched a huge aquamarine lake, surrounded and almost hidden by steep forested hills. The water glittered in the afternoon sun like a polished jewel. I'd never seen anything so beautiful and I was speechless.

There was a giant brass gong at the top of a flight of stone steps which Jimmy told me was to summon us to meals. The steps led down to the gardens below. As we followed a young boy in his batik sarong and batik
peci
, I couldn't help wondering where the other guests were.

I was excited to find that our room was actually one of the small bungalows scattered around the lake's edge. They had been built as traditional
batak
-style houses with twin peaked roofs and rattan shutters. Our bungalow was comprised of one large room containing a bed that faced the window with a magnificent view of the lake and, joy of joys, a western-style bathroom. On a tiny porch, a table and chairs also faced the lake and on the table was a printed menu anchored by a heavy glass ashtray.

‘Do you bring food and drinks down here?' I asked the young man who had brought down our luggage. He nodded and pointed to the menu and asked if we wanted to order
krupuk
and beer. We did, though Jimmy had his doubts about how cold the beer might be.

‘We should celebrate. This place is spectacular,' I said.

That evening I put on a batik print dress a tailor in Bogor had made me and we headed up to the top terrace to have a drink and watch the sunset. Apart from us, the hotel still seemed deserted, so Jimmy suggested we take a
betjak
into Parapat.

The little town of Parapat was almost as quiet as the hotel. Families seemed to have retreated into their houses, although in the watery glow of a few sagging streetlights we could see several young men loitering about.

There were few restaurants to choose from, some local stalls and hawkers, a small place called the Satay Shack and a larger place simply called
Rumah Makan
, the eating house, or restaurant, which we decided looked the best.

The town was certainly a sleepy place and off the beaten track. I felt I was far away from the rest of the world. As though he had read my thoughts, Jimmy mused, ‘I wonder what this area will be like in, say, twenty years' time. Will it be packed with tourists, or entirely forgotten?'

We sat in the small, walled garden of the restaurant, which contained four tables and a splashing fountain, but the flying insects quickly drove us inside under the rattling fans. We ordered frogs' legs, which had become one of our favourites, and several spicy side dishes, and drank the local beer in preference to the sweet fruit juices that were on offer. The meal was surprisingly tasty, but afterwards, since there seemed to be little to do in Parapat at night, we decided to find a
betjak
and return to the hotel.

We sat in the neglected bar of the hotel and Jimmy ordered a gin and tonic while I had the barman make me a lime and soda.

‘This is so refreshing. It's become my favourite,' I said.

After we finished our drinks, we prowled through the foyer, past a sitting room designated ‘Ladies Only', and peered into a shop filled with dusty souvenirs. Hanging on the walls were sepia photographs of the hotel guests taken about forty years before.

‘This was a favourite place of the Dutch planters. Doesn't seem to have changed much!' said Jimmy.

‘Look, President Sukarno was here with his wife Dewi. How exquisite she is!' I pointed out a photo.

‘He likes marrying pretty women; Muslim men are allowed more than one wife.'

‘Well, I wouldn't like that!'

‘You wouldn't get a choice,' said Jimmy with a smile.

Taking me behind a pillar, he kissed me, took my hand and we walked quietly down the steps to our bungalow beside the now silver lake, awash in moonlight.

*

As the sunrise gently melted through the shutters in golden lines which spread across the sheets and the whitewashed walls, we lay enfolded together until Jimmy jumped up and flung open the shutters and from our bed we watched the lake awaken. Eventually, hunger pangs drove us from the bed and we ordered breakfast. We sat outside and waited for an age for it to be delivered.

‘Susan, I'm sorry. This place doesn't seem to be very efficient. Do you want me to chase it up?' said Jimmy, agitated.

I wasn't concerned. ‘No, it's all right. I'd never get tired of this view. It's such a mysterious lake. Could your friend take us out on the water?' I asked.