Hotel Bhumi Karsuyan wasn't quite what we expected. Our room, a charming accident overlooking emerald rice paddies, offered a one-meter drop straight into the fields. Breakfast was a punctual affair of gravied noodles, fueled by the knowledge that our driver, Mas Eko, would arrive by eight.
As we sipped our coffee, two sellers on motorbike materialized, tempting us with souvenirs. In the spirit of supporting the local economy, I succumbed to a doorbell from one and a t-shirt from the other. Eng Thai, ever the generous soul, doubled down for two, much to the delight of the enterprising ibu.
Eko whisked us away to Candi Pawon, a captivating Buddhist temple nestled amidst the verdant embrace of Kaliurang's highlands. Unlike the sprawling grandeur of Borobudur, Pawon's charm lay in its intimacy and intriguing history. Sunlight dappled the intricate carvings, whispering stories of a bygone era. Experts believe it was built sometime in the 8th or 9th century, its very name – "kitchen" in Javanese – sparking debate about its purpose. Was it a practical space for offerings, or perhaps a symbolic one, where spiritual nourishment was "prepared"?
As we meandered, Eko surprised us - our evening tickets for Borobudur could be used immediately! We eagerly seized this opportunity, trading Pawon's serenity for the sheer scale and grandeur of Borobudur. This "jewel nestled amidst emerald rice paddies" wasn't just a temple; it was a poem etched in stone. Imagine standing at its foot, dwarfed by the nine terraced wonder, each level a testament to Buddhist philosophy. Borobudur's origins whispered tales of the 9th century Sailendra dynasty. This architectural marvel, a testament to the dedication of its creators, took decades to complete.
Borobudur's nine terraces aren't just a magnificent architectural feat; they're a symbolic journey through the core concepts of Buddhism: dharma, karma, and nirvana. Imagine yourself ascending these levels, each one a step closer to enlightenment.
The monument's hidden base represents the earthly realm, a world teeming with desires (Kāma) and the cycle of rebirth. Here, humans are still very much entangled with the physical world and its pleasures. While unseen by visitors, some reliefs on this base depict scenes of worldly life, desires, and the suffering that often accompanies them.
As you ascend to the five square terraces, you enter the world of forms (Rupa). These terraces represent a gradual shedding of earthly desires and a refinement of the mind. However, attachment to form – the physical world – still lingers. The walls of these terraces come alive with intricate bas-reliefs. These carvings aren't mere decoration; they narrate stories from the life of Buddha (Jataka tales) and his teachings (Karmawibhangga and Lalitavistara). By visually experiencing these stories, pilgrims are believed to progress on their spiritual journey.
The journey takes a profound shift on the three circular terraces. Here, one transcends attachment to physical form and desires, entering the formless world (Arupadhatu). The focus moves inward. There are far fewer decorative elements on these terraces, with stupas arranged in a circular pattern. As pilgrims ascend, the number of stupas increases, culminating in the largest stupa at the summit. This signifies the path towards enlightenment, a path that gradually sheds the need for external stimuli.
Finally, you reach the summit, crowned by the largest stupa. This represents Nirvana – liberation from the cycle of rebirth and suffering. It's a state of perfect peace and enlightenment. Unlike other stupas containing relics, this one is empty. This emptiness signifies the ultimate goal - the formless state of Nirvana itself.
Borobudur becomes a physical manifestation of the Buddhist path. By traversing its levels, pilgrims symbolically move from the earthly realm towards enlightenment. The elaborate reliefs act as guides, teaching valuable lessons and inspiring reflection. It's a journey from the tangible to the intangible, a testament to the power of faith and the pursuit of spiritual liberation.
Our guide, a bit of a clown, focused more on palm reading than history. While entertaining, we craved a deeper dive into Borobudur's secrets, I tipped him nevertheless. Exiting through a maze of street vendors, I succumbed to a batik fan, a small souvenir from this grand experience.
Back at Candi Pawon, we came back to the cafe we spotted earlier – a Luwak Civet coffee shop. The "experiential center" boasted civet cats in the backyard and served only Luwak coffee, which, thankfully, was quite good. Sweetened with "Gula Jawa" instead of milk, it left us curious about this local delicacy. Eko, ever the gracious host, surprised us again. He offered to take us straight to the source – a place where Gula Jawa was made!
The aroma of Gula Jawa production hit us as soon as we arrived. A man, explaining that his father used to climb ten coconut trees a day, demonstrated the process. One liter of coconut flower liquid was collected daily from each tree, ten liters cooked down to a mere two liters of brown concoction, which was then dried and transformed into Gula Jawa. We sampled two variants – gingered and original – so bags of these goodies plus some crackers found itself in our bags as we leave.
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