Day 9
We had hardly been in bed for two hours and we were hauling ourselves out again, the girls sleepy and disoriented. An early start was needed for this special trip, but I thought that meant 5am not 1am. That isn’t getting up early. That’s going to bed late.

So in the middle of the night we drove two hours to see a spectacular sunrise over Mount Bromo, complete with fog below the volcano, and steam rising above.

After a two hour drive into the mountains, we swapped our hire car and driver for a Jeep and a local Tengger driver. This is the only way to get to the top of Gunung Penanjakan. Not only is this entrepreneurism a way of earning a living, it helps keep the narrow, steep roads from getting clogged. A snake of Jeeps slithered its way around the switchbacks spitting us out at the summit where a crowd of a couple of hundred people had gathered to witness the new day. We vied and jostled for the best photographic positions, and once trigger fingers had snapped the unforgettable scene we headed to a wunung, or coffee shop, for an injection of caffeine and a packed breakfast.

The Jeep snake slipped and slithered down the other side of the mountain to the “sand sea”, the wide river bed at the base of the volcano created from the black ash spewed from the fiery mouth. Tribesmen on horseback offered rides, at a price, to the foot of the steep steps that took us right to the volcano’s rim, where we could peer inside into the smoky mouth of a sleeping dragon. Bromo is one of three volcanoes in this 10km crater, which also includes Kursi and Batok.  

With this bleak, almost baron moonscape, it is not surprising that, as mist clings to the sides of the volcano, legends surround Bromo. The Tengger believe Bromo was once part of a kingdom ruled by King Joko Seger and Queen Roro Anteng, who in desperation for a child, prayed to the god of the volcano. They bore 25 children, but the god demanded that the youngest, a son called Dian Kusuma, be sacrificed in return. When the Queen refused, the brave boy threw himself into the fire to save the kingdom. Today, people still throw dried flowers, food and money into the pit, but unfortunately, a few plastic bottle and waste items have started to find their way into the pit.

So what else could you ask for: tragic legends, stunning scenery and… of course, some sleep. It really is a trip worth doing, even if it’s an early start. The rest of the day was spent recovering. I didn’t really need an excuse, but a massage was a perfect way to do this. 

Day 8
Ten hours locked in a tin box on wheels with their children is more than any parent can take – apparently. My friends will know I’m particularly hard on our girls, but I have to say, with a little smarm, that it seems to be paying dividends. I could be wrong, and the fact that they have used a month’s iPhone time in one day, is what pacified them. But we all survived.

To break the journey we climbed the slopes of Gunung Lawu above Solo to explore a small temple. Candi Sukuh is known for its stunning location and erotic carvings, this time on show for all to see, leading to some interesting conversations with the girls. This isn’t a Hindu or Buddhist temple, and its origins and meaning are a bit of a mystery, even though it was only built in the 15th century. Even in the mist and rainclouds, the location was magnificent and the atmosphere intriguing – I’m sure the carvings had something to do with that.

The weather took a while to clear, but not before a massive downpour, which flooded the streets with a foot of muddy water. Cyclists and motorcycle riders braved the flooded roads like cap crusaders in their plastic ponchos on a mission. As suddenly as the rain started it stopped, the flood water disappeared and the roads were practically dry again.

Accommodation: Tugu Hotel, Malang. An historical gem with attention to detail. The hotel is a family-run business, and the owners have paid particular attention to antiques, practically turning the corridors and bedrooms into a user-friendly museum. www.tuguhotels.com

Day 7
A day of culture as we headed out to the famous 9th century Buddhist temple of Borobadur. Surrounded by beautiful forests and mountains, the temple had been hidden beneath vines, bushes and volcanic ash, until being rediscovered by the Indiana Jones of the Day, Sir Thomas Stamford Raffles, our friend from Singapore, the then British Governor of Java. Intrigued by the Indonesian stories and rumours, he managed to uncover the ruins in 1814. Historians know little about why it was built or why it was abandoned.

Having had two or three rounds of renovations, it’s of course impossible to say how much of the site is original. Certainly parts have been removed or covered to adhere to current sensitivities. The monument’s six square platforms are decorated with more than 2,500 relief panels, some of which has been covered with plain blocks for being too sexually explicit. There are 504 statues of Buddha, 72 of which are seated inside perforated stupa, or mounds, resembling large bells.

To pay the due respect afforded by a temple of this status, we approached it from the east side and circumnavigated the structure three times clockwise, being rewarded with a different view at each level. Once a place of contemplation, it is on the outside of the temple that worshippers gathered – this is not a building in the traditional sense and there is no inside cavern or vestibule to visit.

With the sun beaming down, creating a steamy haze, we were forced to beat a retreat back to the air conditioning of our car by 11 o’clock. It’s worth visiting the temple early in the day, and dawn tours are popular – a little too much for us to manage with the children this time.

On the way back we planned our afternoon’s activities, but there is nothing as unpredictable as weather apparently. “Will it rain today?” is the question I asked our driver. “No. It’s the end of the rainy season.” Five minutes later the heavens opened, the roads turned into rivers and the mopeds were forced to find cover. Those who were hardy enough to venture out, gamely tried to negotiate water a foot deep in places, covering themselves only in a plastic bag.

But an hour after the rain stopped and the pavements were dry again, although the air was still thick with humidity. With an eight hour solid drive on tomorrow’s agenda, let’s hope our car is air conditioned.

Other things to try: stop at Borobadur Silver to see workshops and famous filigree jewellery.
Wander the markets and stop at Mirotar.

Day 6
I’m looking at my watch, while running down the road, backpack flying behind me. As I rush to meet the train it pulls into the station. With a sigh of relief I take my seat just at the same time as the train pulls away, loose my balance and fall over. But this isn’t the UK, USA or any other Western country, so this doesn’t happen.

Instead we arrive at the train station an hour before the departure time. We mill around until the train arrives 40 minutes before it’s due to leave. Porters carry packages and suitcases on their shoulders and heave them on the carriages. Then we settle ourselves and sit and wait. The train leaves five minutes early. By our Western standards we should have missed it.

It all sounds very organised and civilized, but this is an antiquated system and everything needs time to get going. After all it’s apparently going to take us eight hours to travel from Bandung to Yogyakarta. Like many things in Indonesia, the trains have seen better days, although they have progressed from steam. Attempts to keep the carriages clean are dubious and questionable – the man who has just mopped the toilet floors has now swabbed the passageway with the same mop – twice.

But the view from our window is inspiring. From the train window we are able to experience glimpses of life, not visible from a car, sprawled along the railway siding; lines of washing, muddy backyards, football pitches and little kiosks selling snacks. But it is the verdant countryside that is the real picture; tiered paddy fields, tumbling rivers, canyons spiked with willowy palms and banana trees, onion-domed mosques peeking above village roofs, cloud-topped mountains, ploughs pulled by ox. Life here is both simple and hard. It’s a long journey, but an interested and educational one. Taking an eight hour train journey with two small children sounded like a foolhardy idea – but it has been remarkably easy and pain free. Good practice for the ten hour car journey to come in two days time.

Accommodation: The Phoenix Hotel, Yogyakarta, central location by the Tugu Monument. Grand, elegant, fully of colonial history and great value. www.thephoenixyogya.com

Folklore is an inherent part of the Indonesian culture. It helps to explain a common thread that binds different religions, people from different ethnic origins, and backgrounds. It helps give reason to the breathtaking landscapes. It helps to give understanding to the question “why?”.

The legend of Sangkuriang may have dubious themes running through it when viewed with Western values, but it gives Indonesians a sense of belonging to the land. So let me tell you a little tale:

Day 5:
With a population of 240 million, living on 17,000 or more islands, Indonesia is the fourth most populated places on the planet, so it is little wonder that the roads are choked with cars, and most people have opted for mopeds as their chosen form of transport. It is also little wonder that people are also choking, with exhaust fumes. It’s a chaotic scene; scooters and bikes everywhere, laden with packets. Although motorcyclists wear helmets it appears that their passengers, often children perched between their legs, don’t.

Crossing the road is a skill to master. When we visited Vietnam a couple of years ago we stood nervously for a full five minutes before an old lady grabbed us by the wrist and dragged us into the continuous stream of traffic. Thinking we were being party to her suicide mission we were a little surprised to make it to the other side. The trick is to walk slowly. There is never a gap in the continuous flow of cars, bikes, motorcycles and rickshaws, so there is little point in waiting for one. If you decide to make a dash for it, you’ll probably end up as road kill, and simultaneously bring the city to a standstill. So a leap of faith is needed. Simply step off the kerb and pretend you are a boulder in a stream that the water is forced around. The traffic adjusts to you. Move too quickly and you’ll panic everyone into a pile up. The same is true here. There may be a zebra crossing, but it is only road decoration, and serves no practical purpose. Just remember to write your will first.

To get around there is little option but to go by road. Most of the interesting sights are difficult to get to, and even if you manage to find a taxi for your outwards trip, it is unlikely to be easy to find one for the return journey. The best option is to hire a car with a driver. Driving yourself requires an entirely new skillset.

Our first port of call was Tangkuban Parahu Natural Park, famous for its active volcanoes, 1,300m above sea level. Ten days ago the poisonous gases emitted by these craters forced the park to close. Today we were lucky. The road goes right to the edge of Kawah Ratu. 500m below you can see the steam escaping from a crack in the lava rock next to a sulphurous cloudy pool. Once you’ve hired a guide, you can walk through the forest to Kawah Domas, where you can stand next to the boiling water, and even boil and egg in three minutes. A little further down the crater, the water pools are cool enough to wash in, and people use the grey clay and ground up sulphur crystals to ease skin complaints.

Ciater, a short drive away, has a number of hotels and spas where you can bath in the hot springs, but while it’s always a pleasant surprise to walk into a swimming pool the same temperature as a bath, it’s far from a healthy rejuvenating experience. The hotels are a little run down and the water is full of bugs and debris. It’s definitely an experience worth having as long as you don’t have a spotlessly clean five star spa, garlanded with frangipani, in mind.

Our final stop was Saung Angklung Udjo, set up in 1966 as a “laboratory for art education” based on the Angklung, a traditional Indonesian bamboo instrument. This tourist show keeps the music and dance alive, and is a great introduction to customs and rituals. The Angklung is a one-note instrument, and when put together, with more than 30 players, an impressive orchestra of skill is formed. If you’re only playing one Angklung, you have to know the music well enough to know when to play your note. If you’re playing a couple of octaves, you have to be quick fingered and nimble. Participation is part of the show, and our girls thoroughly enjoyed playing with the local children, dressed in their colourful finery.

Day 4
Today has been about the journey, not just the destination. It’s been an introduction to a promise: a promise of tall tales that delight this superstitious nation; a promise of cultural enlightenment in a country whose population has been squashed and molded together like modeling clay to create a unique sculpture of ethnicity; a promise of breathtaking scenery with trains rolling over iron girder bridges spanning paddy fields tended by farmers in rolled up trousers.

Like most travellers we didn’t stay long in Jakarta. In fact we flowed straight through it, as fast as the blocked arteries of the country’s heart would take us. This gave us plenty of time to see the sprawling conurbations and the pure density that creates the capital. Fine colonial villas still stand proudly on hillsides, elevated above the throng of shanties below. While your status can not protect you from the noise and bustle of this society, money can apparently buy some privileges, which were in evidence as we saw a police motorbike slice through the thronging traffic to lead the way for a well-off businessmen.

The countryside was a breath of fresh air, or would have been if it hadn’t have been so humid. Undulating, with volcanic mountains bordering the horizon, the greenery was stunning. Hamlets, with red tile pitch roofs, nestled beneath bananas trees and in-between paddy fields. Unassuming mosques peeked above the skyline. And every now and then a golf course or a colonial mansion could be seen as the trees parted.

Bandung hits your senses in the same way as Jakarta, with more than seven million people living in the area. It’s rather down trodden and its former glory as a contender as the nation’s capital, as supported by the Dutch before the Second World War, is crumbling. Street life is always interesting though, and just ambling around you see rickshaw drivers having a chat while waiting for their next fare; teems of scooters racing from junctions; a mother and baby sleeping on the pavement; and hawkers cooking Nasi Goreng from mobile kitchens on bikes. A Western family stands out here, but people are friendly, offering a smile or a welcoming word. Tilda, with her blond ringlets, has found the attention invading her personal space and people want to touch her golden mane, but it’s all meant to be a compliment.

Bandung is a great springboard to see the surrounding volcanoes; so another adventure awaits us tomorrow.

Accommodation: Art Deco style Savoy Homann Bidakara Hotel established in 1871. Interesting colonial décor, with original features. Best of a slim selection of decent hotels; clean but still a little tired.

Day 3
Today was my chance to finally ground myself. Ignoring the fact that we have young children with limited walking abilities, we set off to tramp the streets for what seemed like miles and miles.

After a bus ride along Orchard Road, we started at the iconic colonial birthplace of Singapore: Raffles Hotel. A decade and a half ago, when I was first here, I sat in the Long Bar being chatted up by the English cricket team, drinking Singapore Slings and eating monkey nuts, throwing the shells on the floor. The tradition, much to the thrill of the children, has not changed, although the price is now a whopping $60 for two drinks. You can still imagine women in white muslin sipping tea beneath the cool shade of a palm frond or a group of men in straw boaters playing croquet on the lawn. The arched walkways are now home to upmarket shops, and unfortunately the hotel’s museum has now closed, but despite the progress of Singapore, or because in spite of it, Raffles has kept its Old World charm.

Moving on through history we left the colonial era in search of the most impressive exhibits of today’s architecture. Shaped like scaly armadillos (the Esplanade Mall) or DNA (the Helix bridge) or even metal trees (Garden by the Bay), but the lasting memory was created by the Marina Bay Sands Hotel. Towering above the fingers of the hand-like Art Science Museum, this imposing structure has three elegantly sweeping towers, blocks with curved sides that start wide at the base and curve inwards towards to a pinnacle, upon which a boat hull appears to be balanced. A suspended walkway takes you directly from the shopping centre through Marina Bay Sands hotel to Garden by the Bay, a horticulturalist’s delight. Even if plants aren’t your thing, there is enough in the park to keep you interested with weaving paths, ponds with sculptures and a walkway through the metal trees. It really does look like something out of a sci-fi film. Just imagine sitting in that brainstorming meeting, when someone suggests: “How about a gigantic metal cup, made out of drain pipes, with a sweeping bridge in the sky that looks like a street for a hoverboard. That could work.” And it does.

Incidentally, we are getting close to the Doc’s DeLorean dashboard Back to the Future date of 21st October 2015, and my hoverboard still hasn’t arrived.

We completed the loop around the Marina, stopping at a bar for a beer as the great clouds loomed above. Once we decided it really wasn’t going to rain and we were using it as an excuse for a hop beverage, we weaved our way through the back streets to Clarke Quay, which has plenty of dining options. Taking the hint, as the girls sat there chewing with their eyes shut, we looked wistfully at the cocktail menu before carrying the children back to the MRT station and home to bed. Sampling Singapore’s nightlife will have to wait another few years.


This is part of a 14 trip - for the full itinerary take a look at the Trips to Try tab.

Day 2
The flight from Dubai had been pretty uneventful thanks to the onboard babysitting service. Never have I been so happy for my children to watch television.

Usually when I arrive in a new place I like to orientate myself with a walking tour; I hate to feel like I’m operating in a bubble, not knowing whether I’m floating up or down.

However, when you’re travelling around you need to keep your children in a good humour. It can be a tall order to expect a six and three year old to be as happy as you to visit the cultural delights a country has to offer. So to reward good behavior on the flight we spend our first day at the zoo.

I have to admit I’m not really a fan of seeing animals pace their cages in the name of entertainment, but it was a fun afternoon. The children were thrilled to see monkeys swinging in the trees and elephants rolling logs, and if a few animals are sacrificed I supposed as least the trip has an educational purpose. Tilda now knows to avoid the snappy end of a crocodile. And Madeleine? I asked her what she learnt at the zoo and she replied: “I learnt what the animals all look like: nice and cute.”

The Practical bit:

Singapore Zoo: take the MRT to Ang Mo Kio and then follow signs to the bus interchange to board no 138, which takes you right to the zoo’s front gate. The return journey is just as easy. There are tour operators hanging around the MRT station waiting to offer you a “free” ride, but you’ll need to join their tour.

Day 1
Forget the brolly. Forget harbouring under a tree. Forget cowering under a picnic pagoda. When it rains in Singapore, it rains. It doesn’t just fall from the sky. It bounces upwards. You simultaneously get wet from the top down and the bottom up. I thought these leaking sky episodes were supposed to be short and sharp. But with thunderclaps that made our three-year-old cry, as well as the grown woman besides us, and lightening flashes reminiscent of a dodgy fluorescent tube, we had plenty of time to enjoy the wonders of nature.

The great outdoors is a spectacular thing, except when you are stuck in one of these downpours. At best it was intriguing, but after nearly an hour, we were forced to leave what we thought was a safe harbour, as it began to flood, and flee for the refuge of a fast food joint; as if the storm was an impressive marketing ploy by the restaurants to get more people through the door. But now I’m just being cynical.

This is a fleeting visit to Singapore and I suspect we shall be back. We are only here for three nights, and it has been 14 years since I was last here. I remember the trip like it was only yesterday, only I can’t reconcile my mind’s eye with the reality. Singapore has grown up. I remember low buildings and wide-open skies above, but today felt as if I had stumbled into a man-made jungle of towers, looming over me. On my last trip it was modern, neat and clean. But now it’s almost post-modern. The architecture is more dynamic, more fluid. The transport system has been developed and expanded. Singapore has literally grown, as land has been reclaimed. The sharp edges have been rounded off. I like it.

However, I can’t help feeling that I’m not really sure where this development trajectory is taking it. Evidence of Singapore’s past is still evident. You can go to the museums that document this ex-British colony: modern Singapore was built as a port by Sir Stamford Raffles, and at every corner there are cafes and street names to remind you.

You can learn about the invasion of the Japanese during the Second World War and harrowing existence of those locked up in Changi prison.

You can absorb the history of an ethically diverse population by learning about the Peranakan Chinese and Baba-Nyonya, descendants of late 15th and 16th-century Chinese immigrants to the Indonesian archipelago and British Malaya (now Malaysia).

But since independence Singapore has reconfigured itself. By modernising its industry, investing in public services and developing a free market economy, the country’s growth has been impressive with one of the highest per capita gross domestic product in Asia.

With only a couple days to experience the country we were going to be on a pretty tight schedule.

Accommodation: Orchard Parade Hotel, west end of Orchard Road. Clean but a little dated, in the process of being renovated. Good location.


This is part of a 14 day trip. For itinerary details please click on trips to try.