Kinahrejo
by prudence on 09-Apr-2011
Kinahrejo is one of the villages that ended up right in the line of fire when Mount Merapi erupted in October 2010. It shot to particular prominence because the eruption ended the life of Mbah Maridjan, the 83-year-old spiritual guardian of the volcano.
Aware of all the criticisms of "disaster tourism", I initially had a few doubts about this trip. But I'm very glad I went. Not only does the tourist trade help to provide income for local people whose homes and livelihoods were wiped out by the eruption, but I also found it a profoundly humbling experience.
It's a lovely motorbike ride up to the village. You pay to enter. Loudspeakers tell you not to go near the destabilized edge of the river, and warn that in the event of heavy rain, the area might have to be evacuated, because the piles of volcanic material washed down the river can cause flash flooding.
It's a popular place. By the time we leave, there are several tour buses. Locals offer motorbike rides, and man the many, many warungs that have been set up. You can buy food (including "nasi goreng vulkanik"), drinks, novelties -- and photos and DVDs of the disaster. The vast majority of the visitors are Indonesians.
We are so lucky with the weather. I missed out on close-up views of Merapi last year and the other week in Kaliurang, but here she is in all her glory...
Here, too, is her amazing power of destruction -- it's an unbelievably large area that got rolled over by a mixture of ash, rocks, sand, lava, and clouds of gas. The trees are gone; the houses are buried or ruined; the river was altered.
And many people died, including Mbah Maridjan.
It's a sobering place to visit.
But it's also inspiring. The slopes of the volcano have already greened up. Locals have planted trees, and built greenhouses. No-one has returned here to live, but some money is being made -- not only from tourism, but also from the sale of volcanic sand, which is a much prized building material. These are courageous and resilient people.
Visitors reverently stand in front of the little shelter that marks the site of Mbah Maridjan's home. He is much admired. He once refused to meet the president, I was told, disappearing off up the mountain on the day he was visiting. He featured regularly in articles and even advertisements, but he never kept the payment, always distributing it to the community. When his body was found, it was in the position of prayer.
Here he is seen as a hero, not a victim. This is not the story of a mistake or miscalculation, but the story of loyalty, courage, and spiritual integrity. He was the spiritual gatekeeper of the mountain. This was where he belonged. This was where, at 83, he was going to stay. In a world where we are so very danger-conscious, so very quick to flee, it is a thought-provoking story.
Tramping back down the steep slope of this genuinely scary mountain, I felt as if I had encountered something very profound up there in the midst of all the tragedy. Something very strongly spiritual lives on here -- Mbah Maridjan has not entirely left.
Aware of all the criticisms of "disaster tourism", I initially had a few doubts about this trip. But I'm very glad I went. Not only does the tourist trade help to provide income for local people whose homes and livelihoods were wiped out by the eruption, but I also found it a profoundly humbling experience.
It's a lovely motorbike ride up to the village. You pay to enter. Loudspeakers tell you not to go near the destabilized edge of the river, and warn that in the event of heavy rain, the area might have to be evacuated, because the piles of volcanic material washed down the river can cause flash flooding.
It's a popular place. By the time we leave, there are several tour buses. Locals offer motorbike rides, and man the many, many warungs that have been set up. You can buy food (including "nasi goreng vulkanik"), drinks, novelties -- and photos and DVDs of the disaster. The vast majority of the visitors are Indonesians.
We are so lucky with the weather. I missed out on close-up views of Merapi last year and the other week in Kaliurang, but here she is in all her glory...
Here, too, is her amazing power of destruction -- it's an unbelievably large area that got rolled over by a mixture of ash, rocks, sand, lava, and clouds of gas. The trees are gone; the houses are buried or ruined; the river was altered.
And many people died, including Mbah Maridjan.
It's a sobering place to visit.
But it's also inspiring. The slopes of the volcano have already greened up. Locals have planted trees, and built greenhouses. No-one has returned here to live, but some money is being made -- not only from tourism, but also from the sale of volcanic sand, which is a much prized building material. These are courageous and resilient people.
Visitors reverently stand in front of the little shelter that marks the site of Mbah Maridjan's home. He is much admired. He once refused to meet the president, I was told, disappearing off up the mountain on the day he was visiting. He featured regularly in articles and even advertisements, but he never kept the payment, always distributing it to the community. When his body was found, it was in the position of prayer.
Here he is seen as a hero, not a victim. This is not the story of a mistake or miscalculation, but the story of loyalty, courage, and spiritual integrity. He was the spiritual gatekeeper of the mountain. This was where he belonged. This was where, at 83, he was going to stay. In a world where we are so very danger-conscious, so very quick to flee, it is a thought-provoking story.
Tramping back down the steep slope of this genuinely scary mountain, I felt as if I had encountered something very profound up there in the midst of all the tragedy. Something very strongly spiritual lives on here -- Mbah Maridjan has not entirely left.