We've just had the most lovely 24 hours up at the Cangkringan. Which made a most fitting "golden little trip" (it's actually not our 50th, strictly speaking, because way back at the beginning I put two trips in one post, which was pretty gauche, but never mind).

You may recall we came here on a New Year's Eve package. There was a problem with the original room, so we had to move to a smaller one. We didn't worry too much about this, but when we came to leave, we were presented with a voucher for another night's stay in one of the smart villas. Really extremely decent of them, we thought. (We were incredibly lucky that New Year's Eve. You might also remember we won a door prize for a free night at the Sambi, which we availed ourselves of when we went to visit the Merapi Volcano Museum back in January. I wasn't that well, and it was a lovely, cool, comfortable place to recuperate.)

Anyway, on the way up to our villa night, we visited Candi Kimpulan. When I was in Yogya in 2011, they'd not long discovered this temple, right in the middle of the Universitas Islam Indonesia campus, while building the new library. So I was keen to see what it all looks like now. And the answer is pretty good:



One of the finds was the most adorable Ganesh, whose trunk, I wouldn't mind guessing, is plugged into a nice sweet ladoo:



After this little historical interlude, on again up the hill to the Cangringkan, with the air, which had been stifling down on the plain, getting fresher by the metre.

We totally loved our spacious villa, which came with its own private garden and an enormous bathroom with private open-air sunken bath:







We were still prancing round going "wow" when there was a knock on the door, and two glasses of fruit punch and a basket of fresh fruit arrived to join the ginger candy that was already on the table.

The rest of the day just dissolved away. A stroll around the grounds was followed by a long hot bath in that awesome bath-tub. We'd just emerged from that when a pot of tea and a plate of crispy fried cassava rolled up at the door. Sprawled on the vast and comfy sofa, we read for a while, and then it was time to see off some coffee and a club sandwich, ordered from room service.

This morning, after leaving enough time to digest a big bowl of Javanese chicken porridge (complete with boiled egg, peanuts, cakwe, spring onions, herbs, salted vegetables, chillies, and emping), we went off for a "traditional Javanese massage" at the spa.

We are not massage connoisseurs, I have to say, and it frequently amuses me to be accosted at tourist spots by massage-providers who clearly think Westerners keel over if not massaged on a regular basis. So this was only Massage No. 5 of my entire life. (Previous experiences: the most extraordinarily relaxing "Aix massage" at the inimitable Polynesian Spa in Rotorua, New Zealand; an Ayurvedic massage in southern India; a reflexology foot massage in Bangkok, in which the guy diagnosed with uncanny accuracy, from a tender area on my foot, an underlying bodily weak point that he couldn't possibly have just guessed; and an exhausting and thoroughly uncomfortable Thai massage, also in Bangkok, that was really best enjoyed in retrospect and will never be repeated if I have any say in the matter.)

When this one started, with a robust attack on my delicate little left foot, which really does like to be handled with care, I thought, OK, this might not be good... A bit of negotiation reduced the pressure considerably -- although possibly it did me less good as a result, as apparently Javanese massage, too, is designed to be pretty painful. Anyway, I very much enjoyed it, which I guess is at least part of the point.

So, thank you, wonderful folk at the Cangkringan. At the moment, I feel this is me to a tee: