Returning to Yogyakarta: An Enchanting Journey

As Indonesia opens to visitors again, one woman returns to the island where she lived years ago—and remembers why the enchanting, energetic Yogyakarta region is an essential stop.

When people think of Indonesia, they often picture Bali and its picturesque beaches. However, as I sat aboard a train on the neighboring island of Java, passing rice terraces, ancient temples, and glorious expanses of forest overlooked by towering mountains, I wondered: why not here, too?

1. Exploring Java: More Than Just Bali

Java is home to more than 140 million people, making it the world’s most populous island. In 2016, I spent a year living in the province of Central Java, where I taught English at a military boarding school in Semarang, a port city on the northern coast. During my time there, I fell in love with Java’s national parks, ancient temples, and dynamic cities—and I returned for the first time this past August, seeking to reconnect.

2. Cultural Tapestry of Jogja

Some of my most memorable experiences occurred in Yogyakarta, a storied city about 350 miles east of Jakarta, Indonesia’s densely populated capital. In “Jogja,” as locals call it, I found a compelling amalgam of historic architecture, resilient Javanese culinary traditions, and creative spirit—with a burgeoning population of young people eager to revamp the status quo.

Here, street food is culture, and culture is king. It seemed only right that I would begin my return trip on the hunt for jajan pasar, the traditional Javanese cakes so delightful they’ve become synonymous with the city. My friend, Indonesian food scholar Kevindra Prianto Soemantri, explained that the sweets come in a range of colors but are usually made from a four-ingredient foundation: cassava, palm sugar, coconut, and sticky rice or rice flour.

3. Culinary Delights: A Taste of Tradition

Mbah Satinem’s food stall, Lupis Mbah Satinem, in the Jetis district, is known as one of the best places to enjoy jajan pasar; the elder has been making the cakes for more than 50 years, charming visitors with her confectionary intellect. The sweets are just one example of how food permeates the streets of Jogja, where satay, gudeg (braised jackfruit), and kopi joss (coffee with charcoal) take center stage. There was even food growing on the roof of my hotel: cabbage, spinach, mint, and basil, among other herbs and leafy greens.

During my stay at Greenhost Boutique Hotel, I chatted with assistant manager Pak Surya, who told me about the goal of providing affordable accommodation that was also eco-conscious. “We’ve figured out how to naturally cool the building,” Surya said as we stood by the pool in the atrium, surrounded by towering greenery. He pointed up to the garden above, which was releasing mist into the atrium. In a country that has battled pollution, deforestation, and other environmental challenges, it was a lush sign of promise.

4. Jogja’s Artistic Community

This sense of invention runs deep within the area’s artistic community, too. The Jogja National Museum provides a stage for contemporary artists from Java and other Indonesian islands with rotating exhibitions and performances. In the nearby city of Magelang, the OHD Museum is a lesson in cultural reclamation: it displays the acquisitions of private collector Oei Hong Djien, known for gathering modern and contemporary Indonesian art from around the world—including pieces by pioneers like Raden Saleh and Ahmad Sadali—and bringing it back home.

5. Experiencing Borobudur and Beyond

I was in Jogja during Artjog, a contemporary art fair, where highlights included Catatan Pinggir Jurang, a dreamlike pillow installation by Alex Abbad and Angki Purbandono, and Borobudur—Expanding Unawareness, a dark room with neon-bright renderings of Buddhist statues and temple-goers. The latter was put together by Nawa Tunggal and his brother, the painter Dwi Putro, whose work draws on his experience with schizophrenia. Later, visiting the Hindu temple complex at Prambanan, just outside the city, I saw the ancient stone reliefs in a new way.

My friend Anna Grundström also happened to be in Java, on a journey to reconnect with her Indonesian heritage, and we met up for a few tours in the more rural parts of the region. It was a comfortable ride from the city to Borobudur, a UNESCO World Heritage site containing the world’s largest Buddhist temple—likely opened in the ninth century, and restored in the 20th—that’s also one of Indonesia’s most visited tourist attractions.

“It took about a hundred years to build,” our guide, Hasan Bisri, told us. “When you see Borobudur from a helicopter, it looks like a lotus.” Visitors were once able to walk through the temple’s nine stacked platforms, which hold stunning Buddhist statues and numerous relief panels. Nonetheless, the ongoing pandemic has restricted guides to showing guests around the ground level. However, Bisri, who has worked at the temple since 1988, was thrilled to be giving tours to international visitors again.

Amanjiwo overlooks the most stunning ruins of Borobudur, its suites nestled against majestic Menoreh Hill in a remote area of Central Java. I was greeted by flower-throwing staff who offered me refreshing watermelon before walking me to my high-ceilinged suite, which opened out onto a private garden.

After enjoying my plush room for a few hours, the resort arranged a visit to the home of chef Pak Bilal, whose son, Pak Damar, now runs the show. Against a backdrop of gamelan music, Damar prepared a sumptuous, comforting tasting menu that left me speechless: prawns in a steaming bowl of soup with wood-ear mushrooms, grilled chicken marinated in cilantro and lemongrass, and grilled tofu wrapped in banana leaves and served with shredded coconut and lime.

Normal people—people with common sense—would go back to their luxury hotel room and settle into their sheets. I, however, opted to see more of this massive island. Anna met me at 10 p.m. for a drive to Mount Prau, one of Indonesia’s many volcanoes. The dormant peak stretches to 8,415 feet above sea level. After a chilly hike through the Dieng Plateau, wondrous views awaited us.

At the summit, Anna and I snuggled into a tent while our guide prepared hot noodles and tea. As the light began to emerge, we stood in the windy expanse and watched the sun rise over the earth. It was entrancing—I felt I could almost reach out and grab the nearest cloud. We lingered, grappling with the enormity of our world, before making our way back down.

At the resort that evening, Anna joined me for a staging of the Kakawin Ramayana, an epic poem that emerged in Java in the eighth or ninth century and is still performed throughout Indonesia. The private performance was accompanied by a traditional meal, featuring delicacies like udang bakar kalasan, grilled prawns marinated in local coconut milk. We devoured every dish as we watched the dancers move with passion and skill.

“A lot of people come to Indonesia to engage with spiritualism and mysticism,” Aman’s resident anthropologist, Patrick Vanhoebrouck, had told me over tea. “They go straight to Bali to look for this—not realizing that the heart of it is right here, on Java.” Enjoying one last swim before heading to the airport, I felt like I was at the very center of it all.