Chocolate Covered Bananas

by Francesca Read-Cutting (United Kingdom (Great Britain))

Making a local connection Indonesia

I will forever be grateful to Fanji, who not only showed us the captivating beauty of the lesser known areas in Bandung, but even went so far as to welcome us into his home to immerse us in true Javanese culture. We started our tour day with a visit to the infamous White Crater. The acrid smell of sulphur did nothing to diminish the beauty of the light turquoise water against the backdrop of the white mountain rock. However Fanji quickly shepherded us away. We pursued a hidden track, ignoring signs indicating left and heading right instead. Huge expanses of tea plantations sprawled before us, whose emerald leaves we hiked through. A forest closed in over our heads, but Fanji assured us we were heading somewhere worthwhile as we limboed under fallen branches. The ground suddenly flattened and we had reached a slight clearing. The slope fell away to our left, leaving us a birds-eye view of the shining crater below. Fanji handed out fat Indonesian cigarettes and the men puffed away as we all admired the view. Covered in sweat from the climb, the promise of the hot springs we were attending next sounded delightful. Little did we realise Fanji again had a surprise in store. We rushed into the murky waters, sucking in our breath at the heat that scorched our skin, the temperature of a freshly drawn bath. We had the pools to ourselves, bar a couple of local gentleman, amused by the foreigners who had invaded. However, we were not alone for long. We heard voices approaching, as floods of people came down the hills surrounding the springs from every direction, children in tow. The nightly washing routine had begun. Women sat below pipes that funnelled water into the baths, shampooing their hair from little sachets. People wet their toothbrushes, scrubbed their teeth and rinsed their mouths back into the water. Our guide informed us that the mud from a specific patch next to the springs was used by locals to cleanse their skin, so we set off to cover ourselves. Unable to follow the directions he had given us, we settled for what we took to be close enough. On our return to he laughed because the mud we had chosen was certainly not what he had told us to find, but just common dirt off the ground. We hastily got cleaned up and dressed, so that we could proceed to the final part of our tour. Fanji parked in an abandoned car park under a bridge. We got out nervously as he led us down a dark alleyway, which brought us into a street filled with food carts. We heartily ate the food given to us; fried banana, beansprout-tofu balls and crispy tempe, washed down with Luwak coffee. We followed him down the maze of backstreets, where the front doors of houses almost touched as the path was so narrow, before coming to a halt at one such door. Pressing his finger to his lips, Fanji slowly opened the door and beckoned us to peer round. A single mattress filled 3/4 of the room, upon which lay a woman and her two sleeping children. Awakened by our confused whispers, the women rubbed her sleeping eyes which alighted on Fanji, broke into a smile and hugged him. He proceeded to introduce us to his wife, who was clearly used to waking up to peering strangers. From a fridge in the corner his wife pulled out a plate covered in homemade slices of chocolate covered banana and offered it around. Fanji indicated the room and told us it was his home, with the toilette being just down the road. He said he planned to use all of his guiding money to set up his own hostel, to welcome people like us into his country, so everyone could experience it with the same level of insight we were lucky to experience. He refused the tips we offered him or even payment for the taxi ride he gave my friend and I to the train station the following day. All he asked was that we leave a good review online for people visiting Bandung to see.