Nasi nasi nasi

After spending all afternoon trawling the city I have finally found the only operational warnet (internet cafe) in Solo, hidden behind darkly tinted glass, with a tiny, very ambiguous sign in front... Back in Surabaya. It is the home of Indonesia's navy, so on Tuesday morning I walked to the big monument that centres around an old Russian submarine (still in commission, and kept in working order). After paying the entrance fee you are taken through the actual submarine by girls dressed in tacky sailors outfits (including mini-skirts). I looked through the periscope and could see all the way to the Matahari department store (a whole block away). From there I walked towards what Lonely Planet calls "well-landscaped gardens" beside the river, and found instead huge piles of garbage grown over with weeds and crawling with feral cats. And the river itself looks and smells like an open sewer. I'm trying to practice a bit of cultural relativism here, but Indonesians treat their cities as landfills and its easy to see why disease is so rife. Following this I caught a taxi to the old city in the north. This is where some important British army guy was killed in the lead-up to independence in the 'forties, and the whole of Surabaya is littered with independence monuments marking that time. The old city is home to Chinatown and the Arab Quarter. Walking around, looking for the big Buddhist temple, a retarded Chinese boy took my hand and led me into Pasar Pabean, Surabaya's biggest market. "Temple?" I kept saying... "Ya, temple!" he would say and nod. Deep into the belly of the pasar, we stopped at a shop selling lollies and cigarettes - obviously his mother's stall - and he said "Temple! Temple!" His mum just looked as if he does this with all the tourists. So I wound my way back outside, and made it to Kong Co Kong Tik something something, where they were burning 6-foot candles in big smoke-filled rooms, and the praying Buddhists didn't even register my obvious presence. It was an eerie place. From there, north to Mesjid Ampel - Surabaya's holiest mosque. It was a bit of a hike through the old town. Crumbling old Dutch buildings - the place literally looked as if it were abandoned  following an earthquake and never rebuilt. Swarms of becak, people shitting in open-air mandi on the median strip. The way to a mosque is through a narrow lane filled with market-stalls selling Muslim paraphernalia. I would have loved to buy a pair of brightly-painted Ampel sandals, or one of those black felt peci hats that the Indonesian gentlemen wear, but I was sensing a little suspicion of me... I walked around the outside of the mosque, where men were washing themselves in the water (forgive my ignorance as to the actual term for this practice, or anything relating to Islam). I'm sure that I was just being paranoid, but the pilgrims kept looking at my bag as if it might be concealing weapons. I didn't hang around for long.
I decided it wasn't worth going further north to see the harbour, so I went to see an American movie instead. After this, dinner at Surabaya's first authentic Italian ice-cream store, where the English-speaking owner introduced me to her granddaughter (who could not speak English, but gave me her phone-number nonetheless...) So I sat over my sundae while the whole family watched me eat, saying "Timmy. Shinta loves you Timmy. Oh, so handsome!" etc. etc. Then I got to play Scrabble with the owner's husband, who was a young guy with a lazy eye and an education in "passive English". He translates written English into Indonesian. This meant that although he beat me in Scrabble, it was a struggle to understand anything he said. Yesterday morning I was at the train station early for my five-hour kelas bisnis (business class) journey to Solo - reportedly a centre for Javanese culture, and the seat of various Kingdoms over the centuries.  I sat next to an old lady who spoke English, and she had a lot of thoughts on Indonesian society that were interesting. In Solo, becak to Guesthouse Paradiso. It's the cheapest place I have stayed so far (less than ten dollars for two nights), and it's fitted out like an old Dutch tea-house or something. To my delight, my room came complete with a Dutch Wife, a cylindrical pillow about the size of a torso that lonely men can cuddle up to at night. I'm a bit reluctant to touch it, for fear of former guests having done more than cuddling... It's a bit weird, really. Last night I paid 3000 rupiah (forty cents) to see a wayang orang show. There was a ten-piece gamelan orchestra, as well as maybe ten actors, ornate stage decorations, and beautiful traditional costumes and make-up. There was a fair bit of dialogue that I couldn't understand (obviously), but the slapstick comedy was good fun. Afterwards, a lonely Bintang at a bar playing Western karaoke DVDs... This morning I had breakfast at another hotel, where the food looked better, and met an old British couple who are heading East. I gave them the same warning about the "path" to Gunung Bromo that I've given to a few travellers already. Then, to the Kraton - home of the first royal family of Solo - under a thick layer of dust, and my guide couldn't speak English. There were lots of nice puppets and masks though. Later, to Puri Mangkunegaran - home of the second royal family of Solo - which was much bigger, with huge cabinets full of the various Kings' collections. Japanese swords, Dutch silverware, chastity belts... The dining room and tea room that are still used by the royal family. There is a special motif used in batik that previously only the royal family has been allowed to wear, but now they actually produce it themselves and sell it through the attached art-shop (note that the royal family now has thousands of members). But you can't pay by credit card because the royal family doesn't pay tax. Tomorrow I'm off to Yogyakarta, which is the cultural centre of Java, where I'm hoping to finally catch a puppet show, and from where I will see the enormous Buddhist monument, Borobudur, and the massive Hindu temple, Prambanan. I also have to catch up with those Sumatrans, Allen and Dadi. This final week of my trip should be a corker.