Sunsets, Sambal & Surprises: Ramadan Adventures In Java

Our late‑afternoon flight from Medan to Yogyakarta (Jogja) on the eve of Eid al‑Fitr felt more like stepping into a flying cake shop than boarding a plane. I’ve never seen so many boxes of cake in one place — certainly more than any bakery stockroom. We were the only westerners on board, surrounded by families rushing home for the holidays. As the sun dipped below the horizon mid‑flight, the cabin suddenly came alive: everyone leapt up to retrieve food from the overhead lockers, breaking their final fast of Ramadan.

The drive from the airport was just as lively. We passed carnival processions blasting music from sound systems strapped to tiny trucks, while fireworks cracked in the distance. Java was celebrating, and we were right in the middle of it.

The Ramadan holidays shaped much of our stay. Tourist sites were buzzing with local visitors, and the beaches of Gunung Kidul were absolutely packed. Sharing the festivities with Javanese families has been a joy — and as the only westerners on the coast, we ended up in countless photos. Most people assumed I was Dutch, so when I replied I was English it sparked more interest… usually leading to Premier League football chat.

This leg of the trip has been full of contrasts. We spent four nights in a five‑star hotel in Jogja (a very reasonable £60 a night for both of us), followed by three nights in a wooden house in the forest near the beach (£30 a night). The wooden house came with a frog on the bed on night one — and a supporting cast of insects — yet I slept better there than anywhere else. The fresh air and the sound of waves crashing in the distance were pure magic. I miss it already.

The temples of Borobudur and Prambanan were unforgettable, but a bike tour through the Kotagede district of Jogja nearly finished us off. Even starting at 7am, the heat was draining, and by the end we both felt completely washed out. It turned out I was coming down with tonsillitis — but if you’re going to be ill, a five‑star hotel is the place to do it. I’ve been incredibly lucky not to have been unwell since leaving home in mid‑December.

I was slightly alarmed when the doctor examined my swollen neck and announced, “You have a bull neck — a sign of diphtheria, which is very serious. But you have no temperature, so it’s OK. I’ll give you antibiotics to take if you get one.” He then turned to Mark and declared, “Papa, you are in charge. If her neck gets hot, she must start the antibiotics immediately.”

Thankfully, I recovered quickly and we didn’t miss out on anything.

Food has been its own adventure. We’ve spent many meals deciphering menus with Google Translate while waiters hover expectantly with pen and pad, ready for an instant order. Eating out is incredibly cheap — spending more than £2 on lunch is a challenge. My travel‑spend app tells me I’ve spent £175 on food in three weeks, which works out to about £8 a day for three meals out. Not bad at all.

We’ve fallen in love with peanut sauces, dangerously addictive sambals, aromatic soups like soto, and endless seafood along the coast. Yesterdays new discovery was Kategode, a salad with a coating of spicy peanut sauce. I’m nearing my limit with rice, but apart from a couple of plates of chips, we’ve avoided western food entirely. The fruit has been a slight disappointment — after the glorious mangoes of Sri Lanka and the wild variety in Sumatra, Java’s offerings feel a bit bland.

Alcohol has been another challenge. The hardest moment was sitting on our beach balcony at sunset with nothing but water. So imagine our joy on the last night when we spotted a bottle of beer on the restaurant owner’s table. After some enthusiastic pointing, negotiations began, and a motorbike was dispatched to fetch two large bottles of Bintang. We weren’t allowed to drink them at the restaurant, but we were thrilled at the thought of a cold beer back on our balcony.

It didn’t quite go to plan: as we left, the carrier bag split and one bottle smashed spectacularly on the ground. Thank goodness we’d ordered two.

We’ve also enjoyed the contrast between city and highlands. The cooler air of the Dieng Plateau is a welcome relief, and the terraced vegetable farms are mesmerising. Every inch of land is used to feed a nation of around 290 million people — 176 million of whom live on Java. Watching the landscape roll by from the car window never gets old. Tomorrow we venture of around the Highlands and tea plantations in a jeep.

Now we have just five nights left before heading home for a couple of weeks, then off again to Greece for some island hopping. There is so much I’ll miss. While temperatures below 30 degrees will be more comfortable, I’ll miss the sun, the blue skies, the food, the culture, the history — and the simple joy of spending each day doing only things that bring pleasure.

It’s been four months like no other, and somehow I’m already a third of the way through the year.