Yogyakarta (Jogja), Java, Indonesia

I should have clued in when I had seen the Indonesian women in hijabs at the airport or have noticed based on the dominance of men on the street the previous night, but this morning it blared in my ear, 'Welcome to the Muslim state of Java'.

My first experience in a Muslim country had been Malaysia. Religion had been an aspect I hadn't thought to look into before travelling with Buddhism so prevalent in South East Asia I had visited. While Malaysia had been open enough to allow us free movement as female travellers, we had sensed an extra set of eyes on us typically. We rarely had dressed as we would in Thailand: with cut-off shorts or tank tops. No one had ever told us to act this way, but we had attracted enough distasteful looks or leers dressed modestly that we hadn't felt the least bit comfortable trying anything less, especially in Borneo.

Every morning, as well as four other times throughout the day, the call to prayer played on loud speakers throughout the Muslim cities I had visited. While I didn't know what they said in Arabic, I found the whole concept interesting: the culture and religion so unified it could be broadcast on the streets. I wouldn't have advocated for change where I was from, as I celebrated our diversity, but I also enjoyed seeing different lifestyles and how it influenced the landscape.

The first call to prayer occurred just before sunrise. It would have been a decent wakeup call -- around six a.m. -- which after ten months of teaching became my internal alarm time. My neighbours; however, felt that waking up two hours prior to this was a good idea. They also failed to take into account how their loud conversations would go through the paper-thin walls and cause me to shove the other pillow over my face until six a.m., when I just gave up and got ready for the day. Since my neighbours on both sides had started the day so early, I got a wait-free shower.

I walked down our sunlit street, now bustling with life from the rickshaw drivers hollering ride offers, to the street carts offering fruits to women in colourful hijabs. It was touristy to a point, but had its own local flavour more apparent with the morning hours. I couldn't count on my hands and feet how many times I got asked where I was going and why on earth would I ever want to walk there.

An internet search and the woman at the front desk had given me a few sights to take in within the city limits: Sultan's Palace and the Water Castle. I had a vague map, but figured I'd just keep walking until I figured out where to go. Considering I was stopped once every two minutes by drivers looking for a fare, it wasn't hard to keep asking for directions. My patience waned with each request, prompted by my independent streak. I wanted to explore my way. Why couldn't they understand a woman just needed to walk her own path?

I found a money exchange so I could pay for the rest of my stay and found out I had been scammed out of one third of my money at the airport yesterday. It was frustrating, but ultimately my fault for not exchanging earlier or checking the rates. I'd survive.

The heat only took forty minutes to beat me down and allow me to cave to the next driver who came my way. He offered to take me to a Batik shop, as well as the Water Castle and Sultan's Palace for a more than reasonable price.

I had learned in Thailand that the drivers often got a cut if they brought tourists into souvenir shops or specialty shops. The Thai man had been upfront about it at the time, telling me I didn't even have to buy anything, just look interested and he'd get gas coupons, which I had been happy to do since he had told me. I figured similar logic was at work here as my Indonesian driver talked up this artistic Batik shop that his friend owned.

The store was small and canvases lined nearly every wall from the bottom a few feet past eye level. Batik was a style of needle work on cloth that originated as a clothing style. At times, it almost looked like tye-dye, though I'd admit my understanding of the style was a bit limited. Artists were worried the style was being lost to the influence of Western clothing styles, so they started Batik paintings, which ironically got bought up by the Western or other tourists. We were the cause and enjoyed the effect as well.

When I had heard the name Water Castle, I had an image in my head of water flowing from fountains in front of an ornate castle shining in the sun. Perhaps, my visit to White Temple in Chiang Rai a few days ago -- which looked like it came right out of a Disney film -- had some impact.

When I arrived, a far more aged sight met my eyes. Tan stone walls hid a pool filled with water and some growth at the bottom. I had no desire to put my feet in. The designs carved into the stone were intricate flowers and faces, and the castle had certainly been here for a number of years based on some black mold slowly creeping in on the interior walls, as was the fate of so many buildings in this climate.

I took a quick tour through the various rooms, and without the help of my random guide I would have never known the functions of the rooms as kitchens, bathrooms, or spas. There was little signage or displays, just the original stone structures. The building was still interesting to visit. The guide brought me to another shop down the street selling shadow puppets at twice the price of my budget hotel room. They were gorgeous but I couldn't justify the money nor would I ever be able to carry them in my luggage without inflicting damage. I simply smiled and told the artist they were beautiful.

I found the rickshaw driver and we took off to Sultan's Palace, which was more modern than the previous. The place had high, intimidating walls. I hardly had time to go inside and be overwhelmed and confused by the sheer amount of people and items in the courtyard before a group of Indonesian girls approached me, asking for an interview.

They were really sweet and had questions about my impressions of Indonesia and Indonesian culture, why I came visit, and wanted to know about my home country. I was one of the worst candidates for good responses since I hadn't yet been here twenty four hours and my knowledge on their culture embarrassingly minimal, but as an English teacher I couldn't help but stop and answer their questions in the interest of them practising their skills.

I kept walking the courtyard, looking at the strum instruments and beat of drums an older man had just finished playing a show. A lot of the platforms had beautiful roofs and pillars, decorated in warm colours and gold. I continued through different rooms, not learning a whole lot in the process, but the collection of items and furniture was impressive. There were still so many people, mostly Indonesian, which was likely because it was a holiday.

As I went to leave the palace, another group of students approached me with a similar request for an interview. They were so friendly that I couldn't say no. The guy doing the interview was a bit more confident in his English skills so we could go into a little more detail about Canada and places to visit like Niagara Falls (his choice) or Quebec city and Rocky Mountains (my favourites).

The girls from the first interview stood around the area too and we shared a laugh afterward about me giving so many interviews. I noticed the questions were almost identical. I wondered if in some classroom next week the teacher would shake his head at the fact that these students all interviewed the same foreigner. Maybe it was in the state curriculum and they would be in different classes. Some appeared to be in high school, while others were university aged.

As I left, I looked out for food. Instead, I found a museum on the history of Dutch colonization of Indonesia and the country's independence after the Second World War. I hadn't even known it was a colony or that the Dutch colonized much beyond South Africa. The Dutch occupation had begun in the 19th century and had lasted until the mid 20th century. Japan had occupied the country during the Second World War.

I got approached for another interview and this one was short and sweet, same questions. It soon began to rain as I went from building to building. I forgot that when I crossed the equator, dry season ceased and rainy season began anew. Asian monsoon rains were like walls of water slamming down on anything and everything in their path along with fierce winds. Life stopped for those moments as everyone raced for shelter to keep dry. 

After twenty or thirty minutes, they would let up and I took that chance to run to the mall to see if there were any vegetarian options for lunch. I went through plenty of markets to get to that point, which lined a narrow path on the sidewalk.

In the mall, a fashion show went on with very young girls. It didn't feel great to watch these girls exploited for fashion in this sense, but I was curious all the same. It was scary to see them strut across the stage like that at five or six years old. Why couldn't they have their time of innocence? I was reminded of the Little Miss Sunshine movie.

I exited the mall, which offered little food I could find, and a man in a rickshaw offered me a ride back. It was three times the price of the one I took this morning -- which was still peanuts -- and I gladly paid it just for the guilt of having him out in the rain in his poncho, while he secured the ties to the plastic cover in the rickshaw to keep me dry. Luckily, the rain stopped halfway there. The plastic covered area didn't ventilate very well and I feared the driver would slip soon on his bicycle pedals.

When I arrived back on my street, or rather the one over that seemed to have all the younger tourists from Europe and cheaper restaurants, I was approached by three Indonesian students for yet another interview. We ducked under an overhang and sat on some cement steps to start.

I was glad I agreed as they were also studying education, a degree I had just finished in December. We had plenty of stories to swap on classroom management, teaching techniques and the differences between our teaching styles. Purnama, the woman who spoke the most, taught kindergarten and expressed she could never get the kids to work as they were always forced to sit in desks and work.

"They never listen to me! Always talking, talking, talking," Purnama gushed.

We all laughed. "I think kids similar in most countries because that sounds just like Canada and Thailand," I said.

They were all so sweet and asked if we could redo the interview later, if I wasn't busy. Their recording device hadn't picked up all the interview up in the rain and their assignment was to write a transcript. I gave them my hotel name, general description and a good time for an interview.

Finally, it was time for lunch. I met a man who frequented the restaurant, often talking to tourists, and he offered to give me a tour of the area by motorbike tomorrow, if I was interested. I had been looking at group bus tours last night that went to Borobudur and Prambanan: the prominent temples to see in the area and the reason I chose to visit Jogja.

But really, he had me as soon as he said volcano and began going into the history of the natural disasters in the country. We'd make a whole day of it and I would pay gas, admissions and give him whatever I was willing to pay for the tour. I agreed to it and gave him the name of my hotel. He seemed skeptical of these students I was meeting shortly when I said I needed to leave. I assured him that based the way these women and I spoke about education for such long periods of time, they had to be genuine.

When I met back up with the students, they surprised me with both a Jojga t-shirt and a Batik themed purse as gifts for agreeing to do this interview with them a second time. I couldn't really believe their kindness and kicked myself a little afterwards for forgetting I had leftover Canada swag in my bag. We had another great chat, discussing diversity in Canada as well as Indonesia. In their country, it was, as I suspected, quite homogeneous; although, Bali was quite different with their culture and Balinese Hinduism dominated.  In Java, Islam was the primary religion and most women wore the hijab around Yogyakarta, including these lovely ladies. The rest of their outfits were fairly typical of women our age without being indecent.   

The group of students also had a male chaperone that filmed the whole thing, but didn't ask any of the questions. The women and I exchanged contact information to keep in touch and we went our separate ways. 

The rest of the day wasn't so busy. I met a few more people coming back from the long walk from supper where I could pay the tourist premium to be able to read the menu and be served in English. I just wanted the reassurance that there wasn't any meat in my food.

On the cement block area adjacent to our hotel driveway, some young Indonesian men sat chatting, smoking and laughing. They greeted me and asked how my day went. When I gave them more than a dismissive reply, they invited me to sit down. I recognized the tacky Hawaiian shirt the employees were required to wear at the hotel and figured the guys would be harmless enough, especially if they worked there.

"Why do you travel alone?" A young man my age with a face bordering cute and handsome asked.

"I wanted to see Indonesia."

"You don't have friends?" Laughter followed. That wasn't new. Most locals thought I was off my rocker, especially given the fact that I was a woman.

"I'm meeting my friends in Bali next week, right now they're in New Zealand. I wanted to see Yogyakarta and Bromo." 

The men chorused 'Oh's. It was enough to get them off my case.

Another man began chatting with me. He reminded me of a man, Tee, that my friend used to hook up with in Thailand so I nicked named him Indo Tee, since my notoriously poor memory for names had already lost his. We began chatting about all the wonders Jogja had to offer including Javanese treats like Jackfruit curries, and an underground mosque that sounded really neat. When he mentioned meat satays I had to tell him I was a vegetarian.

"Oh you don't eat meat? It shows on your face," he said with a grin.

I shook my head and laughed. "I ate meat less than a week ago. I have been a vegetarian for maybe five days. You can't possibly tell this soon."

"Yes, I can tell. Your skin is beautiful" he insisted with a straight face.

"No, you can't tell the difference. It takes longer."

"Your skin glows, must be all the vegetables." His lips cracked into a smile.

I continued to laugh. Only in Indonesia would my eating preferences be used as a pickup line. I had never been great at flirting back in any situation not involving alcohol or even accepting the attention as I often found it a touch ridiculous, especially here.

The only thing that concerned me before I turned in for the night was the men's reaction when I mentioned I was getting a motorcycle tour the following day with the older man from the restaurant. They looked away and simply nodded as silence fell. I wasn't sure if it was because I hadn't taken up their offer of rides or if I would be scammed by the other fellow. I was suspecting the latter even though he seemed to be genuine.

Before I went to bed, early enough considering my upcoming four a.m. wake up call for the tour, I sent off a message to my best friend back in Canada and told her about my plan for the following day. I joked that this was where she'd have to start looking if I went missing. Or I really hoped I was joking. He did seem to be an upfront enough person and he had a book full of references to back him up.