Yogyakarta and surrounding area, Indonesia

I woke up before my neighbours this time. Even though I was tempted to make a little noise out of spite, I crept up of my room with a backpack full of supplies, including a poncho I tracked down yesterday. Our security guard stood at the front gate and waited with me for my ride to come.

Guntur, the older man with the motorbike, showed up fifteen minutes later with a helmet for me. I had ridden bikes before, mainly from one bar to another when Thai friends of ours had offered short rides. I'd never attempted such a long trip before, but was ready, wearing the only pair of jeans I owned in Asia as well as runners for protection.

It took an hour and a half to get to our first destination, which wasn't Borobudur Temple, but a viewpoint where we could watch the sunrise surrounded by others who had the same idea. I paid both of our admission fees on his insistence and we waited. The sun hadn't broken the horizon just yet, but the sky was lighter than it had been as the bike had climbed the hill on the way up. Mount Merapi, one of the most active volcanoes on the island and another mountain stood tall opposite us.

Between the two sat Borobudur Temple, small as a bug, until the humidity transitioned into fog and blanketed the valley and temple. The sun rose to the right of the volcano about thirty minutes after our arrival. Shutters clicked as photographers snapped away at the haze obscured sun. The weather wouldn't allow a stunning view or photo, but we stayed, sipping tea and coffee until the crowds died down. Guntur informed me that July was the ideal time to visit, when the sun would rise exactly between Mount Merapi and the other mountain, and the skies were clear.

The next drive was shorter and as we arrived in the monstrous parking lot, filled with cars and school buses. I knew today would be a busy day. Guntur warned me that I'd likely be asked to be in many pictures since I stuck out with my dirty blonde hair and fair skin. He also told me more about how earthquakes took out his business in 2006 and that was why he'd been finding clients at the restaurant since then, hoping to rebuild one day. The conversation continued over a quick breakfast that didn't quite live up to its name of vegetable omelette. Guntur waited outside while I went to line up for the temple.

I used my student card to get a discount like Guntur had advised and knocked the foreigner price down by fifty percent. Thank goodness for cards without any sort of expiry date!

I made it down the path to the temple, following large school groups who would cast looks my way every once in awhile. Borobudur Temple came into view with a large rectangular base that rose up in six levels. It was like a pyramid that someone had cut halfway up and placed a large round stupa atop. A staircase brimmed with children, youths and teens as they looked around, pointing and shouting in excitement.

Hardly a few steps up the temple staircase, the first request to be in a photo came through. With a smile I agreed, oblivious to what I had just done. 'Picture', although singular in request never had that connotation. It took a minimum of five per group as everyone needed one on their phone or camera. If one group had stopped me, another one or two waited on the side, already knowing that I agreed to be in photos. This continued to the point where it took me forty-five minutes to make a two minute climb to the top.

Sure, I could have said no, but it was more fun ducking around corners to the sides that seemed to be less frequented. Merely an illusion. At the top level, I met a Korean man given the same treatment as I. We met as the locals wanted a group picture with both of us. I joked that if I had even take 1000 Rupiah a photo, I could have paid my 95 000 Rupiah entrance fee at least once over and he just laughed. At least I wasn't unique in drawing the local's interest, any non-Indonesian attracted plenty of attention.

On the plus side, some of the locals I met were entertaining while I became a model for Borobudur Temple. I had a feeling I was probably on a lot of social networking sites as 'random white girl' or however that would be said in Indonesian later in the day. 'Farang' was no longer my moniker outside Thailand.

I had a few moments in between photo shoots when I could observe the bas relief carvings in the walls of each level of the temple. Some depicted the life of Siddhartha, the Buddha, while others showed 8th century Javanese life. At the top, along with the large stupa, were seventy two of smaller ones, taller than I, which each encased a Buddha statue.

Being in so many photos diminished my patience with cameras. As a result, I only snapped a few 'been here, done that' photos without much thought into composition or best angles.   

I continued onto the other features of the temple grounds since the temple had already eaten up a whole hour. There was a museum without much information, but it featured replicas of ships used to trade with Africa in the past. Another museum popular with the students had a 'Ripley's Believe It or Not' feel to it with the biggest, smallest, grossest, oldest, youngest, longest, shortest -- and any other superlative I missed -- of more items and people than I could imagine. They even had hired a dwarf to work there. Finally, someone that drew more attention than I did! I did feel bad that he was used for show just because of his height and people treated him as an object.

I looked closely enough to find the small sections dedicated to the history of Mount Merapi volcano and Borobudur the Buddhist temple built in the 9th century. It had since undergone several restorations to bring back its grandeur. Another section of the museums here was dedicated to showing how the various steps UNESCO world heritage site had improved the temple abandoned and undiscovered for years.

Gunthur waited in the same shop where we had breakfast, smoking away. We jumped back on the bike for another hour and a half ride to the volcano. On the way up, we passed houses that had been partially demolished by the lava flows in recent years. One or two brick walls stood, others burned up like many of the trees. Once we reached the top area with one small tea shop offering no vegetarian fare, rain began to fall. The cramped coffee space had a roof and two walls, the rest intentionally open.

"What do you want to do?" Guntur asked between drags on his cigarette. The smoke mingled with that of half a dozen other smokers sitting in the small space.

"Do you think the rain will stop?"

Guntur shrugged as he looked out into the parking lot. We waited ten minutes longer for the rain to slow from drenching to mildly uncomfortable drops.

I knew I didn't want to stay here and watch him smoke while not eating. I had come this far and if there was a chance I could see a volcano, I would jump on it.

"I'm going to hike to the top."

"In the rain?"

"I've got this."

I dug in my bag and pulled out a pitiful plastic poncho. Thank goodness for random Indonesian bargain stores. My bag and body were covered by the thin plastic. Guntur let out a laugh and watched me walk off in the rain.

The precipitation had not let up as much as I wanted it to. I came across one or two other people doing the same uphill journey, so I wasn't completely crazy. Most people were coming down the other way, but no matter. I declined the ATV and truck rides since today's grand total was adding up fast and I walked until an Indonesian lady pointed me in another direction.

A French couple accompanied me for a little bit until I couldn't keep their pace.  A man I assumed was Indonesian hiked with me afterward. He kept my slow pace, I suspect just to make sure I was alright.

Luckily, he had been here before and we reached a point, after two or three kilometers uphill,  where he informed me the view wouldn't be changing any more. Gray misty fog would continue to obscure my interests and leave a few green trees out of the mix. Some of the trees were dead from the path the lava had taken in 2010 and had not grown back. That was closest I would get with a volcanic activity today.

The local man headed up the rest of the path while I retreated, careful to take the slippery rock descents slowly and not end up with another sprained ankle. The path was composed of ash and rock that could turn dangerous if the rainfall got heavy again.

I stopped at a museum on the way down that showcased the damage of the volcano's eruption. The lava had flowed through and destroyed them, leaving a spare wall, melted metals and warped furniture in the rooms. It was less museum, and more outdoor display of that volcano's damage. It was surreal to see a moment frozen in time after a disaster. The more memorable part of the day.

As I continued back down the path, a truck full of Indonesian men and women my age called out to me. They offered to squish me in their large truck bed and I gratefully accepted. I was chatting with one of the guys about their plans to explore the lava flow below, which sounded amazing, except that I had Guntur waiting for me in a coffee shop who wouldn't know where to meet me afterward.

When I told Guntur about running into them he shook his head and gave a grumbled response. We continued onto the next long ride to the final temple. Long gone was the friendly man trying to impress me in the restaurant. He had gotten what he wanted: my business.

We drove another stretch and upon out arrival, Guntur told me he'd be napping in the parking lot while I went inside to explore. Prambanan Temple was a Hindu temple built at a similar time to Borobudur,  the first temple I had visited that day. The grounds were again expansive and the tourist entrance far swankier than the local. I suppose it came with the higher priced territory. My favourite part so far was the clean Western bathroom.

Walking straight on the well designed and maintained yard, several pointy temples stood out in the distance, tall and slender. I had known going in that this would be similar to Angkor Wat in Cambodia as both structures had Hindu influences. These temples were older than Cambodia's and had I had much energy left, I'm certain I would have appreciated them more.

Rain spat down. I kept my pink poncho and I hid underneath the hood, hoping to avoid the photo-extravaganza I went through before. It was mid afternoon, I hadn't eaten anything since 7 a.m., and my energy supplies had hit an all time low. Keeping to myself was in everyone's best interest.

Since I was here, I walked up to the temples. Without taking the time to inspect them closely, I found them remarkably similar to what I had explored in Cambodia, under similar conditions of exhaustion. I still tried to enjoy the temples, to climb the steps and look inside the main ones. Every time I tried, we were delayed by family photo shoots, which either kept us stuck around the temple or waiting at the bottom of the stairs. I tried going in about three temples before my patience waned with those surrounding me, tourists and locals alike.

It was too hard to enjoy since people were more concerned with bringing back proof that they had physically been there than actually enjoying the temples. Some would take their picture in front then run to the next. It felt like a waste of everyone's time, so I left for an isolated path indicated on my tourist map. 

The path led to nothing but less impressive ruins and solitude. A trolley or two drove by the path I chose. After resting a little on a bench, I gave up and headed back toward the exit, passing an enclosure housing deer and food markets. I bought a bag of chips and nearly finished the whole thing before reaching the exit.

When I reached Guntur, he was fast asleep under the roofed parking lot and I tapped him on the shoulder until he woke up. He handed me a helmet and we started our journey. He asked me how I enjoyed the temples. Just alright. Too much to take in for one day.

Once we reached the street back in Yogyakarta with the restaurant and my hotel, he asked for payment: this ambiguous amount we'd agreed to. The day had been expensive enough from entrance fees, to parking and gas. My plan had been to double the gas money he was asking so I paid him. He narrowed his eyes and asked if I thought this was fair.

I did. I genuinely did considering I paid all my other expenses all day. I'd been in South East Asia long enough to get a feel for local wages and prices. He had clearly not dealt with too many tourists like me.

Now, he had me tired, defeated and embarrassed. I asked what people typically paid and he gave me an amount that was far beyond, if not double, the price I would have paid for a group whole bus tour including gas.

It was the price I had paid in Thailand for whole day excursions involving rafting, elephants, caves, meals and transportation, with a guide who actually came with us and explained the significance.

The price of a whole day trekking in Myanmar -- including food, guide and accommodations.

I knew what he was asking wasn't fair but I paid it, learning my lesson. Never trust a 'pay what you think is fair' price.

He asked me if I would sign his recommendations page to attract future visitors later and I replied maybe. I had the opposite intention if anything, to warn people against situations like that. He also brought me to his tour agent friend to see if I would book my future volcano tour with them. His friend mentioned it would cost more money for me to end the trip in Surabaya instead of the ferry to Bali. At that point, I got suspicious since the distance was shorter to Surabaya and it shouldn't have costed more. I had already lost a fair bit of money to Guntur, I had no intention of helping him get commission for bringing in another sucker tourist.

I ate and still couldn't shake that downed feeling. It bothered me that he had asked for so much money because he knew could guilt me into it. That was at least ten times what a rickshaw driver made in the city, and those men had been helpful and friendly even after they had my business. Just because he had a motorbike, he could rake in cash for driving around, sitting and smoking all day. For Guntur to charge prices far above those working around him in the same industry didn't seem fair to all those who did work hard in this country.

I sat down on the curb outside my hotel to chat with the guys I had met yesterday and shared my 'meh' day. They had plenty of suggestions for my plans tomorrow, including the underground mosque or other touristic sites, but I couldn't do another day of tourism. I knew I would just hate it. When someone mentioned the beach, I was torn. There were a fair number around and one of the men offered to drive me if I came to find him tomorrow. I told him I'd think about it -- not too keen on private transporation, after today's six hours spent on a bike.

Was I ready to give up being a cultural tourist just to sit on some beach? Would it ruin the experience in Jogja if I missed one mosque or the cultural downtown? No, if anything it would probably make me enjoy the country more if I was near an element I loved: water.