White smoke poured into the cabin of the A320 Airbus, swirling around the overhead lockers as we stowed away our luggage. Was this cause for alarm? Jakarta was our destination, via Singapore, a hastily arranged alternate stopover to avoid Bali's Denpasar airport, thrown into chaos by the erupting Mt Raung and its fickle drifts of volcanic ash plume. It appeared this short night flight across the Indonesian archipelago was nothing unusual to my fellow passengers as I nervously glanced around to observe whether the intermittent steamy outpourings filling the cabin were to be a precursor to an oxygen mask dangling in front of me. Relax: it was simple classroom science on display. Not the smoky outburst from a grumpy volcano but plumes of water vapour produced from the cold emissions of the air-conditioners fusing with the tropical warmth of the aircraft cabin.
Indonesia's capital city Jakarta on the northwest coast of Java is not your usual holiday destination; Bali makes sure of that. But having a son living in this city of over 10 million people meant a visit was inevitable. Jakarta's Soekarno-Hatta International Airport is named after the country's first president (Soekarno) and vice-president (Hatta) when the struggle for independence from their Dutch colonisers was finally achieved in 1945. Progress through immigration, baggage and customs was surprisingly straightforward, given the highly publicised drug-busting cases that lingered uneasily in my subconscious.
Jakarta has the reputation of being the world's most traffic-congested city but strangely the streets were relatively quiet as the taxi delivered us to our apartment during Lebaran - the Indonesian name for the Eid al-Fitr holiday that celebrates the end of the Ramadan fast. In Indonesia it is tradition that in the days following Eid, millions migrate from the bigger cities to their hometowns to celebrate with their families, a megaversion of Auckland's Easter weekend exodus over the Bombay hills.
If you read the travel advisories from New Zealand and other Western countries, the standard warning for travellers to Indonesia is to ''exercise a high degree of caution''.
Our first awareness of security precautions was not at the airport but when we arrived at our gated high-rise accommodation. Before raising the checkpoint barrier, the resident security guard ran his vehicle inspection mirror under the taxi to check for explosives and inspected the boot of the car. This was a routine we soon got used to as many hotels adopt the practice. But there was never a time that we felt unsafe in this, the world's largest Muslim nation.
Recovering from our travel weariness, we set out the following morning to explore the heart of the city. Merdeka Square in central Jakarta, measuring one square kilometre, is dominated by the National Monument, or Monas, as it is called. This towering obelisk, topped by a gold-coated flame, is a symbol of Indonesia's fight for independence. Its base houses the Natural History Museum and the Hall of Independence and a lift takes you to an observation platform 115m above ground level.
Being a public holiday, the square was busy with visitors enjoying the spaciousness of what is considered to be the second-largest city square in the world. Kite flying was a popular pastime, their colours as numerous as that of the headscarves worn by Indonesian women. We were rare Western faces among the crowd and frequently an object of curiosity. With young people, there was no shyness coming forward to ask to have their photos taken with us on their cellphones.
There were many government and cultural buildings surrounding the square. Probably the most significant is the Istiqlal Mosque, which is Indonesia's national mosque and the largest in Southeast Asia. Opened in 1978, it took 17 years to build and was purposely sited across the road from the Jakarta Catholic cathedral to symbolise religious tolerance and harmony.
We visited the mosque at times other than the the five prescribed prayer times but there were still long queues outside. We were keen for a tour of the mosque and, after removing our footwear, a guide was assigned to us. This inner world of Muslim worship proved to be a highlight of our visit to Jakarta. As we climbed the stairs to a mezzanine balcony overlooking the main prayer hall, the immensity of the structure was breathtaking. Twelve towering stainless steel columns draw your gaze upwards to the golden dome with dazzling geometric patterns. The interior was a restful and homely place, where many groups and families relaxed while others prayed; a peaceful sanctuary from the 33degC heat outside.
Indonesia's second most popular holiday destination after Bali is Yogyakarta or Jogja as it is fondly called. Just over an hour's flight southeast from Jakarta, Yogyakarta was the capital of the Indonesian Republic from 1945 to 1948 when its Sultanate supported the struggle for independence.
Like New Zealand, Yogyakarta lies on the Ring of Fire, the earth's cauldron of volcanic and earthquake activity. The city lies a few kilometres south of Indonesia's most active volcano, Mt Merapi. Multiple eruptions in 2010 killed more than 350 people living around the flanks of the volcano. Of more devastating magnitude was the 2006 Yogyakarta earthquake, which killed close to 6000 people and injured 37,000. Mt Merapi, despite its formidable reputation, is a popular tourist destination and a trek to the top in the early hours of the morning to see the sunrise is a tempting challenge for the more adventurous.
Just 40km from Yogyakarta is Borobudur Temple, the world's largest Buddhist temple, built in the 9th century and a Unesco World Heritage site. We hired a driver to take us on a less travelled route through countryside villages where the emerald-green paddy fields and mango plantations were a constant reminder of the fertility of Java's volcanic soils.
Borobudur is the most visited tourist attraction in Indonesia with up to 50,000 visitors per day in the peak season, 95% of them being predominantly Muslim Indonesians. But it becomes a place of pilgrimage for Buddhists on Vesak, the commemoration of Gautama Buddha's birth, enlightenment and death, a national holiday in Indonesia.
The temple, made from local stone, is built on a natural hill and rises nine levels, topped by a massive central dome or stupa. Hundreds of sculptures and bas-reliefs decorate the temple and miniature perforated stupas housing meditating Buddha statues surround the upper levels.
Spacious parkland surrounds the heritage area and elephant rides are an added attraction. In the intense heat of the day, bottled water and hired umbrellas were a welcome relief as we started our ascent with one of the local guides. It is hard to believe the temple was abandoned for centuries and buried by volcanic ash from that same old foe, Mt Merapi. Our climb to the top on a cloudless day was rewarded by a breathtaking view of a tropical green valley surrounded by majestic mountains and volcanoes.
Like at any major tourist attraction, the hawkers and souvenir stalls abound. The route to the exit seemed strategically designed for visitors to run the gauntlet of hopeful stallholders struggling to eke out a meagre living. The quenching milk from a freshly opened coconut was a good choice from the food stalls and a welcome finale to all that Borobudur had to offer.
A less ancient cultural attraction than Borobudur is the sultan's palace back in Yogyakarta city.
Sultanates in Indonesia pre-date the republic by many centuries but have long ceased to hold any political power, with one exception. The designated Special Region of Yogyakarta is governed by the Sultan of Yogyakarta, Hamengkubuwono X. The 18th-century royal palace (kraton) is open to the public and, with the help of a personal guide, we explored the compound whose whole layout is symbolic of ancient Javanese Hindu mysticism.
Meanwhile, behind these palace walls, a potential political storm is brewing. The sultan, who is 69 years old, has five daughters but no son, who would traditionally succeed to the throne, a title that carries with it the role of governor of Yogyakarta. Earlier this year the Sultan named his eldest daughter a crown princess, a declaration construed as a signal that he intends to name her heir apparent.
Also brewing was a cuppa java, which I was in desperate need of after negotiating the swarming motorcycle traffic to and from the palace. It was the Dutch colonisers who introduced coffee as a cash crop in the 17th century and today Indonesia is one of the world's biggest producers and exporters of coffee beans.
The coffee I was curious to sample was kopi luwak, trumpeted as the rarest and most expensive in the world. Thanks to the Asian palm civet or luwak - a catlike creature that feeds on coffee berries and excretes the undigested beans in its faeces - a highly prized coffee is produced through fermentation.
Later, I was to learn that my fashionable indulgence was at the expense of the shaggy-haired civets, which are taken from the wild and housed in battery cages to do their business.
Fortunately campaigns by animal welfare and consumer groups are pressuring, coffee producers to end the cruel practice and produce kopi luwak sustainably in the civets' natural habitat.
With such a short visit (and even a long visit) to Indonesia, it is impossible to sum up a country so vast and complex. A population of more than 250 million, an archipelago of 17,000 islands and hundreds of languages and ethnic groups; a long and colourful history overlaid with Hindu and Buddhist kingdoms, Portuguese, English and Dutch colonisation and Japanese occupation. But the lasting impression for me, apart from culture shock on arrival, was the charm and friendliness of the Indonesian people, and a strong desire to return. I certainly won't be put off by one or two hot and bothered volcanoes venting their spleen.
