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Some kind of changing Yogyakarta
Cities are always changing
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ities are always changing. They are shaped by their histories, the people who move through them, the people who remain in them, the people who claim the city as their home. Moreover, cities expand outwards: They are subject to centrifugal forces that walls cannot contain.
Cities of course are also subject to centripetal forces: mass urbanization is one of the dominant forces of the 21st century ' more than half of the world's population now live in cities.
Cities of all sizes are becoming bigger. Yogyakarta is changing quickly it faces challenges of infrastructure and its identity.
Land is cheap and thus Jakartans ' people say ' are increasingly buying up land and property in Yogyakarta. Boutique and basic hotels appear monthly: Jl. Dagen, Jl. Mataram, Jl. Tirtodipuran, Jl. Panjaitan, Jl. Suryodiningratan and many other streets have all had new hotels built on them over the past six months. Old buildings are being demolished to make way for new investments.
The hotels are fashioned as being small, but comfortable and centrally located. The closer they are to the center, the easier it is for their designers to cut back on the usual hotel comforts.
I live in the south of Yogyakarta ' 100 meters or so north of the southern ring road. My knowing of the city is shaped by my use of my bicycle, my work, my shopping obligations, and my leisure activities.
Over the past six months, I have followed the same roads, moved in the same directions and visited the same cafes, restaurants and shops. My network is slowly broadening; slowly getting to know the city better.
Familiarity and comfort is gained through repetitive acts: it's pleasant to know people by face and to exchange small talk. Too much of this comfort leads to boredom.
Through using my bicycle I maintain closeness with the city's textures: the holes in the road, the shapes of the speed-humps. One also gets familiar with the endless variety of pollution emitted from whichever brand of motorcycle, car, or bus that is more than likely un-roadworthy by anyone's standards except those of the operators.
Riding a bicycle makes it easier for others to address oneself: one of the security guards at the housing complex always asks 'where are you going?' and 'where have you been?'
My image of the city is also shaped by the stories of others' experiences and daily lives. I remember the story of a friend's friend who committed suicide by throwing himself in front of a moving train early on a Monday morning.
His suicide took place not far from houses, not far children starting their day. I remember television coverage of a child covering his nose because of the smell coming from the man's corpse. One of his colleagues, and self-proclaimed best friend, wrote some kind of obituary on his website in which he criticized his recently-dead friend for the mistakes that he had made leading up to his suicide.
The self-regarding friend frequently stated that he had disagreed with him and the path that he was taking. As if it matters. A father still weeps for his son; the young daughter of the departed still needs to be fed. Another Vonnegutian moment of tragic fate.
The roads in the south are frequently jammed with private vehicles and buses. Large buses drive up and down Jl. Panjaitan, Jl. Katamso and others and then perform difficult turns in order to drop off their passengers causing an instant traffic jam.
And once the motorcycles and cars are stuck at traffic lights and the traffic banks up, some motorcyclists use the footpaths as roads. And then, the footpaths in turn become blocked. When it rains, it's difficult to get a taxi for hours. Public transport ' beyond that of the three-wheel becak ' is as limited as non-existent.
And yet, despite the pollution of the roads, the chaos and rubbish of the streetscape along the main thoroughfares the city's quiet streets remain charming and quaint. They're distant in the mind but geographically close.
The rubbish-in-waiting and kitsch manufactured and sold as oleh-oleh (gift) in the forms of T-shirts, toys, statues, masks, puppets, hats fill up the stalls that seasonally set up on the northern town square (Alun-alun Utara).
Nearby is a street with rows of informal newspaper shops selling old papers and magazines and thus providing a valuable service for readers and collectors. Alun-alun Utara, however, is not the public square that it could be: It is dusty, dirty and more often used as a car park for buses.
There are few trees: an opportunity for sheltering hot locals and visitors, drawing them into a shared and non-commercialized space vanishes.
The southern square (Alun-alun Selatan) serves a more public function. Here the early risers perform their exercises. Citizens revolve around the square anti-clockwise while a few vehicles pass by going in the other direction.
Men, riding on their motorcycles take their pet pitbulls for a run. The exercisers walk, jog and socialize. A footpath is turned into a badminton court. The morning allows for short-term appropriation and re-appropriation of space.
The walls of the kraton (palace) suburb remain ' another marker of neglected and dilapidated cultural heritage. The city won't be contained though.
It is home to the formal authority of the sultan and the attempts of the small-time thugs who maintain a steady corruption and relative public order.
The artists of the south are happy for their works are being sold. The tourists are happy for their souvenirs remain cheap. The students are happy: there's much entertainment that reaches most tastes.
The sense of self as a distinct bearer of refined Javanese culture is increasingly complex and complicated. Yogyakarta is not what it is imagined to be by those who endlessly defend and promote its Javanese uniqueness.
The city is like any other ' caught between a fracturing present, a desire for change and half-hearted attempts at preserving and promoting the past.
The writer is a researcher based at Kunci Cultural Studies Center, Yogyakarta.
