Gerbie on tour 41

Java

The journey from Bali to Java wasn't ideal. I took an overnight bus, though it took much longer than anticipated. The dinner stop didn't come until three in the morning and on arrival in Surabaya the driver didn't have a clue where he was, so in this huge city it took him 3 hours before he finally found all the places to drop off everyone, obviously leaving me until last. Then again the city wasn't that interesting, so not too much time lost. Had a wander around the centre, as I had seen most of the outskirts from the bus earlier that day. In the end the highlight turned out to be the evening market just outside the hotel I was staying. Not one of those typical markets where tourists get dragged to to buy souvenirs, but an old fashioned type market where the people of the city do their shopping. I had my evening meal there, tried a 'hand and feet' conversation with some becak (like a riksja in other countries, a bike-taxi) drivers and actually drove one of them one block.

After the very big city of Surabaya came the city of Yogyakarta, the main tourist centre of Java. A very nice city to walk around in, some very nice old colonial buildings, in general a nice atmosphere. From there I visited the one of the world wonders, the Borobudur. I was told that when I left at 5 in the morning, the first hour there, from 6 onwards would still be fairly quiet, but I'm afraid that is a matter of interpretation as well. Herds of people all climbed the famous temple before the sun was even visible; busloads followed us just a bit later. By seven in the morning a whole market had opened near the temple, salesmen were selling their wares everywhere. Peace and quietness was completely unthinkable. I have visited quite a few places during my travels by now, but none of them were as busy as this one. Even then, it was still a very nice place to visit, an impressive building, statues and reliefs that are unmatched. On the same day I also visited the less well known temples of Prambanan, unlike the Buddhist Borobudur, a complex of Hindu temples. More suitable for some nice pictures, but at least the same number of visitors, crowded as hell therefore. But overall I was impressed with the temples and happy to have made the trip.

Bandung is another big city. It isn't a coincidence on an island as crowded as Java, that it has several cities with millions living in it. Bandung apparently is one of the three tropical art deco cities in the world, some information I found in my travelguide. With Miami and Napier as the only other two, I managed to complete that particular tour without planning it. With the city so extended I didn't see the art deco buildings as clearly as in the other two cities. Bandung for me was just one of many cities. Lovely chaos, too much traffic, holes in the pavement, markets everywhere, illegal CD's for sale, fast-food gaining on traditional cooking, people being busy with lots of things, though you have to be there for a while to really understand everything. Unfortunately I didn't have that time, so I took the train for the last stop: Jakarta. The journey was beautiful, three hours through mountains and ricefields, I love trainjourneys.

Jakarta is a huge city, over ten million people. I had no intention to try and see it all. I did my walk through the centre, where the presidential palace is extremely well guarded, with hundreds of policemen hanging around in the park opposite, just in case something is about to happen. This is the only time I noticed something, that related to the troubles that the country obviously has. On some of the other islands the trouble is apparently clearly visible, but on the two I visited it wasn't. My main task in Jakarta was to find a war cemetery. It was called Menteng Pulo and a great uncle of mine was buried there. He died in 1947, just after the Second World War, when Indonesia was still a Dutch colony. It took a bit of effort and a big walk, but I found his grave. To be the first person in my family to visit his grave was something special, even after 54 years. He died two days before his 22nd birthday, was surrounded by hundreds of others, all drafted into the war, when the rest of the world had already finished their war. He had no choice and paid with his life. Over fifty years later the cemetery is still a very beautiful place, impeccably kept.

Until the next time, keep the mails coming,

Gerben

No more bread

Herman Brood died two days ago. He killed himself jumping of the roof of the Amsterdam Hilton. Apparently he wore a note on him telling the world to make a party of it. For those of you who don't know Herman Brood, you might remember his big hit 'Saturday night' from the late seventies, which became a hit all over the world.

Herman was more than just an artist. Only recently I read a quote from his biographer who said that he was the ultimate rock 'n roll artist. Unlike Jagger, Richards or other famous rockstars, he lived the rock 'n roll life 24/24. He didn't rest in-between tours, he never retreated to his mansion. He didn't even make money; everything he earned was consumed immediately. On drugs, booze, prostitutes or on whatever he felt like at the time. He was a speed addict for over 30 years, but his main drug was adrenaline. His life was never dull, he always made sure that something happened, nobody in his surroundings could follow his lifestyle. Apparently he slept only one night out of two.

A couple of years back he celebrated his 50th birthday. He did this in style, tv-programms, special shows, a biography, special songs. The whole country joined in. The book 'Broodje Gezond' by Bart Chabot gave an insight into the life he led, an ever-continuing story of searching diversion. Funny parts deal with his drug addiction. At some point a doctor takes pity on him and wants to help out. Ashamed of the amount he takes, he only requests half of his daily dose, upon which the doctor is stunned and tells him that that is 4 times a lethal amount. His body seemed immune to drugs and his bad lifestyle. During his last years the body finally gave in, Herman realised that he couldn't live the life he wanted and talked about suicide with several friends. Wednesday he took the step.

Apart from his music, he was a multi talented artist. His paintings were famous and his poetry got published. He never paid for a train ticket, when asked he produced a drawing that was always worth more than the fare. Over 30 years he was a Dutch celebrity, playing in the country's only ever blues band Cuby and the Blizzards, later forming his own band The Wild Romance. Some of his hits got famous abroad as well, like 'Saturday night' and 'Never be clever'. Lately he had made a jazzy album and posed with a saxophone. Not because he played the instrument, but because he liked the image.

Herman never cared about what people thought, he lived his life the way he wanted, knew he was a bad father for his kids, though he loved them madly. Personally I've got two memories of seeing him. The first time was when I lived in Amsterdam. I went to see a comedian in a theatre and noticed a queue early that evening outside the Paradiso, the famous pop temple, who were waiting for the doors to open for a concert. It turned out to be Herman Brood that evening. At the end of the evening when I walked home, the queue had become huge. A big crowd missed what I saw. The main act of the evening was due to arrive. Herman arrived on an old pushbike, the type grannies normally use to go shopping. On the back he had a gorgeous blonde, who was young enough to be his daughter. Not the big star, who uses security and a back entrance, he had just taken the bike, as everyone in Amsterdam does and arrived just before the concert was about to start.

The second memory was a concert in my hometown, only about 3 years ago. Herman always toured the country a lot, he must have performed in almost every dump the Netherlands has. That night he didn't seem very inspired. After less than half an hour, he and his band went back into the locker room, making the audience wonder what went wrong. I have been told that the pile of drugs backstage that night was unprecedented in this hall, a place that had been into problems because of pills and dealers only years before. After that break he came back and gave a brilliant show. The show wasn't sold out, but everyone who was there will remember the gig.

The follow up to the biography was due any moment. I guess the last chapter might need some corrections. Herman Brood was 54 years. The world will be duller without him.