In search of the unusual

Not sure where we were, but it was definitely off the beaten path.
On the recommendation of a friend, we bypassed the white-washed Gereja Blenduk (a historical Protestant church) and went in search of the Chinese Tay Kak Sie temple in the Old Town of Semarang, Indonesia. We thought it was a shortcut. Jalan Pekojan started out in the right direction, then turned into a narrow street bustling with construction material wholesalers - Shops selling tiles, paint, and huge rolls of sheet metal spilled their wares out to the curbs. Loaded pick-ups jolted over the patchy paving. Bule! Bule! Men shouted out greetings and catcalls. Jozina and I waved back, picking our way single file down the crowded sidewalk, wondering where the next intersection could take us.
We might have missed it altogether if I hadn’t noticed a sign advertising Tay Kak Sie Warung. It’s a food court, Jozina pointed out. But it has the same name, I reasoned. Maybe the temple is nearby.
So we backtracked across the bridge and swung a left along a canal’s concrete embankment. Makeshift homes leant against each other companionably on the opposite side. Students on scooters sped past and women washed clothing in the stagnant canal water. Suddenly there was an opening and, hesitant at first in the large, empty courtyard, we were there.
The temple was small, but brilliantly coloured. Red paper lanterns swung below the elaborately gabled roof, adorned with minutely carved dragons and flowers. The walls were sumptuous with paintings and wood carvings, the corners stocked with flickering candles, giant drums and brass gongs.
It was not, apparently, dedicated to one religion, but welcomed Taoists, Buddhists and Muslims. In particular it commemorated Cheng Ho, a Chinese Admiral who is credited with bringing Islam to the island of Java.
Along with its open-arms religious policy, the temple itself seemed to hover in a state somewhere between spiritual and mundane. In an adjoining room, stray cats sunned themselves on the magnificent mosaic tiled floor. Not an inch of wood was left uncarved with knots or flowering vines, including the door to the Chinese medicine clinic. Outside in the courtyard, a statue of the revered Cheng Ho stood stolidly next to a pile of twisted and rusting scrap metal.
Wherever it was, the temple seemed to welcome us. We sat gratefully in the shade, drinking in the hush and the calm. I stuck some rupiah in the donation box, and lit a stick of incense in honour of someone’s ancestor.