paradise in the world

I just dropped by a Trans Jogja on bus shelter in Malioboro. It was surrounded by rows of motorcycle. Across the bus shelter there are some pedicabs and horse carts lining up in front of the shops. This place is like a float of shops split by a by-pass road in between. Some ethnic lamps with dim lights are standing up firmly on the left and right side of the road. That made the atmosphere became so ethnic. I crossed the road approaching the shops. Many street vendors sell various kinds of unique souvenir, classic batik, stunning accessories and any gold and gems to household appliances. My eyes were just stricken on a unique miniature of classic bicycle. People there commonly name it as onthel. It’s made from metal with accurate detail on it.
“Come. Come. Miss. Looking-looking is OK.” A friendly woman greeted me trying to offer the goods.
Smiling at the woman I stared at the miniature of classic bicycle. That looked like a real classic bicycle that was usually was ridden by my grandma went to the rice field. When the harvest time came, she carried sacks of rice with the bicycle and I sat down on the sack of rice when I was a child.
I continued my walking on a path between the shops and the street vendor that is crowded. At the end of the path I came to a big shop with ethnic atmosphere. I went into that shop and I found many shopkeeper wearing traditional clothes from Java. I was greeted warmly and they smiled at me. I kept walking in that shop and I saw various herbs were sold there. Those herbs also reminded me to my grandma. She used to boil herbs on a clay-pot and strain them into a cup then drank them. The aroma was really unique.
Across the herbs counter there was sitting an old lady holding a tjanting, the tool look like a pen for drawing batik on the fabric, on her right hand. Her left hand held fabric spread on a piece of bamboo. The old lady put the tjanting into the wax that has been melted down on the small pan and stove. Then, she blew the tjanting softly and started to draw the fabric. She repeated that many times. I just realized that the appearance of the old lady was like my grandma. She was dressing on Javanese traditional clothes and wearing her hair in a bun. I stood beside the old lady for almost an hour until the old lady noticed me. She looked at me and smiled sincerely just like a grandma met her granddaughter. At that time my heart was pondering and I felt home.