Tag Archives: Pangandaran

For our last night we have had to move rooms at Adams Homestay – some mix up over how many nights we planned to stay meant that our room has been booked out to someone else tonight.  So now we have a room with hot water (quite a luxury) and a bath (can’t remember when we last had one of those) and a four poster bed.  Moreover bathroom is an extension of the balcony and is shielded from prying eyes by several bamboo blinds which makes it quite appealing in a quirky kind of way.   < ?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /?>

Languid Pangandaran has definitely pervaded our mood and  as a result we have done almost nothing whilst  in the way of visiting sights and ‘doing’ things.  Perhaps it’s a sub-conscious preparation for the melee that is supposed to be India.  Anyway, it has been a particularly relaxing few days and today is no different.  

We have a few chores which prevent us from being completely lazy though.  First to find the post office and send of the latest batch of postcards.  It turns out to be quite a walk from the hotel and when we arrive at 4pm it’s been closed for an hour.  As we shuffle around outside bemoaning the fact that we won’t have another opportunity to post the cards before we leave Indonesia, a man comes from the back of the building asking if we need stamps.  When we say we do, he goes back inside to open up the post office for us so that we can purchase said stamps.  Now where else would that happen?  Not even in Australia!

Next stop, the local supermarket to buy some food for tomorrow’s bus journey to Jakarta.  We have come across only two mini marts in Pangandaran, and like many in South East Asia they stock the food on the shelves seems  limited to things that can’t be purchased in the local market.   Things like biscuits (a whole aisle is dedicated to them), ice creams, baby food, packet noodles (about half an aisle to these), snacks (crisps and the like) sweets and a few bakery items.  This small range makes it difficult to buy food for a journey such as ours and we have to resort to buying the Indonesian equivalent of pain au chocolat.  Very nice, but not quite the sandwich we had in mind.

The last port of call is the second-hand bookshop which we visited a couple of days ago.  Andy has already (incredibly given his previous non-existant reading habits) finished the book he picked up here a couple of days ago and wants a replacement.  A sign on the planks that pass for a door on what is little more than a shack state the bookshop is open 8.30 am – 8.30pm, except, of course,  on those random days when it isn’t, like today.  So no book for Andy;  he will just have to make do with the book I’m about to finish – ‘Dark Star Safari’ by Paul Theroux, an enthralling travelogue of his  overland journey  through Africa from Cairo to Cape Town.

There are definitely more people in Pangandaran today, presumably for the start of the weekend and the beach is much more lively – families playing team beach games, building sandcastles, digging channels and playing in the sea;  all the usual activities that people the world over seem to indulge in at the seaside.  The most significant difference here is that most people in the sea are fully clothed which is still a strange sight even though we have seen it before.  Whilst the clothes of those involved in building sandcastles are covered the almost black, wet sand.

At 5pm the whistles of the patrolling lifeguards put an end to any further swimming and the sea empties as compliant holidaymakers retreat to the beach.

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Well, apart from finalising our Indian arrangements by booking three nights stay with an Indian family in Delhi, we did nothing today, apart from spend the day reading (Andy is now on his third book!) and eating.< ?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /?>

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As our stay in Indonesia draws to a close we turn our attention to arranging our onward travel plans and book seats on the air conditioned coach which goes daily from Pangandaran to Jakarta.  We’ve already booked our overnight accommodation near Jakarta airport, so all that is left to do is find somewhere to stay in Delhi.  Having trawled several websites, the preferred option is to stay with an Indian family rather than dingy, cheap-end hotels.  It probably means being out of the centre of Delhi but the experience of staying in an Indian home should more than compensate.  So we’ve sent off several emails and are hoping we haven’t left it too late to find something.

We take a stroll along the beach north out of the village, fascinated as ever by the wild sea ;  the crashing waves throw up an haze of mist,  swirling undercurrents and the waves that seem to criss-cross from every which way causing surf to zip from left to right as oblique waves collide.  Why the sea along this stretch should be so dangerous ;  the beach is flat and the sea shallow – but there are’ no swimming’ signs at the northern end and several lifeguard towers line the shore. 

A few dune buggies scurry along the sand, some driven by young kids.  One group passes us making rude gestures and shouting ‘fuck you’ as though they have just learned a new English phrase;  very unexpected in a country where everyone is ultra polite and friendly.  Despite the buggies the beach is surprisingly quiet given that it is school summer holidays.

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Another day of chillaxing and doing very little.  We take a rickshaw across the village to The Green Garden for lunch.  This restaurant, recommended in Lonely Planet, is neither green nor a garden or ‘in a garden setting’ as described.  Not the first time that we’ve found the latest edition of Lonely Planet’s travel guide to Indonesia to be unreliable and out of date.  Things in Pandangaran seem to have changed quite significantly since it was written and places that were operating here two or three years ago are either no longer open or are much changed.   At times  the descriptions of places are so way off the mark we wonder how long ago they were visited by the authors.

We meander back to the losmen along the quiet main street with its occasional shops, looping back via the southern end of the beach.  The village seems to get quieter and quieter as the days go by.  A dip in the pool which we have all to ourselves (even the losmen appears deserted) in this glorious garden setting, with the tinkling of fountains and the rustle of a breeze through the palm trees is a  perfect way round off the afternoon. 

Postcript:  The payment from Amex Travel Insurance for Andy’s hospital stay has, at last, been received bringing to a close and eight month saga!

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We move into our room at Adam Homestay in time for breakfast.  A little more expensive than our usual haunts, but definitely worth the extra few pounds.  Breakfast is served on a terrace surrounded by a little moat which is home to lilies and goldfish.  Just across some stepping stones is the swimming pool, a bar and a couple more terraces with tables and chairs.  The homestay is western run by a couple who have lived in Java for over 35 years and probably accounts for the delicious home-made bread and the best breakfast we’ve had in a long while.  From our balcony, and if I stand on tiptoe, from our shower there is a glimpse of the ocean breakers through swaying palm trees.  We have the entire upper floor of this small cottage with a private hallway linking the bedroom, bathroom and balcony.  It’s such a luxury to have so much space! 

Pangandaran is situated on the south coast of west Java on a small isthmus at the tip of which is a national park and recreation area.  On the western side is a long sweep of dark sand beach with pounding surf and towards the northern end, treacherous currents.  Stalls, selling rack upon rack of the identical clothes and souvenirs, line one side of the shabby coast road  whilst opposite are the warungs with their makeshift  seating and plastic tableclothes offering street food and a limited but eclectic mix of other items, from toiletries, sanitary towels to mosquito coils and cigarettes.   Hotels abound – there must be 100s if not 1000s of rooms in Pangandaran – many looking tired and in need of some serious TLC. 

Pangandaran was hit be a tsumani in 2006 which swept away all the shacks that used to be on the beach and the remains of several ruined buildings remain as evidence of the destruction it caused.   It’s oddly quiet for a resort that seems awash with accommodation and despite it being the Indonesian school holidays.  Restaurants and warungs are empty, stalls are rarely patronised and dune buggies, bicycles and mopeds stand waiting to be hired.  

Hard to believe that Lonely Planet could describe this as Java’s premier seaside resort.  

At the southern end of the beach fishing boats with outriggers are beached on the sand, boatmen are touting trips to the white sand beach which lies along the edge of the national park and families are swimming in the sea fully clothed.   No sign of any westerners here.

The east side of the isthmus is much quieter and far less commercialised.  There are no stalls here and hardly any traffic.  There is little in the way of beach either.  This is the working side of the village, where the fisherman set nets from the beach and, at the southern end, unpretentious cafes serve up the day’s catch.  These cafes are very popular with the Javanese visitors and we are the only western tourists lunching here.  As we walk north along the quayside, we stop a while to watch a group of locals spend straining to hauling in a huge net – as if playing a game of tug-o-war with the sea – to retrieve a meagre catch of sardine-size silver fish.  

But despite its shabby neglected air,  this small seaside village has a certain charm and a beautiful natural setting. The quiet village back streets are attractive and pleasant to wander but few visitors, Indonesian or western, seem to venture there.  There is a huge market area consisting of blocks of shop houses many deserted today at least and despite it being only mid afternoon we are among a handful of people browsing.  Where is everybody?

Communal mandis (showers) are a prominent feature in Pangandaran  and there are signs for them every few yards from which we deduce that few people here have their own bathrooms.

We have a resident gecko somewhere in our rooms that comes to life at night.  We haven’t  seen him but his loud call in the early evening is unmistakable, rather like the sound from a child’s squeezy toy when the air is forced out and then sucked back in again.   A call that somehow doesn’t seem to fit the creature and it has taken many months to work out that it belongs to the gecko.

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