Semarang: Capital of Central Java

We stocked up on cigarettes as all becak drivers smoke like chimneys. We then asked one of them to be our guide. He spoke sufficient English and while smoking he pedalled us along some of the historic buildings. We started at Gereja Blenduk, the Protestant Church dating back to the 18th century. He took us to Chinatown and Pasar Johar, the central market.

The Colonial Bank in 1932

The Colonial Bank in 2002

’The Bank’ he says while pointing majestically at a ramshackle building, which I recognise as the Colonial Bank. I show him one of my father’s photos. ‘Sama!!’ he shouts enthusiastically. Yes, the same, though now it is empty and decaying almost by the minute. Becaks are not allowed on Jalan Pemuda, the main shopping street. Instead he takes back streets Finally I recognise another of my father’s photos: Lawang Sewu, the building with the thousand doors, because of its many doors and windows.

Lawang Sewu

We continue on to Simpang Lima, the new shopping centre. We have now inhaled enough exhaust fumes and enter one of the air-conditioned shopping plazas. To our surprise we see a ‘poffertjes’ stand, a typically Dutch delicacy. And yes, they taste just like home.

Quick Tips:

Semarang is especially dear to me. My father used to live and work here when he was a young man. This summer I visited Semarang and felt very much at home as I recognised many buildings which I had seen numerous times on old black and white photos my father took in the 1930s.

Semarang is the capital of Central Java. It is situated on the northern coast halfway between Jakarta and Banyawangi in the extreme east. The city is divided into two parts: Kota Lama, the old city and residential Candi, which in fact is a hill from where breathtaking panoramas in all directions: the port, the ocean, the lowlands, the paddy fields.

Semarang is not a tourist city, that’s why I like it.

Best Way To Get Around:

Becak at Rest

Semarang has becaks, taxis, city buses, called Damri and minibuses known as colts, angut or bemo. We took anguts most of the time. They are minibuses, one seat next to the driver occupied by at least two passengers, two benches at the back, filled until crammed. The assistant who collects the fares are very helpful, telling us where to get off and which connecting angut to take.

Damri buses ply fixed routes, but nobody could exactly tell us what routes. I do know that they go along the full length of Jalan Pemuda; this is very handy because they can take you to the taxi stand on the northern end of this street. Paying our fare was quite difficult as no one explained to us how to do this and how much to pay. In the end we did not pay officially. However, we tipped the driver and ticket collector.

Hotel Natour Dibya Puri. In Colonial days: Hotel du Pavillion.

I was sitting in the lounge of Hotel Natour Dibya Puri, Hotel du Pavillion in colonial days, and I was wondering if it still looked the same when my father had been here, now 72 years ago.

I had been disappointed by the hotel entrance. At some time it had been renovated and now it looked very unattractive compared to the old facade, which I had seen on photos. I look around, the furniture is new(ish), but the rest is authentic: thick pillars support the roof, swinging doors with cut glass, authentic hinges and locks.

In colonial days hotels were like miniature residential areas. Social life took place in the main building: the bar, reading room, newspapers from home at least 6 weeks old, dining room, writing room, offices, the kitchen. Grouped around this main building the hotel rooms, each with their own verandah. Activity everywhere, guests, visitors, vendors. Each guest had his own houseboy who would bring coffee, shine shoes, fill the mandi, the bath, chase away mosquitoes. When the boy's tasks were done he would sit down on his heels, smoke and wait.

I was not staying at this hotel so I asked the receptionist if I could walk around and see some rooms. He smiled, misunderstood me and gave me a leaflet with room rates: tarip kamar. I love this word tarip and especially the letter ‘p’. Indonesians have difficulty in pronouncing an ‘f’ and pronounce ‘p’ instead. Kamar means ‘rooms’; it’s a Dutch word. There are many Dutch words in Bahasa Indonesia and every time I discover a new one I use it, much of the amusement of those listening.

On the right the verandah. The back of the building still clearly shows the old structure. The front has been renovated but the back of the building is still the same.

I walk to the back of the building and I am happy to see that not much has changed since the old days. The old walls, doors, verandahs are still there. I meet an English-speaking person who is only too willing to show some of the hotel rooms. The inevitable: "Where’re you from?" evokes: "Oh, Belanda." I am happy that we, Dutch, are still welcome.

The rooms have recently been renovated, in colonial style. I especially like the shining floor tiles, 100% authentic.

The room rates are very reasonable and range from 230.000 – 115.000 rupiahs, 50 – 15 Euros.

A dressing table and a huge mirror in a carved frame, red plush upholstered furniture, stained-glass windows, pre-war quality. In the far end near the French windows an enormous desk. Beside it a small portable television with Indonesian channels only. Other concessions to the 21st century: air-conditioning and a small fridge, empty, not plugged in. On the floor old Dutch tiles imitating a carpet. This room is huge, 10 metres by 6 metres and at least 4,5 metres high. It is all ‘tempo doeloe’, the old days when Indonesia was still a Dutch colony.

This hotel is situated in the upper part of Semarang, the view from the terrace is breathtaking: the ocean, the ships. In the evening it is a good place to sit because the sea breeze makes it pleasantly cool. The building itself it curious to say the least. It is ornamented from top to bottom, and whitewashed so often that the relief is no longer as deep as it used to be.

Last year we also stayed here. Then the television did not work. Now it does, but the reading lamp above the bed still doesn’t work. Last year there were some more guests. This year there is no one else.

There is a knock on the door and tea is served. This is the VIP room and we have our own waiter. He serves us our breakfast, collects our washing, books our seats on the train to Surabaya.
I pour out the tea, together with an ant, a big one, dead by now. I don’t mind, I just ask for another pot of tea.

Both times we stayed here our taxi driver had difficulty in finding the hotel. Here are the directions:
Start at Simpang Lima, the modern shopping centre. All taxi drivers know where this is.
From here take Jalan Palawan, when it leads uphill it changes name: Jalan Sudhiarto.
After 500 metres you will see on the left a remarkable pink building with two towers. Here you turn right into Jalan Argopuro, past the post office, at a three-forked junction turn right. Another 200 metres and Hotel Candi Baru is on your left. Don’t confuse it with the Rinjani Hotel on the right.

From Hotel Candi Baru to Simpang Lima, the modern shopping centre, is a 40-minute walk.

On the counter big jars full of typically Dutch delicacies: ‘kattetongen, Jan hagel, speculaas, eierkoek’. And there is more, I also discover Dutch pastry: ‘moorkoppen, harde mokka’. ‘Toko Oen’, Oen’s shop, must have been a welcome change in the 1930s for the ‘totok’, who had come to the East Indies to find fortune, adventure, escape parochialism. The ‘totok’ who had to content himself with rice. Rice for breakfast, rice for lunch, rice for dinner.

Mrs Liem Gien Nio was a good cook and everyone raved about her pastry. And so she opened a pastry shop in Yogyakarta, named after her husband: Oen Tjoen Hok. Her cookies and pastry were to the liking of many and soon she opened a restaurant. Business was flourishing and she opened another Toko Oen in Malang and one in Jakarta, in those days Batavia, and one in Semarang.

Toko Oen in Jakarta and Yogyakarta closed down in the late 1950s. Toko Oen in Malang is still open but under different management. It’s a lovely nostalgic place, with a 1930s atmosphere. It is huge, on one side there are the counters where you can buy Dutch delicacies to take home. Big pillars support the roof and in between are table with comfortable chairs 1930s style. I admired the authentic stained-glass windows, some panes had cracked and others were in tip top condition. A place to relax and contemplate colonial days.

I am sitting in Toko Oen in Semarang. It was renovated recently. In a way I don’t like this because the interior is no longer the 1930s interior. The menu is still the same. I have ordered coffee and eierkoek, a kind of sponge cake, made according to a Dutch recipe, the taste is authentic. On the menu there are Dutch dishes: ‘huzarensalade, uitsmijter, kroketten’. My father was here in the 1930s. I know because he took a photo. The outside is still the same. the awning over the entrance is still there.

Toko Oen. This photo was taken by my father in the 1930s.

This is what Toko Oen looks like these days.

The interior has changed, the menu has not. These days Toko Oen is a place for well-to-do Indonesians. We ordered two pastries and two coffee and paid 16.000 rupiah (about 2 euros).

One of Mrs Liem Gien Nio’s grandchildren opened a ‘Toko Oen’ in The Hague, Holland. I was there the other day, with my father, reminiscing.

"Dit is het Paradeplein," he said to us in Dutch, and we are pleasantly surprised.
It is not uncommon to be addressed in Dutch. There are still many older people who used to go to Dutch schools and still remember fragments of Dutch. The curriculum in Holland and the East Indies was exactly the same. Our friend could rattle off a whole series of Dutch cities. I could join him; apparently we had studied Dutch topography from the same book.

Paradeplein, Parade Square, in colonial times, now renamed: Jalan Letjen Soprato so as not to be reminded of colonial rule. Yet we met many people who were still proud that they could speak some Dutch which the nuns or brothers had taught them.

Gereja Blenduk, domed church, dates back to 1732 and is the oldest Christian church in central Java. It is good to see that the church is still in fairly good condition. The walls have been whitewashed, the copper dome caught the sunlight and looked almost new. On closer inspection the copper had become weather-beaten and the plaster on the walls was peeling off.

The church is fronted by four pillars and a handsome classical portico. The interior reminded me of many protestant churches in Holland; it looked the same, it felt the same. The church was renovated in the early 1900s, new furniture and a new Baroque organ. The wrought iron winding staircase leading to the organ is strong and robust. It was made in Holland and I wondered if it had been difficult to ship.

It was probably used as ballast on board ship. Ships sailing from Europe to the East Indies needed to have some cargo on board otherwise they would be too light and too high on the water, which would make them unstable and liable to listing. So bricks and I suppose this iron staircase too were used to make the ship heavier and thus more stable. On their way back these ships were laden with spices, coffee, tea, rubber, cocoa. That was really the reason why ships plied the route East Indies – Europe.

When we step outside our friend draws our attention to the building across the road. Ironically enough it houses an insurance company these days. It was designed by a famous Dutch architect, Thomas Karsten, for the Nillmij, a Dutch insurance company. Karsten blended several styles almost to perfection: art-deco, Javanese and Dutch. The building is octoangular and has three floors. In those days only ‘foreign’ built buildings had more than one floor.

When I saw this building I immediately recognised it. I had seen it before in one of my father’s photos taken in 1932.

On the Left The Nillmy Building. On the right Gereja Blenduk.

Gereja Blenduk anno 2002

"I’ll ask my father," said the young girl and went to find him.

I sat down in the shade and looked at this huge building for which I had come. In its day of glory it had housed The Nederlandsch-Indische Spoorweg Maatschappij, The Dutch Indies Rail Company. I counted myself lucky. If the girl could find her father I stood a fair chance to see the inside and take some photos.

My guidebook, obviously not updated, warned me that I could not get past the gate. But I had just done so. I read on: It is impossible to enter the building because the military has set up headquarters here and consequently taking photos is strictly forbidden.

My father took this photo in the 1930s

This is what it looks like today.

I looked at the building and it was quite obvious that it had been empty for quite some time. Walls were covered with mosses and weeds and mould, multiplying profusely, windows without panes, doors without locks and knobs, plaster peeling off revealing red bricks, typically Dutch building material, undoubtedly brought over from Holland as ballast on the ocean vessels.

"Where’re you from?" the little girl had found her father.
"Holland."
"Oh, Belanda!" he said approvingly. "Inside?" he asked pointing at the locked main entrance.

The key grinds in the lock; a mouldy smell greets us. We are in a dimly lit entrance hall. A monumental staircase leads to a landing, where it separates to the left and the right. Subdued light shines through the stained-glass windows. Traces of neglect all around me. The army must have moved out many years ago.

On my right a commemorative tablet, I copy the text. I walk up the stairs and admire the stained glass windows. The cities of Amsterdam, The Hague and Rotterdam are represented and so is the Royal Family. Dutch coats of arms, Dutch symbolism. There are long corridors, open on one side and leading to offices on the other side. My father used to work in one, but I don’t know which.

The distinctive characteristics of the building are its many windows and doors, which gave the building its nickname: Gedung Lawang Sewu, the Building with the Thousand Doors.

Vendors have put up their stalls in Johar market and also near Kauman, the great mosque. Everyone is heading for the centre. The vendors praise their merchandise: clay pots in various forms, children’s toys, deliciously smelling food. There is brisk trade. Old and young have come to the Dugderan Festival.

The Dugderan Festival is unique to Semarang. It is held during the week before the beginning of Ramadan, the month during which Muslims fast from sunrise to sunset. At the beginning of Ramadan, Muslims would sound the big drum and have a fireworks display. This announced the official beginning of the fasting month. The drum sounded like ‘dug-dug-dug’ and this combined with the sound of cracking fireworks, ‘der-der-der’, gave dugder which finally became Dugderan. These days the fireworks display is no longer allowed. Everybody gathered in front of the great mosque, and waited for the official beginning of Ramadan. Some other people made use of this opportunity to sell their merchandise.

Everywhere around me I see children with a ‘Warak Ngendok’. ‘Warak Ngendok’ means egg-laying bird. This toy is typical of the Dugderan Festival. It’s a kind of bird on a wooden base with four wheels. Children pull it along on a long rope. It’s a kind of bird with two wings and four legs made of cork and, cardboard and brightly coloured paper.

Dugderan is an extremely popular event. Many people visit the festival and buy something before Ramadan starts. The festivities end with loud bangs on the big drum: ramadan has started.