Solo is one of those cities where you immediately feel at home. Maybe it has to do with the soft, comforting purr of the local accent, or the laid-back feel of a place where traditionally dressed women selling jamu (herbal tonics) are still a common sight on the streets.
People are so friendly that when visitors ask directions, not only will they answer the inquiries diligently, but they’ll often offer themselves as an escort.
I arrived in Solo at dawn, after 12 hours on a night bus from Jakarta. I could have flown but I chose the bus for old time’s sake. When I was a child, my parents, took me by night bus to visit my uncle.
The becak (rickshaw) drivers who surrounded me to offer their services when I stepped off the bus were not aggressive – a small mercy given my sleepless state. But as it was cold, I decided to save the becak ride until it was warmer, and opted for a taxi to the hotel.
Even in the faint light of morning, I could see how Solo had changed over the years, even as many things remain the same. Modern buildings had sprung up all over the place, including two big shopping malls, but people still went back and forth to traditional markets. In front of closed stores, old women dished out steaming rice and gudeg (curried jackfruit) to waiting customers. The city’s famed rice cakes serabi, served with grated coconut and thick palm sugar syrup, made my mouth water from their roadside stalls.
For the Love of Food
My hotel downtown was within walking distance of most of the city’s interesting places, but upon my arrival, the most interesting thing for me was food. So I took a becak to Pasar Gede to get some timlo, a Solo favorite, consisting of clear soup with egg, slices of Solo spring roll and chicken liver, and served with rice and fried onions.
For this bowl of timlo, I followed recommendations to a humble family-owned restaurant named Timlo Sastro on Jl. Pasar Gede Timur. Sastro originally opened his restaurant at Pasar Gede intersection in 1948 before eventually moving. Before long, his timlo was famous and his small place always packed.
After a bowl of glorious timlo, I walked to Pasar Gede, the main market, near City Hall – a must for any visitor. For me it was another trip down memory lane, to relive those days when my parents brought me here for dawet (a sweet iced drink with condiments). My niggling concern that the stall might have vanished was dispelled – it stood as tall as I remembered, just across from a fried chicken joint.
Pasar Gede is Solo’s grandest market, where locals do their grocery shopping and tourists sample local snacks. It is housed in a beautiful old building designed by Thomas Karsten and completed in 1930; it features a combination of Dutch and Javanese architecture, with high ceilings to ensure air circulation around the stalls. Pasar Gede was damaged during the Dutch Aggression in 1947 but was renovated two years later, and was declared a city heritage building in 1997.
Another taste of nostalgia came in the form of Mandarijn cake from Toko Roti Orion. I used to have it in my lunchbox after we returned from our Solo holidays. Eating the lapis Surabaya (two-layered cake with pineapple jam in between) was the highlight of my childhood years. Orion, which opened its doors in 1930, is still small, its many cakes drawing hungry customers.
Even older is nearby Roti Ganep, a bakery on Jl. Sutan Syahrir 176, Tambak Segaran. Opened in 1881, Ganep was given its name by King Pakubuwono X. In Javanese, the word “ganep” means whole or complete; it can also be interpreted as the state of being in good health. It was first owned by Auw Like Nio, who then became known as Madam Ganep, and five generations later, it is still in the family. Ganep is famous for its roti kecik (small cookies), which resemble French ladyfingers, but are crunchier, made to a time-honored recipe.
Royal Tour
I decided to follow up my bakery indulgences with a stroll around Solo’s palace, the Keraton, home of the Mankunegaran court. I paid Rp 10,000 for another becak ride, and 15 minutes later, arrived at the Keraton. To avoid the weekend crowds, I asked the driver to take me around the palace complex itself, enjoyable at a leisurely pace in the cool afternoon breeze. We passed Baluwarti village, a traditional housing complex for palace workers that is divided into sections according to the residents’ roles in the palace.
We continued on to the alun-alun (square), where two royal trains are on display; also in residence are a pair of banyan trees, just like in Yogyakarta’s famous square. When the becak passed South Square, I saw that herd of white water buffalo known as Kyai Slamet. These animals, which are considered sacred, are put on parade during the Sekatenan Carnival and on the night of the Islamic New Year. The bones of the original Kyai Slamet buffalo are stored in the Keraton museum.
According to the chronicles written by Raden Mas Said, the original Kyai Slamet was a gift from the Ponorogo regent to Pakubowono II and was that grateful recipient’s favorite pet. The water buffalo got its name from its role guarding a royal heirloom named Kyai Slamet, which only members of the royal family were permitted to view.
Batik Buys
While in the becak, I thought I might as well go batik hunting. The most famous spot for this is Klewer Market, but after the crowded excitement of Pasar Gede that morning, I decided to head instead to one of Solo’s two batik villages, Kauman and Laweyan. Kauman was closer, so we went there.
Kauman is full of batik and textile cottage industries, with numerous batik galleries and shops along its narrow alleys houses in old and well-maintained buildings. Shopping in Kauman’s batik houses is a convenient pleasure – it comes with a free personal-shopper service. Every customer has a private shop assistant to help them select batik. As most of the shops are near the factories, customers are welcome to see batik-making in progress, or even sign up for a batik class.
Once loaded down with bags of wonderful batik items, I hailed another rickshaw to take me back to the hotel, but a text message from a friend sent me in another direction – she wanted a set of old-fashioned tin mugs. It was already 4 p.m., and Solo’s markets usually close by 5 p.m., so I made the quick detour to the city’s renowned flea market Triwindu.
Triwindu Market was a gift from Mangkunegoro VII to his daughter on her 24th birthday in 1939. In Javanese, the 24th birthday is the third (Tri) eight-year (Windu) cycle in one’s life, hence the name. Situated about 150 meters south of Mangkunegaran Palace, Triwindu used to be a square where people haggled over wares. In the 1960s, several merchants built semi-permanent stalls and Triwindu gradually turned into a flea market.
By 1990, Triwindu had emerged as an important place for rare antiques, drawing collectors from around the world. Walking through its dim halls, where little has changed over the years, feels like being in your grandparents’ dusty attic with all those abandoned items that once meant so much to their owners.
It was a few minutes past 5 p.m. when I left the flea market, mugs in hand, and returned to the hotel. Life is slow in Solo but I experienced a lot in one day … and all after a bus ride without a wink of sleep!
