An intriguing Chinese temple off the beaten track

By Michael Upton

TANJUNG KAIT, West Java (JP): Having lived for several years in Jakarta, it came as something of a surprise to learn of an historic Chinese temple quite close to Soekarno-Hatta International Airport.

Close as the crow flies, that is -- from Jakarta itself, it's best approached via the toll road and Tangerang. From there, take the road to Mauk. I use "road" metaphorically, as most of it is rubble.

A riverside overhung by trees runs alongside, the wet paddy fields glinting through them. A low haze hung over the distance. The potholes seemed to multiply and the view in front consisted of an interlacing matrix of zigzagging motorcycles avoiding them.

I passed through a market. And I mean "through" -- it spread all over the road so that even the potholes were covered. Traders and buyers were busy loading and unloading papaya, bean shoots, bananas, onions and garlic. Becak (pedicabs) were everywhere, carrying people, fruit, sacks of rice.

Goats filled the gaps between the becak and two tiny kids skipped along. With their oddly thick forelegs, they appeared quite cute, a characteristic the adults entirely lack. Perhaps they think the same of us.

Leaving the market behind, I caught up with a minibus, which proceeded to stop every 30 meters. I stopped also to avoid oncoming goats. The minibus had lost half its rear panel including the number plate, but its rear lights were still hanging in there. Literally -- they were dangling free on their wiring, swinging merrily over the bumps.

At Mauk, I decided against calling in on the mayor to comment on the state of the highway, but turned right for Tanjung Kait. The road, though narrower, became suddenly smoother, the tarmac now stretching more or less all the way across it. I passed between tall coconut palms. Is there any sight more full of tropical appeal than a grove of coconut palms swaying in a sea breeze, their notched trunks stretching up to rustling fronds and a golden cluster of ripening fruit, a scattering of neat kampong dwellings in the shade beneath? Yes, I hear you reply -- a large cocktail sparkling on a poolside table at a 5-star hotel.

Well, anyway, it was certainly more inviting than the next vista, which was the salt-panning area. Assisted by bailing, a high tide brings the sea running in over the flats, which are dammed to capture the saltwater. Over a period of weeks evaporation leaves behind a crust of salt crystals that are scraped up for use. It seems like a hard way to earn a living and I suspect these salt-panners are the poorest of the poor.

Further on I spotted two overgrown Chinese grave mounds. The temple I was going to see is supposed to have been built by Chinese merchants and it's likely that some of their descendants lived -- and died -- in the area. The road passed through another palm grove, this one with a fighting cock standing resplendent in his cage on the freshly swept packed earth in front of a house. I stopped to admire it and succeeded in understanding from the owner that the bird is nine months old and a good fighter.

Another cluster of Chinese graves announced my arrival at the village of Tanjung Kait and the Tjoe Soe Kong temple was straight in front. The guidebook says it is 200 years old, but everyone I asked said 300. Either way, it survived -- miraculously? -- the ravages of the Krakatau eruption of 1883 which devastated much of Java's northwest coastline.

The temple was larger than I expected, probably twice the size of the better known one further west along the coast at Banten, and I was the only visitor, though I was assured that many pilgrims come from all over Southeast Asia on feast days.

The tenacious tradition of Chinese temple design means it's hard to be sure, but the oldest building in the complex appeared to be at the rear, with several forward extensions, or rebuilds, having been erected later. From the back wall, a large potbellied Buddha smiled benignly down across a grassed courtyard. The column bases supporting the roof over him were decorated with a breaking-wave motif.

Behind the temple is a small harbor used by fishermen and their offshore fish-traps are visible from the jetty: Tanjung Kait means Cape Hook. Across the road from the main temple stands a shrine to Dewi Neng, a local saint. Inside are memorial cradles to dead infants, relatives of the saint. This small building is what made the trip worthwhile for me. I approached it through a brightly painted Candi Bentar, a Hindu-Javanese split gateway, though the paint would be a Chinese contribution. Close by stands a splendid frangipani, the quintessential Muslim funerary tree, and the whole composition is framed by an enormous stately banyan, a worthy attendant to many a Balinese temple.

Admittedly, the building itself is undistinguished, but the assemblage formed a microcosm of the country's diverse cultural tradition, a reminder of Bhinneka Tunggal Ika, unity in diversity. Perhaps this virtually unknown shrine standing in a little-visited corner of Java could provide a symbol for the country's future.

On the way back, I got stuck again behind that decrepit minibus, its taillights swinging along in unison. The thought occurred to me that this was another potential paradigm for Indonesia. I preferred the Dewi Neng shrine.