Jakarta is a city of noise, a cacophony of noise. From the moment you arrive in the city, whether it is by airplane, train or bus, the new arrival steps into a warm, humid bath of sound. The noise is mostly man made, motorbikes, trucks, cars, horns, sirens, bells. It is a place not for those who like peace and quiet.



Rural Indonesia is quite the opposite- a mixture of man made and nature’s sounds gently rolled into a smooth, round packet.



West Java is normally not known for its coffee cultivation. Back in the early Dutch Colonial days, most of the original coffee was planted in a wedge shaped curve that stretched from Batavia up into the hill country around Bogor and Sukabumi. The coffee was grown here mixed with Pepper and Clove trees. The more valuable spices, Nutmeg, cinnamon and nuts such as cashew were traded from the islands further to the east through the Port of Batavia (Jakarta), then back to Europe on company ships.



Coffee initially grew very well on the flat land around Batavia. Today the areas where the coffee was planted are densely populated inner city suburbs- there is no sign of the small private plantations that once thrived there. Likewise the rolling hill country that rises from the city towards Bogor has little sign of the past agricultural endeavours. As recently as world war 2, Dutch plantations stretched along the banks of the Cileungsi River, and up into the hills behind modern day Bukit Sentul and Cibinong. The Cileungsi River was a pleasant waterway used to transport Coffee, fruit, Cloves, Pepper and rubber grown in orderly plots down into Jakarta for local consumption and export.



Today the toll road runs through to Bogor, 45 minutes south of the Capital City. Along the way the most obviously greenery is the golf courses of Emeralda, Riverside and Bogor Raya. The remnants of the plantations surprisingly can still be found. Driving through Cibinong towards Jonggol the hills are still farmed; rubber trees and cloves planted decades ago healthy and bearing latex and fruit. However it is much more difficult to identify where the original coffee plantations were.



As in many growing countries, the truth is the coffee is still there, if you know where to look for it. Over the years I have either stumbled upon remnants of the original coffee plantations, or been invited to view coffee that has been unearthed growing wild- tall and straggly, amongst new growth of secondary rainforest.



Sukabumi is a city southwest of Bogor. The geographic area that covers Sukabumi down to the Indian ocean port town of Pelabhuan Ratu (Queens Harbour) was at one time settled heavily by Dutch settlers. The clubs at Pelabhuan Ratu are mentioned in great detail by writers as late as the 1920’s and 1930’s as being busy havens for planters and their families when coming to town on market days. Again it is difficult to believe today, but a detour up onto the slopes of Gunung Salak or the hills surrounding the harbour confirms the continuing existence of the prime plantation crops, including coffee.



In the late 1890’s and early 1900’s, rust played havoc with the Arabica coffee plantings throughout the Dutch East Indies. Much of the coffee was wiped out and replanted in first Liberica, then Robusta. Robusta remains the main type of coffee grown today, despite efforts to try and focus growers on the more difficult to cultivate, but higher returning Arabica.



Around West Java Robusta is common, Arabica less so. Arabica stands are often remnants of the original plantings- by DNA testing can be pretty accurately traced back to either Malabar or Ceylon Arabica root stock. These were the types of coffee that the Dutch brought into Batavia and planted early on. Modern Arabica plantings also exist, becoming more common around Bandung and even as far North as the Bandung rise of Puncak Pass.



At this time of year the coffee growing areas are an extremely pleasant place to spend a night or two. It is the monsoon season, and in mountainous West Java that means heavy, turbulent afternoon thunderstorms. The original stands of coffee are often mixed in with newer plants of robusta and the staples of Papaya, Banana and Pandan. Vanilla is also often grown at the higher altitudes. Around 3 in the afternoon, the wind drops and the air thickens like the atmosphere in a Botanical garden Glasshouse. The chatter of birds, crickets and even the bleating of goats lessens, in expectation of what’s to come. When the rain arrives it is preceded by distant thunderclaps, and the sizzle of lightening stretching across the hazy blue sky, occasionally reaching down to a ridge or reaching tree-top. The first drops are heavy and bloated, literally splattering on the soil and Banana leaves. The coffee trees, growing beneath the taller canopy, are initially well sheltered fro the rain, but soon everything- including chickens, children and coffee are wet through.



The wind slowly picks up, pushing the rain from a heavy vertical fall, to a cutting horizontal path. Clay tracks turn to mud and any villager unfortunate enough to have been caught out in the Sawah/Padi or on a motorbike, is soaked to the skin. The coffee trees stir in the wind, seemingly enjoying the moisture, the deluge.



The end of the storms often coincides with dusk, the period of the day when activity ebbs toward evening, and night music. The remnants of the rainfall drip melodically from the tall trees, through the coffee trees below onto the ground. Chickens root for grubs that have been drawn to the surface. Children emerge from beneath red terracotta tile roofs to play in the puddles.



The music is taken up to a new level, like an orchestra tuning their instruments, when the local mosques begin calling the villagers to Sholat Magrib. Every village has at least 1 mosque, so as the evening falls the voices of the many imam blend and rise together, in balance. Magically the sky begins to turn a fiery orange, flecked with gold and red amongst the remaining wisps of thunder cloud. Only Tropical evenings embody the colours, sounds and smells such as these. The slight fragrance of sweet jasmine from coffee blooms, tinged with the smoky sweetness of charcoal grilled chicken sate. The murmur of an evening breeze that touches the higher slopes of the valleys above the villages and the rising chatter of the evening masters of gentle, natural noise- the Cicadas, crickets, cicak and geckos.



It is hard to believe that many of these villages are a mere hour or so from the more braise and metallic noise that is Jakarta or Bandung. An evening amongst the coffee growers of West Java is a trip back in time to a much simpler and perhaps wholesome era.



© Alun H.G Evans, 2007. All rights reserved. May be republished on permission and/or if author is given full creative recognition in writing.