Borobudur at McDonalds

The trek out to Borobudur was beginning to present difficulty. How to avoid the tourist buses and photographers? A chance trip along Jalan Sosrowijayan uncovered the size & scope of the operation. Sosro was the next parallel off Malioboro. By some fluke, it had been skipped in the search for digs on the first afternoon. Reggae bars, spa retreats, up-market hotels with neatly maintained, green-fringed car parks, and tours, tours, tours, climb upon the magical mystery tour. Borobudur, Prambanan, Merapi volcano, palaces. Dawn, dusk, ice-creams & manicures. 5AM start for Borobudur, if you'd like to join, sir? Too early for you? What about 10AM Prambanan, followed by dawn at Borobudur?... (The young lady's fumbled English mixed morning and night.) There was likely a full-moon party one night in the next week. Either Boro or Pram... The lass excused herself for a jiffy. Manager on the phone indoors blowing rings with something like a cheroot. But no, observing the trekkers shopping for their tees and coloured jewellery four days now on Malioboro, passing the day at  McDonalds with a McHappy Meal, slurpie & fries, appealed more. They would have good quality prints on the walls of the cafe. McBoro photo-shopped like you never saw it before. Queues this afternoon like every afternoon at Ronald's, making the motor-bike parking attendants on the pavement hop. Old stone Hindu-Buddhist pile, erected over the top of a more ancient pyramid, Zainuddin had suggested from his latest researches; the pre-historic Malays having discovered the methods independently. (Unless of course their masterly early mariners themselves had built at Giza. Not out of the question, for the old sufi Zainuddin.) One might settle for a Borobudur tee from one of the stalls. A more shameless writer would fake a visit from gleanings on-line, add a becak driver, sate hawker carrying her pot like a crown, tour guide jumping outta his skin. Hendrikus the librarian lived at Magelang, a short ride away, the lad hinting he took people into his own backyard there every once in a while. But non, merci to your air conditioned buses.