Explore Pamekasan: Madura's Rich History and Unique Culture

Many visitors to Pamekasan ponder the same thing: Whilst Madura claims a prominent position on any map of Java, this corner of the region retains an air of mystery. Few foreign tourists grace its shores, and scant resources tell its tales. The island hides in plain sight, rendered opaque by a lack of interest that suggests many would watch, unmoved, if that giant rock to the northeast of Surabaya sank into the Madura Strait without a trace.

And thus the island remains, mired in the swamp of a somewhat vague reputation. The place is just far enough out of the way to make it a hassle to reach. This difficulty, coupled with the stark choice of a lack of flights or cramped, long bus journeys, deters many fanciful visitors and leaves Madura, sadly, on their C-list of places to go in East Java.

The rainbows of Malang, the crater of Ijen, the peaks of Bromo, the surf of G-Land or the [thing] of [other place], that all tourists seem to hold close to their hearts and tell no one else about, swivel heads in a way that Madura rarely does.

There are tales – some apocryphal, others not too wide of the mark – of resettled Madurese causing trouble in other parts of the archipelago. At such times, the jagged edges of Madura’s outline seem apt, for, some would say, it is a place that breeds spiky, aggressive folk. Other visitors, meanwhile, have called the island the friendliest place in the entire archipelago, where a brief encounter can quickly turn into an entire social event, with much food and coffee and company-keeping as hosts go out of their way to make an outsider feel at home.

The Madurese have gained a reputation across the country for their willingness to settle scores and defend honour by way of carok duels. The parties, having failed to resolve their disputes through mediation, hack at each other with bladed weapons like sickles. It is a violent, explosive act and has such a terrifying image that some people recoil in fear when learning they are in the presence of a Madurese native.

And whilst implicit violence may well hold true, many passers-by will find that the streets of Madura do not constantly run red with the fresh blood of carok duels. Instead, those who set foot on Madura will more likely find that the islanders are imbued with an independent drive fired by pride in their home.

So strong is this feeling that the suspicion may well arise that, were it not for the Suramadu Bridge, which links Surabaya with the island, Madura would happily float free from its moorings and glide away on a course of its own choosing.

It is also true that many of those who cross the bridge find that reputation and reality rarely align. Even a passing glance, most likely of Bangkalan, the closest town to Surabaya, shows that Madura has a culture, landscape and atmosphere as distinct as any in Indonesia.

Snapshot of Madura

The climate of Madura is hot and dry, and the streets wide and open. And much of the time in the dry season, there floats a cooling wind that feels closer in spirit to the Mediterranean than East Java.

Further exploration finds a lack of the amssive hills and peaks that distinguish Bali or the Javanese mainland. Instead, Madura shows its charms in its salt pans, rice terraces, mosques, waterfalls and the many unique things that pique the interest of the curious visitor.

And those who work their way east across Madura — starting at Bangkalan and ending at Sumenep, with a first stop at Sampang, keeping the Java Sea to the north and the Madura Strait to the south — will reach the island’s heart. There they will find Pamekasan. This is Madura’s capital, and, like much of Indonesia, many things of interest lurk beneath the surface in this place.

The likelihood of Pamekasan, both town and district, being a newcomer’s first port of call in Madura is slim. The only airport is in Sumenep; the closest (and only) bridge to the Javanese mainland is on the island’s west, as is the main port of Kamal. Thus, unless the visitor to Madura somehow loses consciousness at the start of their trip only to revive upon reaching Pamekasan, they will already have seen the island up close by the time they arrive.

The streets having already established their wideness and their openness, it only remains for the orchestra of motorbikes to add a depth of sound. No visitor to Indonesia will ever have a chat near a road go uninterrupted by the thrum of a passing moto.

Welcome to Pamekasan

The same applies to Pamekasan. The motorbike riders thread their way along the town’s main arterial roads and many of its side streets. The noise they make only abates for short periods, and when it restarts, it always does so next to the listener, who desperately wants only to catch up on their sleep.

But despite this noise, Pamekasan has a pleasingly vibrant pace. The town never overwhelms the senses and induces fury in the way that Jakarta and Surabaya can with their non-stop noise and traffic. Instead, the further away from Pamekasan town centre one goes, the greener the land becomes. There are many fields and groves of trees that give the place a rural calmness that belies the fact that nearly 900,000 people live there.

And whilst Pamekasan shares many common traits with the rest of Indonesia — not least the many splendid-domed mosques that dot the land from kota to desa to kampung — there is also much that is unique to Pamekasan.

Arek Lancor

The town lends itself to exploring on foot. And as always, the alun-alun offers the most vivid snapshot of life in that place. In Pamekasan, visitors are naturally drawn to the town’s alun-alun because, much like Ancient Rome, all roads, lead there, where they enter the slipstream of Jl. Talang Siring and Jl. Panglima Sudirman. These roads converge on the square and circle it, their noise absorbed by the barriers of trees that enclose the alun-alun.

All eyes gravitate towards a flame-like memorial at the heart of this square: Arek Lancor. Close to 25 feet high, Arek Lancor stands in a pose of devotion between two places of worship. To the west lies Jamik Asy Syuhada’ mosque, with its bulbous green roof and flanked by a needle-thin minaret. And to the east, the Church of Mary, Queen of the Apostles.

Five curving tips sit on the crown of Arek Lancor. They look like flames and invoke the lancor sickle, a traditional weapon used in the fight for Madura’s freedom. It is a bold image that shows the island’s innate traits: passion, strength, and, given that the monument stands between two houses of different faiths, unity.

(NB: It’s worth noting, in the name of balance, that some places are never totally free of faith-based violence, and Madura is no exception; for those who are interested, it might be worth researching the Sunni-Shiite conflict in Sampang in 2012.)

A visitor who stands in the presence of Arek Lancor and listens to the learned murmurs of Islamic scholars may well feel a holy twinge. The ambience is as soul-stirring as any Indonesian holy site. And in such a rarified state it is possible to learn of Pamekasan’s past.

The monument was established in 1985. It honours those freedom fighters, such as the figurehead Sakera, who freed the island from Dutch colonists in the 1940s. In fact, the mosque takes its name from a decisive battle on August 16, 1947, that forced the Dutch to leave Madura.

Pamekasan: A Brief History

Moving back in time, it becomes clear that the Madurese cherished their freedom, which they had to fight for, again and again. Pamekasan was once known as Pamellengan or Pamelingan. The area’s king of the time, Ki Wonorono, was a scion of the Javanese emperor Wikramawardhana, the fifth monarch of the Majapahit kingdom. But all empires fall, and Majapahit did not buck the trend. The kingdom fell to seed in the late 1400s, at which point Pamekasan declared itself free of outside rule.

Wonorono’s daughter, Nyi Banu, continued her father’s reign, as did her son, Prince Bonorogo. And the bloodline endured. Bonorogo had a son whom he named Raden Aryo Seno but who gained wider fame as Prince Ronggo Sukowati.

Visitors will know this name because most likely they will have alighted at Ronggosukowati bus terminal at the south end of town. Before his rise to the throne, Sukowati was a santri, or student, of Sunan Giri, one of the nine Islamic saints who spread that faith around Indonesia.

And when Sukowati became king, ruling from 1530 to 1616, he did so as the region’s first Islamic monarch. He oversaw much change. In line with his studies, many people converted to Islam from Hindu-Buddhism, and Sukowati gave a new name to his kingdom: Pamekasan.

Tales abound of the king. Most agree that he possessed a heirloom, a keris knife. These daggers, so prevalent in Indonesia, have a distinct wavy blade and a carved hilt.

But of special interest, particularly to outsiders, is that the keris’ powers can reach beyond the physical. Consensus states that in many cases, a keris finds its owners, not vice versa, and that the keris and its wielder share a unique and personal bond.

So the folklore goes, a guest one day presented themself to the king. This guest offered a landiyan, or carved handle, by way of tribute and then went on their way. A keris handle is a fine gift, thought Sukowati, but what can it do on its own? His answer soon arrived, for over the next few days, two other strangers appeared with the materials to complete a keris blade.

These three elements, from what seemed unconnected sources, fit together perfectly. They formed a beautiful keris knife. The king called it Joko Piturun.

Immense power coursed through Joko Piturun. Once, Sukowati pointed the blade at a prisoner, who had engaged in some foul deed or other. The prisoner suddenly fell dead.

Undeterred by this apparently irreversible course of events, the king sheathed and unsheathed the blade. He entreated the Almighty for help and pointed the keris at the corpse, which sprang back to life, as though his death was nothing but a passing nuisance.

Such tales positioned Sukowati as a powerful and just king. Pamekasan enjoyed peace under his rule. Invaders felt his wrath, as attested by Balinese invaders. These forces, having attacked Sumenep and killed Prince Lor I, were stopped in their tracks in Pamekasan and crushed at Jungcangcang by the king’s forces.

Sukowati ruled until 1616, succeeded by his sons Prince Jimat and Prince Purboyo, who acted as the king’s guardian. Their bloodline did not enjoy a happy end. In 1624, most of the royal family died at the hands of invaders under the command of Sultan Agung from Mataram.

Such times of distress bred in the Madurese the resistance to outside rule. As is the way with such things, success and failure each followed the other. The invaders from Mataram took control of the area, but in 1671, Prince Trunojoyo led a fightback. He did so for eight years, leading his rebel forces from Pamekasan. The rebellion, though, failed in 1679 when Mataram enlisted the aid of the Dutch Trade Association (VOC).

Dutch Colonisers

The Dutch would have much influence on Madura in the ensuing centuries. They colonised the island and were on hand when, in 1819, the Madura Residency was formed, with Pamekasan as its capital. Madura joined the Surabaya Residency in 1828 in a partnership that lasted until 1857. Another residency followed from 1928 to 1931, this time in the form of the East Madura Residency of Pamekasan and Sumenep, with the former once more named capital.

Come the mid-twentieth century, the Dutch founded the State of Madura in 1948. In a shocking turn of events, Pamekasan was named capital. But this state did not survive past March 1950, when the authorities, aided by the Regent of Pamekasan, R. Zainalfattah, saw fit to reject and dissolve it.

(NB: The wily reader will note that large holes permeate this brief history; EITM willingly admits its ignorance on such matters.]

Salt and Tobacco in Pamekasan

Aside from governance, the colonists saw fit to use the land for their own gain. In 1835, the Dutch began planting sugarcane. This they did, making Pamekasan the site of a sugar factory and extending the exploitation of Java’s sugarcane.

But sugarcane can only thrive in certain places and certain conditions, and Madura, with its dry climate, was neither of these things. A drought soon followed, thanks to the sugarcane soaking up so much water.

Instead, people soon realised that Madura’s dry land and rain-fed fields were better suited to cultivating tobacco. Madurese tobacco is much-prized in Indonesia. The makers of Djarum, Sampoerna and Gudang Garam cigarettes in Kudus, Surabaya and Malang, respectively, ensure they have a regular supply of it in their factories.

And nowhere on Madura provides more fine tobacco than Pamekasan, where farmland sits side-by-side with groves of campalok trees. The region boasts nigh-on 14,000 hectares of tobacco-producing land in areas like Bungbaruh, where green fields vastly outnumber red-roofed homes.

Much space is devoted to growing tobacco, and the waiting list of potential buyers in some places tops two years. And those who pay attention will find much joy in seeing the source of Indonesia’s great sensory treat: the sweet aroma and subliminal crackle of a clove kretek cigarette.

So valuable is Madurese tobacco that it has been called ‘golden leaves’ or ‘green gold’. It fetches a higher price than rice, corn, cassava and mung beans. And the gift-giving culture of Madura means that hosts and guests often give or receive high-quality tobacco as a sign of respect.

But Madura does not rely solely on tobacco for its income. Many know the island as ‘Pulau Garam’, or ‘Salt Island’, which gives some clue as to what other product reaps the coin.

Madura is a major producer of salt in Indonesia, as a tour of Pamekasan’s coastline shows. So doing reveals why the island has such well-regarded salt, for the long stretches of coast provide ample access to seawater. This water then evaporates, thanks to the arid climate and high temperatures, and leaves behind only salt. In the spirit of commerce, the next step sees the salt harvested in large sabkha, or salt pans, in places like Tambak Garam Kotasek.

It should come as no shock that the Dutch, like all colonisers, saw fit to strip the land of its natural resources and enjoy the fruits of somebody else’s hard work.

[NB: The Belgians, the British, the Dutch, the French, the Germans, the Portuguese, the Spanish, the Scenesters … it’s easy to say the same of any colonising power over the centuries.]

To that end, a railway was built to transport salt between Kalianget in Kabupaten Sumenep, on the east coast, and Kamal to the west; the line passed through Pamekasan, where, no doubt, salt was collected from the factory in Mangunan.

Mandilaras Museum

Salt, though, does not mean administration. Culture, history and heritage, yes. But not power. Luckily, Sukowatih chose to move the centre of government from Labanja Daja Palace to Mandilaras Palace, close to the site of Arek Lancor, where it now resides as a museum of some note.

The museum gathers many Madurese things of interest. In one corner stands a figure in a splendid Gethak costume, to honour the mask dance that has its roots in Pamekasan. Tradition has it that a male dancer wears the white mask, which has the wide, staring eyes and facial details so often seen on Topeng Dhalang masks, made down the road in Sumenep, below.

Keris blades also enjoy prominence in the museum. There is a Madura keris made by Citra Nala during Sukowati’s rule and a Mataram keris dating from the reign of Sultan Agung. And close by, on Jl. Jingga, visitors report meeting keris-makers, who like to show their wares and hold them to people’s stomachs in shows of mock malice.

Older still — in fact, the oldest object in the museum — is the centuries-old spear of Aryo Menak Senoyo, the first person to spread Islam in Pamekasan. The spear went everywhere with the holy speaker on his quest, and legend says the spirit of tirakat resides within the weapon, to show the bearer’s spiritual virtue.

The collections on show extend to more than weapons with the potential to draw blood, though. Domestic goods — mortars and rice pounds, clay stoves, talam trays, bathok buckets and so on — sit alongside crystal cup bases, lophor kristal, and changkolo vessels from which the drinker can consume herbs.

All these things sit in silent rest in the museum, but each forms part of the tableau that tells the story of home life so many years ago, and they have the same weathered dignity as any aged book of words.

Equally weathered are the numismatic piles of money, ancient banknotes and coins. These collections give the place an airy, papyrus-like stillness, and the air hangs dusty and thick over them. But they allow the visitor to cast a glimpse back in time, which extends even further when they find the museum’s fossil molluscs, a gift from the Madura Strait.

The pious, meanwhile, will find much to interest them in ancient manuscripts and an old Qur’an, and a splendid rendering of the Seal of Prophets written on palm leaves. The seal is an ingrained aspect of Islam because it declares that no prophet will follow Mohammed, whose teachings are the final word of God. This message’s power would surely resonate within the nearby mosques.

There is also a fine diorama in three parts, to appease the storytellers. The first depicts the coronation of Sukowati and the second has a bovine flavour that shows a Karapan Sapi bull race; the third honours the traditions of Pulau Garam’s salt production.

And for the absolutists, their quest to locate the definitive type or state of any one thing will be sated by finding what was once, per the Indonesian World Records Museum (MURI), the world’s longest batik.

A thousand batik-makers created this 1,350m-long roll. Many intricate designs, marked in white, sit upon the red cloth. Each part shows the immense focus, skill and discipline required in the undertaking. Now the roll sits in a glass cabinet, thick and wrapped like a slumbering snake, and radiates the sheer beauty of Madurese batik.

Batik in Pamekasan

Madurese batik, like Jambi batik and Kebumen batik and any other style worth mentioning, is very striking. And the Pamekasan variant is no exception. There are, at the last count, six batik centres in the district and they, along with many artisans, give life to bold designs.

The motifs are eye-catching and the colours rich: it is common to see shrimps, fish, birds and butterflies framed upon backgrounds of red, brown or blue. A nod is made to the town’s past by way of the lancor motif, which replicates the sickle immortalised in the alun-alun, while the five-coloured poncowarno design, also popular in Pekalongan, the famed Kota Batik in Central Java, favours simplicity over intricacy.

Other typical Pamekasan motifs include cecek pitu, which places seven dots or circles in a pattern. For this and other motifs, artists employ the hands-on batik tulis method, which uses a pen-like canting to wax designs onto the fabric; some artists use a cap to stamp a design onto the cloth without the need for drawing.

It is possible to find these batiks in many places in the town. Heading northwest from the alun-alun will lead to Pasar Augustus 17. Hundreds of artists show off their colourful wares at this popular batik market.

The walk is a stimulating one. A lucky walker will hear the distant sounds of gamelan coil and weave and sit upon the air, where they mix with other sensations: the pungent whiff of cooking oil, the divisive odour of durian and the amused cries of sellers telling sceptical passers-by that the stinky fruit isn’t as bad as people say.

Pamekasan’s Emblem

All around, the essence of Pamekasan shows itself in its vibrant green emblem. This pentagonal, five-pointed shield bears the shape of a lotus. The emblem signifies purity, hope, prosperity and other things a community hopes their leaders would wish them to have. It bears a simple message: ‘Mekkas Jatna Jenneng Dibi’, or ‘Governed by self-ability and people’s support’.

The emblem’s symbolism embraces positivity. A golden yellow star oversees the image and shows the all-seeing reach of God; beneath the star and above the blue sea floats a black keris in a sign of safety and readiness; the water suggests success and spaciousness.

On either side, rising like a wreath, are two other elements: yellow rice stalks on one side and light green/white cotton leaves on the other. Both signify justice and wellness.

[NB: There’s also a red bit that we suggest mimics the horns of a bull and the roof of a traditional house, but we have no way to back that notion up.]

Karapan Sapi and Sapè Sono’

But of greater symbolism, and seen the island over, from the insignia of football teams to the flags of political parties, is the mighty bull. Bovines garner much renown on Madura, and nowhere is this glory seen more clearly than in the Karapan Sapi bull races, as shown by the example from Sumenep, below.

Madura is synonymous with bull racing. The races are thunderous, raucous events, but also, if stories of the treatment meted out upon the animals are true, cruel. More than one account has suggested that the bulls are whipped with belts embedded with nails or thorns to make them go faster, and tales tell of beasts having chilli rubbed in their eyes or their testicles twisted to increase their aggression. Accusations abound, too, of black magic involvement in the build-up to races and outbreaks of carok between bull owners and/or supporters.

Intrigue aside, the competitive bull races take place in rice fields and provincial stadia. The races stem from the thirteenth century, when Prince Katandur, having seen the bulls’ grace and strength in ploughing the fields, held races to honour them.

The season lasts from July to October, after the rice harvests, as a way to keep the bulls in shape and entertained. Each racing team comprises a set of two bulls harnessed together.

Standing behind the bulls on a kaleles bamboo rig is a jockey, usually young and light, who tries their best to control the thundering beasts. They don’t always succeed. An out-of-control bull can wreak havoc in the form of broken limbs and worse, and it can easily happen, especially when baying crowds and hypnotic, relentless saronen music amp up the tension on race day.

The championship, based on elimination heats, first across the line, sees the victors advance to the grand finals in Pamekasan. It is here, at the R. Soenarto Hadiwidjojo Stadium, where the winners can gain renown and clout. The ensuing fanfare reflects this. The bulls are adorned with flowers, jewelled headwear and yokes, and their entourages join them on parades of great pomp, serenaded by music groups and entertained by dancers.

Karapan sapi races can bring out the warmth of Madurese hospitality. A visitor reported walking to Arek Lancor only to be stopped and warmly welcomed to town by a shopkeeper. And in their hosting, replete with fresh coffee and the crackle of kretek, which sweetened the air and imbued the place with familial calm, the host excitedly shared videos of the bull racing season. The visitor saw that, even on a small screen, the races were a mighty spectacle indeed.

On Madura, the bovine is not just a thing of power but of beauty too. And whilst the bulls thunder down the race track, the cows display their poise in other ways, such as in sapè sono’. This contest tends to take place before the culmination of the bull racing season, the President’s Cup, and has its roots in Batu Kerbui on Pamekasan’s north coast.

Sapè sono’ sees a pair of cows, harnessed together with a pangonong ploughing frame, follow the instructions of their handler to dance or step in unison through a bamboo gate. Here, grace is key, and the cows are marked partly by their looks and posture and the ability to walk straight. The animals wear jewellery and are coated in oil to make their bodies shine, and the event is as elegant as the karapan sapi races are kinetic.

Food in Pamekasan

All this excitement means a person needs to stay fed. But this same person should recognise the threat of option paralysis, for the food in Pamekasan offers too much temptation.

Geropaks and warungs and warkops are plentiful, and the smells they produce too enticing to ignore. All, that is, except the stalls selling durian, the spiky fruit whose pineapple-garlic odour revolts more than it inspires and tends to be eaten by people who like to show off.

The whiff of other more pleasant things soon takes precedence, although the lingering foulness of durian never truly fades. In one warung, not far from Terminal Ronggosukowati, a diner in search of ayam geprek, fried chicken, watched as the stall owner crushed chilli, lime, salt, shallots, water and oil together in a stone cobek mortar using an ulekan pestle. The chicken was then mixed in with the resulting sambal paste.

The process took no more than 30 seconds but produced a mixture so delicious that the diner struggled to lift their jaw from the floor. Since Indonesia is home to effortlessly fine cooking, however, such a thing should come as no shock.

Pamekasan has its own staple treats to tempt the hungry. Indonesian satay has many forms. In this corner of the archipelago, sate lalat, or ‘lalak’ in Madurese, is the most fulsome pick. The dish is named fly satay because of the small cuts of, usually, chicken or lamb. The meat is then grilled and smothered in the usual sauces: soy, chilli and peanut. Lontong, or compressed rice, completes this fine meal.

Nase’ Ramoy has an equally powerful taste. This glutinous rice, sweet and savoury all at once, is another Pamekasan delicacy. The dish is cooked with coconut milk and brown sugar before steaming in a ramoy coconut leaf. The resultant soft, chewy texture heightens the flavour.

Ramoy ranks among the most distinct tangs in Pamekasan. So, too, does Soto Madura, the hearty soup known across Indonesia. Soto Madura draws its flavour from coriander, onion, garlic, ginger, turmeric, hazelnut and lime, and its foundation from beef, boiled eggs and sprouts. It is a fragrant dish with a smell as evocative of life in the archipelago as a pre-dawn kretek with the distant, dubby sounds of karaoke echoing on the horizon.

The sea represents itself via campor lorjuk. Lorjuk is a mussel found in Madura. The mussel is long, thin, somewhat bamboo-shaped and cooked with onion, garlic, chilli, and other spices that create a brownish-reddish broth. Rice cakes, sprouts, various crumblings, and a drizzle of lime complete this sea-formed fare.

Uldaul in Pamekasan

Stirring the senses does not only apply to taste or smell in Pamekasan. Be in the right place at the right time, perhaps stumbling along Jl. Jokotole at night, and a visitor may well encounter the musical stylings of uldaul. This percussive onslaught is an important part of Madurese life and attracts huge crowds as it soundtracks major events and holidays.

Uldaul groups can have as many as 20 to 30 members, each dedicated to the art of noise-making. They play a mixture of traditional Madurese, lively dangdut and Islamic songs that take long, elaborate forms in the qasidah style.

Some tunes have call-and-response group vocals, drum solos, vibrant trumpets and horn breaks. The musicians play instruments such as gongs, kenong, drums and tambourines. A huge, bassy resonance comes from battering large plastic cylinders.

The noise is an elemental, frenzied thud, rendered gargantuan by homemade percussion like plastic barrels, wooden slit kentongan drums and terbangan tambourines. Saron instruments, bars struck with mallets and often used in gamelan, lull forth a hypnotic drone.

Many of the group members ply their trade on giant floats known as odong-odong, which have gilded paint, LED displays and giant bestial faces or bodies. The floats bring to mind similar things that prowl the streets of Bali prior to the Nyepi Day of Silence. Musicians stand on different levels of these floats, and stragglers follow behind, singing and smashing drums placed on racks.

Dances and pencak silat martial arts displays are often a part of uldaul festivities, as are anthropomorphic animals with eyes like diamonds. These beasts herald the floats’ arrival, getting in amongst the crowd and alarming people not paying attention to what’s going on.

Football in Pamekasan

Keen to take a look around, a curious visitor may choose to head along Jl. Ray Ceguk. This is the road to Stadion Gelora Madura Ratu Pamelingan, set amongst the surrounding fields and villages. The road to the stadium is a peaceful place, where even the drone of car and bike becomes swallowed up by the landscape.

The stadium is named for the first Islamic queen of Pamekasan, Nyai Banu. It is an oval shape and hosts three teams: Madura United, a Liga 1 mainstay, and Pamekasan FC, and Persepam Madura Utama, two teams most definitely not. The open bowl, lying flat with supine ease, inhabits the same level of flat openness as the land about it. The area exudes a blissful calm.

Turning back from whence they came, the walker will find Terminal Ronggosukowati. There, people may find rides across Madura. Others in need of food may find nasi bebek; kopi is never far behind. And the attendant kretek, which enhances both things, always fills the air with its scent of cloves and warm crackle.

Wisata Api Abadi

Heading left on the main road by the terminal will eventually lead to the village of Larangan Tokol in Tlanakan. There awaits Api Abadi, the fire that never goes out.

Api Abadi exerts a magnetic pull. It draws visitors past the stalls selling bakso hitam, where the meatballs seem descended from blocks of charcoal, along Jl. Raya Larangan Tokol. The fire then drags them down Jl. Wisata Api Tak Kunjung Padam to Larangan Tokol.

The eternal fire sits within a ten-metre space. A hexagonal fence rings it. A small market has sprung up, and food and drink vendors pass by with their carts. The aroma of chicken and corn, grilled on the fire, is strong.

Api Abadi draws out mostly murmurs from its visitors, some of whom feel compelled to step away from the heat, and the mood is one of contemplation. Observers look into the flames, careful not to blind themselves with what they may see.

History tells that in the seventeenth century, there lived a fisherman who spread Islam: Ki Moko, or Raden Wignyo Kenongo. Ki Moko once did a kind thing: he cured the King of Pameklbang’s daughter of an illness. Moko did so by presenting the royal party with a basket of gems so beautiful that they shook the princess from her illness. The relieved king pledged his daughter’s hand in marriage to Ki Moko as a reward.

Keen to make a good impression, for the royal entourage had come to visit him, Ki Moko sought help from the Almighty. After meditating, Ki Moko struck the ground with his stick, creating, out of thin air, a majestic palace, a spring water source, and a fire.

Mood thus set, Ki Moko welcomed his regal visitors. The king fulfilled his promise by giving a chest to Ki Moko. Inside the chest was the incarnation of Princess Siti Suminten, the king’s daughter. The wedding party ran smoothly, and the couple betrothed themselves to one another.

Once this celebration of young love ended, the ghostly palace disappeared, but the flame remained. Ki Moko gave the fire permission to leave, but it insisted on staying alight to protect his descendants.

And ever since, Api Abadi, the undying fire, has burned on.

Beaches in Pamekasan

But what is history without relaxation? Twelve kilometres southeast of Kota Pamekasan juts out a small peninsula. This point splits two stretches of beach: Pantai Jumiang below and Pantai Kotasek above.

Riding to the peninsula is a pleasant experience. The landscape becomes green and calm. Many mosques echo their prayer calls to the devout, some of whom raise funds for their place of worship by soliciting donations from passing traffic.

Roadside warungs seem to favour rujak cerek. Their owners make fresh batches of this sweet and savoury salad, topped with a peanut-and-chilli-heavy sauce mixed in a giant cobek. Crackers give the salad an added crunch.

A congenial atmosphere reigns on the plateau-like peninsula. Cafes and warungs serve food and drink, and the patrons take a friendly interest in any newcomers they may find. An elevated platform makes it possible to stare out to sea, perhaps to watch the spirits that dwell there, and overlook the nearby salt ponds.

Given that the Madurese are known for their seafaring culture and stout vessels, fleets of boats, such as the eyebrow-shaped lis-alis or the more commonly seen perahu, with its hull that curves like a scimitar, are often seen bobbing close to Kotasek.

Petik Laut

Standing on either beach, it becomes clear that the coast informs day-to-day life across the island. Further west, in Pagagan, the fisherfolk often voice their gratitude to the ocean and nature. It is common to pray for an abundant catch of fish. As such, fishing communities undertake Petik Laut on the fifteenth day of Suro, the first month of the Javanese calendar.

In this annual celebration, adherents first make prayers of gratitude to the Almighty. They then adorn boats with colourful decorations. The boats are loaded with offerings — fruits and cow heads amongst them — and floated off into the ocean in the hope of currying favour and receiving a ripe harvest from the sea.

Prayers, songs and dance accompany petik laut, also known as Rokatasek. The event is a time of dignified celebration and respect. Fisherfolk use traditional nets, rods and other fishing tools in their endeavours, and they avoid the use of things that harm marine habitats. The goal is to preserve the balance of marine ecosystems, not decimate them.

boat decals, gili labak, sumenep, madura

Petik laut is not exclusive to Pagagan. The ceremony plays itself out across many coastal places in Java and reinforces the close relationship between people and the sea. And on Madura, this expression comes to vibrant, brilliant life.

Fin

So ends this brief trip through Pamekasan. There is much still to learn. But for now, no more is there to say on the matter.

Explore Pamekasan: Madura’s Rich History and Unique Culture

Snapshot of Madura