On arrival in Indonesia many weeks ago Mt Merapi, a rather large volcano, began erupting in Java. The eruption was large scale, devastation widespread and many people in the surrounding villages lost their lives. It was a significant natural disaster, obviously devastating for those involved. Clearly a tragedy but also a potential disaster for our plans for Java, yes I know this sounds incredibly selfish but Yogyakarta was the one place we had really hoped to visit on Java, only 40km away from the eruption it now seemed pretty unlikely. How dare that volcano decide to spew its lava guts?

Luckily for us Merapi settled down in the ensuing weeks and by the time we travelled the exclusion zone had been reduced significantly and Yogya opened up again. After another gruelling day on the bus battling through thunder, lightning and torrential rain we arrived in this cultural centre of Java.

The sultanate of Yogya still has considerable power in the region and the modern day city sprawls out from the historical walled Kranton (sultan's palace). The city and surrounding areas are famous for its crafts, in particular Batik and Wayang kulit alongside the incredible historical sites of Borobudur and Prambanan.

Our first day in Yogya called for a little shopping (at last!) along the bustling street market on Jalan Maliboro, much of our time was spent deftly avoiding the Batik mafia trying to lure us into their galleries. We have long since come to the decision that Indonesians do not believe in walking. They simply do not walk anywhere. A two minute trip down the road is a guarantee that the motorbike will be brought out. We seemed to be the only people in the city plying the pavements and it's not entirely surprising as they are treacherous. This in itself is no surprise as this is a common theme throughout Asia. I guess at least they attempt to build pavements which many African nations we've visited do not.

In addition to daily hazardous activities of walking here in Yoga you cannot go anywhere without the ear assaulting shouts of 'Bejak Bejak' following you as you attempt to stroll along. The Bejak is basically a manpowered tricycle, not unlike the Thai samlor; their drivers generally seem to be old, wiry and wizened men that don't look like they can peddle themselves let alone anyone else! The traffic is insane and pootling along in the front of a Bejak whilst it is steered up the back of the bus and numerous motorbikes ahead is not my idea of fun. Needless to say in true British style we walked the length and breadth of Yoga, getting covered in volcanic ash in the process.

Day two and we were off to Borobudur, an historical bit of genius architecture at the base of Mt Merapi. Asking the receptionist at our hotel in the morning if it was possible to walk to the bus station the look of incredulity on her face was astounding. As if to say 'walk, you nutters, no you can't possibly walk', taking her directions to the bus stop that would in turn get us to the bus station we set off on another mini adventure. Arriving at the bus station I asked a kindly looking police man (not too fearsome despite having a rather large gun strapped to his side) if he could point us in the direction of the right bus. What a friendly chap he was, escorting us to the bus himself.

A couple of hours later we arrived in Borobudur and fought off yet more bejack and horse drawn cart drivers desperate to take us the two hundred or so meters to where we were staying. It was impossible not to notice the huge piles of volcanic ash all around, despite the rains nothing seems to have washed away and it is all pooled at the roadside. Borobudur is a truely awesome sight, a vast Buddhist stupa built in the eighth century. Full of carvings, statues and reliefs Borobudur is quite simply incredible.

No rest for the wicked and soon we were heading back to Yoga before travelling onward to the Prambanan temple, another pretty incredible spectacle nestled en route to Solo. Somehow I had convinced James to end the day with a viewing of the Rayamana Ballet, which according to all sources read to date is rather impressive. Well more on that in a moment. Rather exhausted we arrived at Prambanan and spent the next few hours wandering this large oasis in the middle of the chaos that is Yoga, ogling temple after temple, this time of the Hindu variety. It is truely hard to explain how impressive these temples and stupa's are so I won't even try, just take a look at the photos and hopefully they will give you some idea, though I appreciate my photography skills are unlikely to do it justice.

I have mentioned before James' new found celebrity here in Indo. Well Yoga and its attractions are not to be out done in this respect. Whilst embarking on our 'walking' around town we have been stopped on numerous occasions so that young girls, guys and middle aged couples can 'pap' my husband on their phones and cameras. I'd love to know how many random facebook profiles he now features in. Normally on these occasions I am blatantly ignored and smile sweetly out of the way. However, minor celebrity finally came my way too at Prambanan. Stood on a viewing platform appreciating the view a veritable line up of Asian tourists jumped in either side of us to get their snap shot, a little later in the day two rather nice young girls stopped me and me alone asking for their photo - ha and they didn't even want James in it. I couldn't believe it.

So back to the Ballet, well not quite the spectacle I was expecting and rather more Javanese dance than ballet. Well the dance apparently tells the story of Rayamana over the course of the evening. Perhaps we are simply not cultured enough to appreciate the display but if I'm honest it was a little dull and the female dancers generally looked as though they were suffering from constipation.Not quite what we had imagined and after an exhausting day we finally collapsed into a welcome slumber back in Yogya. Only a few hours respite before the blasted cockerels begin their crowing.