A Journey With Mrs. Gina

 A Journey with Mrs. Gina 

August 22nd, 2025 — Malang

Night was falling over Malang, slow and heavy, like a curtain opening a new chapter in my life.

I stared at my phone before calling Putra — my young, loyal driver, just twenty-one, still studying law, yet already carrying a sense of responsibility far beyond his age.

“Putra,” I said, “tomorrow you won’t just be driving.

Tomorrow, you will be me.”

There was a brief silence on the line, the kind that holds both fear and determination.

“Alright, Mas,” he finally replied.

Two Australian guests were on their way. A rare chance. A perfect moment to train him in everything I had been doing alone — picking up guests, handling payments, reading their emotions, preparing the rhythm of a tour without ever letting them see the sweat behind the curtain.

We left Malang late that night, heading toward Banyuwangi.

The highway stretched endlessly under the moonlight. Forest air slipped through the windows, carrying the smell of damp earth and distant ocean.

For a moment, it felt like the world belonged only to us.

At 3 AM we reached a friend’s house — a brief stop, a breath before the real journey began.

Ketapang Harbour — Banyuwangi

Dawn crept slowly over the dark sea. Pelabuhan Ketapang glowed with scattered lights reflecting on the water.

A message arrived:

“Our ferry might be late.”

I whispered, “Thank God.”

I turned to Putra.

“From now on, I’m just your clueless friend. You take full control.”

He nodded, swallowing his nerves.

“I remember the guests, Mas. She has a tattoo on her arm.”

The harbour was crowded with foreign travelers — so different from five or ten years ago when it was filled almost entirely with local Javanese commuters.

Then they appeared — Mrs. Gina and her boyfriend.

Travelers with bright eyes, people ready for stories and mistakes and whatever adventure wanted to give them.

We drove straight to the safari park.

And then...

The gates were closed.

I felt the air freeze.

I could sense the polite disappointment in Mrs. Gina’s smile, the silent question behind her eyes:

“Didn’t Java Jive check the schedule?”

We retreated to a small café. Coffee softened the moment, loosened the tension.

We also talked about how Westerners are usually anti-smoking, yet here, in this café, Mrs. Gina was smoking simply because cigarettes in Indonesia were so cheap. I couldn’t help laughing in my heart about it.

From there, we headed toward Mount Ijen, letting the road reset the day.

Around 5 Pm 

Mrs. Gina had offered us a room, what a sweet heart, but truthly at that moment we were still talking about her. " Were they married already? Or were they still just dating?" We kept gossiping about the two of them, laughing the whole time. sorry mrs. gina 😁✌️

We gossiped about Chris too (Mrs. Gina’s boyfriend), Back at the port, I had assumed Chris was her older brother, or maybe even her father. During the trip, I thought they might be a married couple with a huge age gap. But at the café, Chris casually mentioned that he was only twenty-seven.

I was stunned. What? Twenty-seven? Still so young. Turns out he’s only three years older than me. But why is it that Westerners at twenty-seven already look so mature, almost fatherly, while Indonesians at the same age still look like kids?

Putra and I ended up gossiping about them all night. Sorry, Chris 😁🙏

August 23rd — Mount Ijen

There is something unexplainable about Ijen , a cold, mystical breath that follows you like an old spirit.

I had been here countless times, but watching first-timers return from the crater always felt special.

It was as if Ijen chose which memories to give.

While they hiked with the guide, I collapsed into sleep at a tiny hostel near the parking lot. The kind of sleep that comes only after weeks of working without rest.

Morning arrived wrapped in a river of fog.

We picked them up at their hotel.

Their faces were glowing.

“I’m so lucky,” Mrs. Gina whispered — half to herself, half to the morning light.

That alone made the long night worth it.

On the way back to Malang, Putra handled the payments awkwardly but bravely.

I watched him silently, still playing the role of “I-know-nothing,” letting him learn responsibility the hard way.

Then something I never expected happened.

Mrs. Gina handed me a 100,000 IDR tip.

My chest tightened.

In seven months of working as a tour freelancer, no one had ever tipped me.

Most of my guests were low-budget backpackers who simply couldn’t afford it.

But that simple gesture felt like a whole new world.

I was embarrassed and strangely proud.

Bohay Beach

A strange, forgotten beach near one of Java’s biggest power plants.

A place the maps didn’t care about.

We took some photos, shared small conversations, then continued our journey to Malang. 

Malang — Kayutangan Heritage

Kayutangan’s colonial buildings rose like pages from a history book.

When Mrs. Gina learned they were Dutch relics, she laughed:

“Dutch so crazy.”

And she wasn’t wrong.

The Netherlands, a small, almost fragile European country, once cast a massive shadow across Java.

Or perhaps our nation had simply been too weak at that time.

But not anymore.

Today Indonesia stands tall, with one of the largest militaries in Asia.

around 8 pm, at the restaurant ....

And funny enough, Putra said to me, “Bro, I’m worried Chris might think the two of us like Mrs. Gina.” I replied, “Ah, no way. Chris doesn’t care about stuff like that, he’s too laid-back. Besides, we and Mrs. Gina are from different cultures, different races, different religions… everything’s different. There’s no way we’d like her ” 

Putra shrugged and said, “Yeah, bro, that’s your thinking. But you never know what other people are thinking.”

I answered, “Alright, I’ll just tell them that you and I both have girlfriends. That way, Chris won’t get any wild ideas. Easy, right?”

Over dinner, we talked about our own girlfriends. Then, in front of them, we went back to gossiping about them. Putra leaned over and said, “Bro, did you know we went into that store across the street earlier? Chris likes anything Japanese. Mrs. Gina told me.”

Our conversation drifted on late into the night, accompanied by the simple background music of the café.

Pamotan Rice Terrace — My Hidden Gem

Pamotan is my discovery, untouched, unseen, unknown to any traveler on Earth.

A village shaped by rice fields that whisper ancient stories.

When I brought Mrs. Gina and her boyfriend there, their eyes widened.

“In my country we don’t have rice fields. For you this is normal, but for me… this is incredible,” she said.

Something stirred in my chest.

This showing people beauty that the world hasn’t touched is the reason I do this job.

Not money.

But pride.

And love.

Semeru Lava Tour & Tumpak Sewu

Chaos returned.

Putra was feeling sick and needed rest.

I had to find excuses, rearrange the plan, shift everything and somehow manage to make it look intentional.

We replaced Tumpak Sewu with the Semeru lava tour.

Surprisingly, Mrs. Gina loved it.

But in the car, Mrs. Gina said to me, “Java Jive is not good, but you’re doing good, guys.” I laughed inwardly, after all, Java Jive is me.

And sure enough, she asked me, “Are you Java Jive?” In my head I thought, Fuck, I’m doomed… But, of course, no Indonesian would let themselves get cornered, they’re always good at dodging. Hahaha.

Chris, on the other hand, didn’t seem to care at all. He really is laid-back and easygoing, cool and indifferent, just like most Australians I’ve met in Bali.

The next day, we visited Tumpak Sewu, a waterfall I personally find ordinary, but to foreigners, it is a cathedral of water and light.

After the visit, we drove back to Malang, tired but alive.

On the way back to Malang city, Putra was already sleepy, his eyes barely open. I watched him bite his own tongue—hahaha, I laughed quietly to myself. Honestly, I wanted to take over driving, but I was drunk.

Then, when Putra tried to overtake, he almost ran into a group of javanese young guys on motorcycles coming from the opposite direction. They shouted and cursed at us—“JANCOX!” which basically means “FUCK YOU” in English.

At that moment, it wasn’t funny anymore.

August 24th — The Bromo Incident

Putra had promised to pick them up for the Bromo sunrise tour.

He parked the car behind the hotel and went home to rest.

So did I.

At 1:30 AM I woke up and checked on them.

“No one came to pick me up,” Mrs. Gina said.

My blood turned cold.

I froze for half a second, then jumped into action.

I called my tour partner; he rushed over and saved the morning.

Everything ended well, except the guilt that lingered in me long after.

Months passed.

Work swallowed me.

Days blended into weeks.

And somehow… I lost contact with Mrs. Gina and her boyfriend.

Tonight, writing this story, I want to say something I never said to them:

Thank you.

For trusting us.

For your patience.

For your kindness.

For being part of the eight chaotic, beautiful, unforgettable days that shaped Java Jive.

A Journey with Java Jive, Mrs. Gina, and Her Boyfriend

A story of mistakes, laughter, surprises, hidden rice terraces, and the dream of building something bigger than myself.

A story I will never forget.