Snake Business: Yogyakarta, Central Java

The words “great snakeman” from Timbulharjo village, Central Java accidentally reached me in Yogyakarta. The evening cool had just fallen over the busy middle-sized town. The perfect time to go out for dinner at a warung (side walk eatery) I had passed by so often already but never sat down at.

Drawn in a rusty red color, a horse’s head decorated the warung’s outside. On the menu, sate kuda or skewered cubes of horse meat was the main treat.

In the end, the grilled meat turned out to be a little tough to chew. That’s perhaps the reason why the French always have specialized horse butchers, charcutiers, to take the animals to pieces avoiding this effect.

The meal was still fine and I was just about to pay, when Ibu Partini, the warung’s owner, said: “Come back for dinner tomorrow, we are going to serve tongseng ular (snake curry) then! Or better,” she continued smiling, “join me in the morning buying the meat!”

It was small village roads and gravel pits Ibu Partini followed the next morning. Always trying not to inhale too much dust, I rode my motorcycle behind hers. After half an hour of bumping under the sun, we entered a slightly remote courtyard.

Sporting worn-out sportspants and t-shirt, Pak Parwo Suhadi, 58, the “snakeman” himself, invited us to come in. Not to be overlooked, his place was all about snakes.

A collection of meter-long python skins made the exterior’s special atmosphere. To show their full beauty, they were spread out and nailed to planks to dry in the sun.

Pak Parwo explained that he sold them for Rp 150,000 (US$17) per meter to an American who owned a factory nearby. There, they were made into belts, shoes, wallets and anything else people would buy in the States.

Pak Parwo’s house was pretty big. Several paintings and statues showing all kinds of snakes decorated the walls of its many rooms. And every single one of them was packed with sacks, buckets, wooden boxes and other storing devices. If one watched closely, one suspected they were moving.

“People from neighboring villages catch all kinds of snakes and bringing them here”, Pak Parwo said.

“It’s several hundred up to more than 2,000 per month”, he said with understandable pride.

“When I started, I frequently went to the woods and ricefields myself to catch them, but there’s no need for it anymore now,” Pak Parwo continued while seizing something from one of the sacks. Seconds later, he showed off a huge cobra, forcefully trying to escape his experienced grip.

Still, the show looked far from safe to me. I opted to step back a little.

Asked if he wasn’t afraid of getting bitten, Pak Parwo smiled, presenting his hands, covered with scarves: “I’ve been bitten many times before. More than once I was about to die. But now, five to ten bites are not a reason for concern anymore.”

And his wife, who lives with him in the snake palace, added giggling: “Actually, the only snake I am afraid of is his own.”
Pak Parwo, it turned out, was a clever businessman and even decorated by Timbulharjo village.

Apart from drying the reptiles’ skins for selling them, he did the same with their gall bladders. “For men’s stamina”, he said.

Eaten for the same reason, the penises were shipped to Korea. His wife cooked the fat to get snake oil, said to cure skin diseases. Finally, the meat was sold to vendors of curries and sate like Ibu Partini.

Soon I found out that buying kilos of snake meat for the evening’s tongseng ular wasn’t the main reason for her coming there. Ibu Partini suffers from Hepatitis A. The only cure she trusted in was a truly special drink mixed of Red Bull, honey and still-warm cobra blood.

“At the hospitals they told me that there was nothing they could do about my Hepatitis. I was desperate as I was really suffering. But since I first came here in 1987, there have been absolutely no symptoms anymore.”

In the meantime, Pak Parwo, still holding the cobra in his hand, started to prepare the cocktail. First of all, the snake’s head was taken off in a single machete’s blow. By squeezing the head-less animal like a lemon-half, the “bartender” then filled a teacup with its blood.

As surreal as this all already appeared, it was far from the procedure’s end.

Pak Parwo next set out to rummage for some obviously indispensable intestines to be added to the drink. One by one, the cobra’s liver, spinal cord, penis and heart found their way inside the cup. Finally, the sweetening ingredients were added.

Satisfied, Pak Parwo presented his creation. Giving me a true fright, little concentric waves were rolling on the bright red drink’s surface. Obviously, the cobra’s heart hadn’t yet stopped beating. Yet, in a single sip Ibu Partini finished her healthy shake.

In the evening, I was back at her warung. Of course the snake curry had to be given a try. Fortunately, nothing moved on my plate. And the meat was actually much softer than that of the horse the day before.

If you happen to be in Yogyakarta on a Sunday evening, you should give it a try. The place’s outside will be adorned by a snake’s head then.

Mario Koch