Borobudur Temple. It’s one of those places everyone knows, one of those icons you’ve seen in travel guides, calendars, and Instagram feeds a thousand times. And yes, it’s touristy—an absolute madhouse in high season. But despite the crowds, the selfie sticks, and the occasional vending machine awkwardly inserted into the landscape, the history here is undeniable.
Walking into Borobudur feels like stepping into a story that predates most of the world as you know it. The temple complex is massive—layers upon layers of stone, hundreds of carved stupas, walls covered in bas-reliefs older than Canada by centuries. You wander from terrace to terrace, trying to take it all in, and your brain does that little flip-flop between awe and absurdity when a group of tourists pops into your peripheral, all chasing the perfect shot, while monks in orange robes move silently past.
There’s a weird, cognitive dissonance about it. Vending machines selling cold drinks tucked into a corner of a thousand-year-old temple. Selfie sticks reaching toward carvings that have been telling stories of gods and humanity for centuries. And yet… it works. There’s something profoundly grounding about being there, seeing the carvings up close—the faces, the gestures, the intricate stories etched into stone. You realize that these walls have witnessed empires rise and fall, volcanic eruptions, earthquakes, centuries of sun and rain, and yet they stand. And people still come, arguing over the best angle for a photo or the cheapest bottled water.
Borobudur is messy, noisy, and sometimes absurd. But it’s alive. You can’t ignore it, and you shouldn’t. Every carving, every stone, every terrace is a reminder that humans are capable of creating things that outlast us, that inspire awe across generations.
I spent hours wandering through the temple, trying to reconcile the modern chaos with the ancient craftsmanship. It’s not always serene. It’s not always pure. But it is breathtaking. And amidst the vending machines and selfie sticks, the history, the art, and the sheer scale of human ambition shine through in a way that stops you cold.
Borobudur isn’t just a temple. It’s a reminder of what humanity can do when we build with intention, with reverence, and with the belief that some things are worth standing the test of time—even if the tourists occasionally get in the way.
