MuffinToSay – That morning sky held secrets. Grey clouds loomed over Tangerang Station like the closing chapter of a story that hadn’t quite ended. There was a subtle nudge from time itself, asking to be retraced—like whispers of history unwilling to be forgotten.
I stepped off the commuter line just as the sound of the train was fading into the distance, merging with the lively hum of vendors and passengers moving in and out of the station. But I wasn’t there to catch the next train. That day, I joined fellow Kompasianers for a deeper journey—a walk into the hidden history of Pasar Lama Tangerang, under the charming banner of “Ketemu Walking Tour: The Hidden History of Pasar Lama.”
A Taste of Heritage in Pasar Lama
Tangerang Station is more than just a transit point. It’s a gateway to the past. Since 1889, this station has silently witnessed the flow of people and trade. Its vintage floor tiles and colonial-style high ceiling whispered stories of farmers, traders, and colonizers—each walking with different intentions, but sharing the same space now called “the past.”
Our journey was guided by Elsa Novia Sena, a young woman bursting with energy who spoke of history like she was recounting tales of an old friend. Not once did it feel dry or academic. With her bright voice and unflagging spirit in a red t-shirt, Elsa became the bridge between the present and the dusty stories of yesteryears.
Together with the group, we took our first steps like history detectives. No magnifying glasses, just curiosity and ears wide open. Our first stop? A place that quite literally smelled sweet—a soy sauce factory. But not just any soy sauce. This was liquid heritage. From the Benteng SH brand established in 1920 to Teng Giok Seng, which has existed since 1882, this was sauce with a soul.
I stood still, amazed. Who would’ve thought that the same soy sauce we drizzle on fried noodles could hold a century of stories? This was more than condiment—it was culture in a bottle. Recipes passed down from generation to generation, from the Dutch East Indies to the era of TikTok Reels.
When History Speaks Up
We moved on to Masjid Jami Kalipasir, a mosque standing with quiet dignity since 1576. Surrounded by the buzz of modern life, it stood like a guardian of peace. Here, I realized Tangerang isn’t just about cultural fusion—it is fusion made real. Nearby, Chinese and native Indonesian communities live side by side, not competing for space but complementing each other. The mosque’s minaret resembles a pagoda—a gentle reminder that even architecture can respect and embrace differences.
Not far from the mosque, we came upon Toapekong Air, an open altar beside the Cisadane River. The atmosphere shifted. Quiet, reverent, laced with the scent of incense and spiritual meaning. Here, the local Chinese Benteng community releases animals as part of Fang Shen, a ritual symbolizing good karma. I saw an elderly Chinese man release a fish into the river. He said nothing. The river received it calmly—like it accepts both wounds and wishes at once.
The Peh Cun festival, held at the end of May this year, is one of the most vibrant celebrations at this site. The water god is honored, dragon boats race, and Cisadane becomes a cultural stage where pride in one’s roots is shared out loud and in full color.
But perhaps the most touching moment came when Elsa spoke about the term Cina Benteng. It’s not a name you’d find on an ID card, but one born of social history. The story goes that Chinese communities settled around the old Makassar Fortress, a Dutch colonial stronghold. Over time, Cina Benteng became a label—once loaded with implications, now embraced with pride. It’s an identity forged through resilience, a badge of belonging on soil they've loved through political winds and changing times.
In silence, I reflected. Sometimes, identity isn’t something we choose. It’s something we fight to preserve. And the Cina Benteng story is living proof that identity can be a bridge—not a wall.
Lost Steps, Living Stories
Our tour then brought us to a surprising stop: Roemboer Tangga Ronggeng. The name alone sounded like poetry. Roemboer refers to the swiftlet nests once found there, while Tangga Ronggeng was the riverside staircase where dancers once performed—greeting guests, celebrating life. The stairs are gone now, their stories floating between birdsong and the murmur of the river. But in that absence lies its magic—something lost, yet still alive in memory.
Just across from this ethereal site stands the home of legendary writer Oey Kim Tiang, or OKT. He translated over 100 martial arts books from Hokkien to colloquial Malay. Imagine the power of his work—bringing mythical tales to everyday readers, from coffee stalls to roadside kiosks. OKT didn’t just write; he shaped collective imagination. He didn’t just tell stories; he united people through them.
Still within sight stood the Boen Tek Bio temple. Majestic, serene, and continuously active since 1684. Here, the scent of incense mixes with centuries of prayers. Boen means wisdom, Tek means virtue, and Bio is a place of worship. I smiled. This temple quietly teaches that wisdom isn’t just about praying—it’s about thinking deeply, too.
Amid the scent of incense and the melodies of gambang kromong played during the Waisak celebration, I felt a strange sense of balance. Everything mixed—religion, culture, history, and humanity. No one element overpowered another. And to me, that’s what Tangerang was that day: a living portrait of harmony that didn’t feel forced.
A Home for Stories
Eventually, we reached our final stop: the Benteng Heritage Museum. A two-story building filled with artifacts, photographs, and documents that made time stand still. Every tale we’d heard that day seemed to find its rightful home here. This wasn’t just a place for old things—it was a place for questions, for contemplation, for remembering that history never truly disappears. It waits quietly, ready to be rediscovered.
We ended the journey at Kedai Lampion, a café across from the temple still buzzing with visitors. Our conversations flowed like the Cisadane River—steady, unhurried. Nothing felt too heavy. But beneath the laughter and sips of iced tea, there was a quiet gratitude. That day, we hadn’t just walked through narrow alleys and past crumbling buildings—we had walked into ourselves. Realizing that the city we take for granted still holds wonders, if only we take the time to slow down and listen.
I didn’t come home with just photos or videos for Instagram. I came home with stories. With a renewed awareness that roots don’t just grow underground—they grow in memories, in footsteps, and in the courage to revisit paths once forgotten.
And that day, Tangerang became more than just a dot on the map. It became a living story etched into every step.
The original article in Indonesian is available on NininMenulis
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