Driving to the North Coast and An Incredible Balinese Tale

Waiting for Daddy to go away

We decided to take a 3 day circuit, up through the central mountainous area where we'd made many forays, to the resort of Lovina on the north coast, then drive east along the coast back to Sanur. We began our drive north through villages and jungle, endless family temples beyond compound walls, dignified meeting halls of carved stone and marble, down to the lake between the volcanoes, then up over rice fields to the monkey forest.

A calm monkey moment

A soft gray monkey family waited for us, with wizened features and articulate eyes and expressive mouths, but Daddy Monkey was fierce and his clan dared not accept our peanut and bananas until he was some distance away. Then the young ones of various ages would scamper up and pick peanuts and bananas out of our hands till Daddy started to glower and hiss at me with a vicious look. He took off after one of the kids till Mommy, with an infant slung around her shoulders and an equally vicious look, took off after Daddy.

Munduk waterfall

We drove up into a thickening fog and decided to stop for lunch till it cleared. We gazed into the opaque vapor (where otherwise we could have seen lakes and the sea) over excellent prawn curries. Then we proceeded on a small hike to the Munduk waterfall, the jungle ringing with shrill cicadas. The cold spray discouraged me from staying too long so I headed back just as a torrential downpour commenced. I dashed under the scarce tree cover and Jacques scampered after me. We found our driver, Wayan, sitting with some woodcarvers in their storefront. Eventually our third party reached us, looking like a ghoul, holding banana leaves over his head, his curved bare belly pure white in the jungle. 

Our ghoulish friend in the rain

We drove on into Munduk as Wayan told me the story of discovering his heroic ancestor.  And this is the incredible story. It is the story of finding his Cawetan, his roots, his true home.

He had been born in a palace, in a high caste, the Kshatriya caste, but because of local fighting his family had to flee to another region and strated to call themselves Sudra, the lowest caste, and worked in the fields.

The illustrious ancestor, 1478-1512

Fast forward.  Six months ago his son was in the hospital for 10 days and no one could find anything wrong.  So he did the normal thing, he went to a medium who told him he must find his Cawetan.  He told his uncle who thought it was nonsense (didn't they already know about their roots?) until his own son got sick.  In all, three children of the same family got sick, and three different mediums told them they must find their Cawetan.  So the uncle started to research this intensively, traveling from village to village, speaking with many people.

Shrine of the ancestor

 The research of his uncle took them to another medium, who became filled with the spirit of an ancestor, and spoke to a gathering of relatives.  In a laughing voice the ancestor said, "I am so glad to see you all.  But you know I cannot see you.  My head is buried in Munduk, and my body is buried on the island of Java."  This ancestor, from the 15th c., was a great warrior with great shakti--power. He was assassinated by enemies who were afraid to bury him whole because he would come back to life.  Now he was asking his descendant to recuperate the body and the head--they would do it symbolically, using sandalwood carved effigies--and hold a cremation ceremony.

Wayan with long lost ancestors

We decided to stop by the grave of the ancestor's head.  It has become a shrine.  In the past, people who lived there had wanted to move the boulder that marks the head, and their children peed on it.  But the children fell ill.  Now that it is a shrine the people there address Wayan in a high Balinese reserved for high castes.

Many altars of the Kshatriya temple

Afterwards we arrived at Wayan's Cawetan, the village of his newly found relatives, at a Caste Temple for the Kshatriya caste, his real caste.  Two different mediums have told him that he should change his name to a high caste name--Anadi Agung.  He made a phone call and a brown shiny many on a moto showed up to open the temple--then suddenly his long lost relatives swarmed to the temple (including the owner of the hotel where we would stay) and there was much joy and laughter.  They asked him, why haven't you changed your name yet?  Their caste temple was one of the most beautiful we had seen--colorful statues, elaborately carved sandstone and endless altars.

So they will hold a pilgrimage to gather the body and head of the ancestor, and cremation in August of this year.  7,000 relatives will attend, some of them very rich, some of them very poor, contributing to the expensive event as they can.  Now they are raising money with lottery tickets.

In the lobby of Aditya

What a Balinese story!

We drove on to Lovina, where Wayan took us to the palatial Aditya Hotel, owned by one of the relatives we had just met. From the lobby of giant Balinese reliefs and a brightly painted Barong costume looming over us, we took a walk on the grounds with sleek Asian bungalows facing the sea, mahogany and beige relief decorated verandas for each unit. At sunset we glided in the warm sea, for a glimpse of the sun's few red gleams.