Visiting Bali

Jatiluwih Rice Fields

There are two Bali's. In the south, relentless development has transformed fishing villages into high end destinations for water sports, endless clubs along beautiful beaches, gated communities so removed that they seem to be ghost towns. But I can't describe this Bali, for I visited the other Bali, after a hiatus of 30 years.

Pura Taman Saraswati in Ubud

Thirty years had brought disheartening change to Ubud, Sanur and Denpasar where people are ruder and the commotion is incessant. Beautiful Ubud no longer has its rice fields and quiet pathways, it is now a chic commercial center, but still wrapped around its heart of temples (pura) and palaces. Sanur, where we stayed, is quieter but concrete is going up everywhere between the old villas and classical Balinese compounds, many of which are now outfitted for karaoke though many have become very

Sanur beach

Balinese hotels. Especially along Sanur beach, where expensive hotels face the sea, there is a juncture of very simple Balinese eating places, warungs, and white tourists on chaise longues ordering drinks, receiving massages from simple Balinese women who carry their wares stacked high on their heads.

Everywhere agriculture

But if you go further north, which we did on daily excursions for two weeks, you find an eternal Bali of jungle interrupted only by expanses of emerald rice paddies filling ancient volcanic craters, or by villages without a single modern building, only the brick and carved sandstone of temples and family compounds and meeting halls, or the black volcanic rock classical structures that have filled Bali for a thousand years. Women carry high loads on their heads--weighing as much as 60 kilos--under which they sometimes lean down to pick something up off the ground. Men are building,

A caste temple

or transporting bamboo logs, or doing road work, aided by their wives. Aside from the ubiquitous agriculture of rice, green beans, hot peppers, bananas and other crops, rotated to yield as many as three harvests a year, the biggest industries seem relate to the building of temples and family

Hanuman guarding Pura Batu Klotek

compounds. The standard statuary for temples are being carved in stone, the elements of the age-old architecture are sitting on lots, fountains and Ganeshas and Arjunas are mass produced by hand. Marketplaces of produce seem to be dominated by the sale of offerings for the gods, delicate baskets of rice and flowers, and other votive paraphernalia. Aside from the tourist industry (many Balinese are employed as woodcarvers or stone carvers, producing massive amounts of the exotic crafts that seemed so rare and strange 30 years ago) the perpetuation of a life centered around pleasing both good and bad spirits is the overwhelming impression.

Ogo-ogo embody evil spirits

Every family compound has a temple, as well as every public building including the police.  Every village has its main temple and then there are caste temples.  There are the temples for all the Balinese, such as Besakih, the mother temple, with her 23 separate temple complexes.  There are altars everywhere, and offerings are made in profane places too, like crossroads, to ward off evil. 

Receiving a blessing at Tanah Lot

This seems so charming--"it is a feeling," said our driver, "to always make offerings to the gods." We watched a woman put down delicate fragrant baskets in the middle of a busy intersection. "We feel better, but I can't really give you information about it." The exquisite manners of the Balinese apparently reflect this constant conversation they are having with the gods. Nowhere are people more refined than these women with their delicate smiles and eyes deep with kindness, their hands folded in salutation, their exquisite choice of words. They all seem to have been trained as dancers, but dancers with lilting voices and a genuine interest in your happiness.

4-headed gods guarding the crossroads

We were able to gain a deeper perspective by the constant company of our driver, Wayan, whom I would recommend in an instant to any visitor to Bali. (Please don't hesitate to ask for his particulars.) He is a man of the village, the head of his extended family, while his work is driving-- tourists, dignitaries, professionals and rich men with their armed bodyguards. He learns of the larger world through them, because his own world is a small village controlled by priests who determine the when and how of every person's actions, and village heads who control the villagers in other ways.

Cremation bull

For example, Bali is filled with swastikas, an ancient Asian symbol long before Naziism-- Wayan has never heard of WWII or Hitler. His life is in the village. It began with his first three months when his feet were never allowed to touch the ground, then his life milestones have been marked through a series of rituals (such as tooth-filing) and ceremonies carefully determined by the priests, until in manhood he owes rituals to his parents, such as cremation. (Actually Wayan's life has been much more complicated than that, but more about that later.) He works hard with relentless good cheer and fulfils his duties to gods and family. He knows how to dance in ceremonies and what is expected of him during the important rituals. His is a completely Balinese perspective.

And so, the blogs that follow will try to share Wayan's world as seen through our foreign eyes.