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Reflections of a “Germadian” Abroad... |
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This “Germadian” (German-Canadian, as coined by my wife) has travelled all over
the world. Each month, I will share with you my adventures in a different locale; each month I hope to make you
smile and think and dream...
One of our principal interests in Bali was to experience the almost infinite variety of dances which
flourish in this culture. Crisscrossing the island in search of ever new and different variations, we were held
spellbound by the grace and agility of the dancers and the elaborate costumes used to personify mythical and allegorical
creatures of legend. Even the names of the dances evoke a feeling of exotic sensuality: The Barong, the Legong,
the Ketchak, the Ramayana...
Each of these dances relate a different story – a mixture of some historical fact shrouded in a veil of folklore
and myth. Each subtle undulation of the body, each graceful gesture of the fingers adorned with 4-inch-long metal
“talons”, each exaggerated movement of the eyes, has a specific meaning and tells a part of the story in a wonderfully
exotic combination of sign and body language intertwined. It is the multimedia version of telling a tale; of spinning
a yarn.
Most fascinating, we witnessed a “fire dance” in which the dancers, deep in trance, trod back and forth on live,
searing coals made from coconut husks and shells. Their faces showed no trace of pain or discomfort. An inspection
of the soles after the dance revealed no blisters, burns or scars! A haunting testimony of faith and power of the
mind.
The inhabitants of Bali are very attractive, graceful and friendly people. A millennia or two of being conquered
and subjugated by many different cultures have made the Balinese a pragmatic and tolerant people who genuinely
appear to be comfortable with the unending flow of tourists visiting their island. There are very few incidents
of violence against foreigners. But to the uninitiated (which we were on our first visit to Bali), a perfectly
benign situation can be misinterpreted and lend itself to unwarranted paranoia.
We had spent the day in Denpasar, capital of Bali, and now wanted to get back to our lodgings at the
Tandjung Sari on Sanur Beach, some 15 km or so distant. It was after 6 p.m. and already pitch black outside on
a moonless night. No taxi was available, so we decided to take a local covered pickup truck--like mode of transportation
which is routinely used by residents of Bali. A price was negotiated with the driver and we hopped onto the back
and sat on one side on a wooden bench. There were four Balinese males already on the truck, apparently headed in
the same direction. They looked rough and dirty, eyed us furtively and spoke in low tones in a local Bahasa dialect.
We were driving along an unlit dirt road with dense jungle on either side. I was immediately alert.
As many Indonesians speak some English, I addressed Diana, my better half, in German. As we were relatively
well-dressed and I had two cameras with expensive lenses attached on my person, I told her that I felt these men
wanted to rob us. I said that I would use the one camera with the telephoto lens like a club and that she should
jump from the moving truck at my signal, hit the ground in a tumbling roll and head into the jungle. I would follow.
The perceived tension evaporated into a complete denouement when one of the men spoke to me in broken English.
Seems he had been asked to be the spokesperson for the others as his English was best. They just wanted to chat,
ask about my cameras and where we were from. By the time we reached the Tandjung Sari, all fears had vanished and
my faith in humanity was restored!
After a few weeks on Bali, I learned that its inhabitants are actually a very peaceful people who are wont to celebrate
anything – including the passing away of relatives. A funeral is a joyous and colourful rite of passage to another
world; to a rich and beautiful afterlife.
Outsiders are not invited to funerals as these are family affairs. However, the concierge at the Tandjung Sari
was able to arrange for us to view the proceedings of a Balinese funeral, as long as we did not mix in with the
participants. Held within open-air temple grounds, we were able to watch it all from an elevated perimeter. My
telephoto lenses paid for themselves that day!
Borrowing some aspects from Hinduism, the uniquely hybrid Balinese religion calls for cremation of the deceased
person. An elaborate pyre is built out of bamboo and wood. Tied together with thongs made from coconut fibre, the
pyre is adorned with colourful feathers and ornamentation made from coloured coconut paste. The body is place underneath
the towering pyre. Relatives dress up in their finest clothes and come to parade and celebrate in the day-long
funeral “festivities”. There is food for everyone, as well as merry-making and eulogizing.
Towards the late afternoon, the pyre is set on fire and all applaud and cheer as the fire rages into intensity.
When only charcoal and smoldering ashes remain, the relatives depart for home and hired pariahs (“untouchables”
– a caste-system metaphor also borrowed from Hinduism) come to rake through the coals and sweep the ashes away.
Only pariahs are allowed to touch the remains of the dead. They are the undertakers of Bali.
It is very easy to fall in love with this island and its unique culture; with its gentle breezes and fragrant flora;
withs its aromatic Java Coffee and its spellbinding dances and music. No wonder so many writers are drawn here.
Selamat datang ke Bali!
Text and Photos: Donald James Dunn
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