one of Ubud's many, many, many roosters - this one is eating the rice from an elaborate Galungan offering

When I began this journey, I set as a lofty goal to write a haiku everyday to summarize my experiences.  Although I’ve come no where near my goal, I have managed to scratch out a few lines, mainly inspired by the neighborhood roosters. The progression is obvious as the quality of my sleep decays …

Day 1

Morning in Ubud. 

Puccini and roosters blend.

I inhale the sounds.

Day 7

Morning in Ubud.

Roosters crow. Brooms scratch sidewalks.

I miss a good sleep.

Day 14

Cock-a-doodle-doo.

Mr. Rooster I hate you.

Roosters have no charm.

The sweet old lady who sweeps the sidewalk EARLY in the morning. I wish we both could sleep in for a day!

It’s a fallacy that roosters only crow at dawn. The Balinese roosters start at 3 am and crow all through the night … and then through the day.  At 6:30 am, the darling 90 year old woman who lives here begins sweeping the sidewalks.  She uses a loose broom handmade from tiny bamboo sticks. As she sweeps every nook and cranny of the mosaic’d stone sidewalks at my losman (guesthouse), it sounds like someone is crumpling a plastic bag right next to my head. Have you ever noticed how sounds are magnified when you’re asleep … or trying to sleep?   

I’m becoming desperate for a good night’s rest.  I no longer bounce out of bed, eager as I am for the day to reveal its surprises to me.  My eyes feel heavy and puffy and I find myself yawning a lot throughout the day. It’s difficult, however, to find a completely quiet time (or even a mostly quiet time) which might be conducive to such a slumber although I can’t blame it entirely on the roosters … just mostly. As it turns out, there is a symphony of sounds in Ubud with many players rounding out the sounds of the cocks’ crows. Actually, from my perspective at the moment, cacophony is a more accurate description than a symphony. 

the lovely mosaic'd sidewalks in Suartha Pension swept each morning by the sweet lady above

The chickens are the roosters’ Robert Palmer girls and back up their men with gusto from 3 am throughout the day. When the roosters cease the ongoing announcements of their existence (what else could they possibly have to crow about?) at 6 pm and tuck in their little ladies with them, the street dogs take up their instruments barking and howling beginning at 11 pm. With the recent festivities, the practice sessions of the neighborhood gamelan orchestra might as well be held on my balcony.  They begin their rehearsals late in the evening and practice late into the night.  Like any musician’s rehearsals, there are many mistakes and much stopping and starting so it’s nothing like being treated to a free concert. The gecko who lives in my soaring ceiling is like the triangle, playing his instrument only on occasion, but distinctly and clearly when he does pipe up.  The roosters and chickens begin again at 3 am reaching the climax of their pre-dawn solo three hours later. I already mentioned the percussionistic broom which plays its part at 6:30 am. The occasional pig snorts and squeals.  Around 7 am, a single gong takes the stage, banging in a monotonous tone, presumably calling people to temple. On my first night in Ubud, I had dinner next to a rice paddy and was treated to a beautiful chorus of frogs and crickets. I haven’t heard them since that night and miss them. Of course, that was also the day that I was charmed by the roosters so perhaps I’m only fond of the frogs because of they performed on a “one night only” basis.

After getting over seeing a chicken alive and then eating it, the first obvious solution to my problem was to start requesting rooster dinners. But I clearly can’t devour all the roosters in Ubud and eliminating the ring leaders would still leave the rest of the orchestra.  Therefore, I must obviously make peace with their presence here. I think I’ll put on some Puccini now, burn some incense, have a cup of hot tea and add my instrument to the mix.  Perhaps then I’ll be able to see the roosters in the same charming light I did the first day.

If you would like to experience the sounds of a typical Ubud morning at Suartha Pension,  click here.  Please pardon the “shoddy” footage as this is really intended to be more of an audio file … and I was, naturally, half-asleep when I captured it.