an evening at the home of my new Couchsurfing friends, Diego & Linda (Italy) with fellow CS'er Juha (Finland)

I’ve been a bit behind on my postings lately because I’ve been filling every minute in Ubud traveling around and spending time with new friends so I have only recently finished this story on the Galungan festival from August 20! Please pardon the delay …

Every 210 days, the Balinese observe a holiday called Galungan which celebrates the victory of good (Dharma) over evil (Adharma). During this holiday, which lasts for 10 days, the Balinese believe the gods, including their deified ancestors, visit the Earth and then depart on the last day of the festival known as Kuningan. During their ten-day visit to Earth, each of these gods resides in the temples found all over Ubud. The ancestors return to their former homes. Accordingly, the Balinese must also visit the former homes of their ancestors to honor, entertain and welcome them. Often, when a person dies, the family does not have money for the expensive cremation ceremony so the body is buried until the family can save the money to cremate them at which time the body is exhumed for cremation. In addition to visiting the former homes of deified ancestors, those ancestors still buried in the cemetery awaiting cremation must also be visited and entertained.

The tradition in Bali is to marry outside of one’s village which means that one’s ancestors originate from all over the island of Bali. As each ancestor returns to his or her former home, Galungan results in a massive island-wide road trip for the Balinese.

Balinese family road-tripping during Galungan

I celebrated the better part of Galungan from the back of a motor bike. To be more specific, I celebrated riding “side-saddle” on the back of a motor bike zipping around Bali at speeds up to 80 kph with two cameras in hand photographing everything in sight. I’d love to tell you that I was wearing a helmet during this feat, but was forbidden to by Gede who had just created a special hairdo for me. Whenever the Balinese are going to temple, no one wears a helmet because of hairdos and udeng, the traditional ceremonial headdress for men. Of course, I didn’t realize we’d be reaching such speeds at the time I agreed to the ludicrousy; speeds which, surprisingly barely effected my special hairdo. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

penjor-lined streets

The Balinese spend weeks preparing for Galungan. The Balinese spend weeks preparing for Galungan making decorative rice cakes, coconut leaf and flower offerings. Two weeks ago when I was cooking with Nyoman’s family, they were already baking a variety of fried rice cake treats, cooking chicken, lawar and many other dishes. Most of these dishes are used in offerings to the gods, but some are used for family feasting as no cooking is done on the actual day of Galungan. During my visit, the women in Nyoman’s family were also weaving numerous offerings out of coconut leaves to which they added fresh flowers on the day of Galungan with which they welcomed their ancestors and the other gods. About 5 days before Galungan, I noticed 40-50 long bamboo poles appearing in front of houses, propped about 5 feet off the ground. These were to become penjor, decorated bamboo poles erected in front of every house on the island. The tops of the penjor arch over the narrow roads creating a tunnel effect where the villages are especially small and the roads particularly narrow. Special offerings are suspended from the top of the arched penjor and dangle down like tempting pinatas. The families also decorate the temples within their family compound wrapping them in colorful cloth and stuffing the shrines with multiple offerings, some including baskets of fruit. Even the already elaborate stone carvings get dressed up, most sporting silk sarongs but some even equipped with tassled silk umbrellas.

stone carving dressed up for Galungan

My adopted Balinese family invited me and my Brazilian friend, Adriana, to celebrate Galungan with them by going with them to their family temple. As usual, my expectations were very different from what actually took place. I had envisioned the entire family, all dressed up, hopping on motorbikes, four people to a bike, and processing as a group two hours away to “the” family temple. Instead, I learned that the family had temple obligations in no fewer than 5 temples spread all over Bali because of the origins of the family’s various ancestors. Accordingly, in order to cover all the ground and ensure that each ancestor was properly welcomed back to Bali and entertained, the family split up, each accepting the duties for one temple.

Gede fitting Adriana for a sarong

When Adriana and I arrived at Nyoman’s family compound, the women were already gone so before heading out, Nyoman’s brother, Gede, dressed Adriana and me in the traditional kebayas and sarongs borrowed from Nyoman’s wife and fixed our hair. He put the kebayas and sarongs over the tops and pants that we were already wearing so we both felt a bit “poofy” all day long. He fixed our hair in matching French twists complete with silk flowers. As a final touch, he spritzed each of our arm pits with cologne he told us was from The Netherlands (the Balinese answer to deodorant) … and we were ready for the road.

me in ceremonial dress with Wayan and Gede

The four of us rode on motorbikes for about 2 hours passing through many villages. Until we got at least one hour outside of Ubud, the road seemed to be cutting though one continuous village that gradually transformed from “city” to rural in the same way that colors on a color wheel change from blue to green before your eyes. Rural Bali was filled with steeply terraced rice paddies, many of which contained home-made Balinese scarecrows that sported coconut heads and plastic trash bag bodies. Everywhere we went, Adriana and I were treated like celebrities. Kids and adults alike shouted hellos both from the side of the road and from motorbikes that either passed ours or that we passed. Everyone admired our traditional garments and constantly shouted “beautiful” at us. Feeling like beauty queens, we happily played the part and smiled and waved at everyone we saw.

women processeing through the Balinese countryside

I saw innumerable charming scenes on our way. Many I was able to capture with the camera. Just as many, unfortunately, I was not. I took photos in my mind of the beautiful twenty year old Balinese woman wearing a stylish lace kebaya and silk sarong carrying a traditional woven bamboo basket of offerings on her head while talking on her mobile phone. My mind’s eye also captured a lovely procession of men holding decorative silk umbrellas with long bamboo poles and women balancing plates filled with a mix of colorful fruit stacked a foot high on their heads. We whizzed past a cemetery filled with families holding grave-side picnics to honor and entertain their as yet un-cremated relatives still buried in the ground. This touching sight too I was only able to capture in my memory. Although Nyoman is proud of his island and delighted to show me around it, like anyone in their hometown, we frequently stop seeing the interesting things around us as we take them for granted. It’s no surprise that these things which caught my eye did not strike Nyoman as interesting or something that might be worthy of a photograph so we sped by these and many other fabulous photo opportunities and I just captured what I could. Unfortunately, there’s only so much one can do with a camera while balancing side-saddle on the back of a motorbike speeding along at 55 mph.

Balinese couple on their way to a Galungan ceremony

The island of Bali has two languages: Balinese, which is only spoken in Bali and bahasa (Indonesian) which is spoke throughout Indonesia as well as Malaysia. As we approached our destination, Nyoman advised me that bahasa (the one I’ve been studying) was really more a language spoken in the cities and the people in these villages would only speak Balinese. Knowing that I wanted to photograph everything in sight, he began coaching me on how to say in Balinese “Excuse me. Is it possible to take a photo?” and “Thank you very much.” I was well-rehearsed and ready to go by the time we finally stopped the bikes at Telaga Tista, a temple Nyoman told me was special to his family.

Adriana having her hair re-done

The road wasn’t as kind to Adriana’s “do” as it was to mine and her twist had come undone by the time we reached our destination. Several Balinese women who were in mid-procession through a rice paddy next to the road saw her predicament, stopped their procession and a well-dressed mother-daughter team literally ran up to the road to help her. As the mother fixed Adriana’s hair, the 20-something year old daughter held the basket of offerings her mother had been carrying on her head and chatted with us … in absolutely perfect English without the slightest trace of a Balinese accent! Having been prepped by Nyoman to expect these “less-educated country folk” not to even speak bahasa, you can imagine how our jaws dropped when the girl advised us that she had lived in North Carolina for a year and asked what we were doing, how long we were in Bali, etc.
Hair re-done, the women resumed their procession and we walked up the gravel road to join Nyoman and Kadek under a bamboo-covered pavilion that was perched on the edge of a very peaceful pond filled with incredibly clear water. About fifty feet across the pond, a set of stairs seemed to emerge right out of the water onto a small isthmus of land which housed a small temple compound surrounded on three sides by the pond. Flanking the steps, two small trees twisted into odd and interesting shapes, entirely barren except for a single flower at the top of the tree on the left. The stairs lead up to a rustic but charming table covered by a sloped bamboo roof and on the table sat three young Balinese women and a young man dressed in their ceremonial best. The lovely bucolic setting would have had made even Marie Antoinette jones for her own replica. The friendly Balinese perched on the table waved at us from across the pond and smiled shyly as I took their photographs. Armed with my new Balinese phrases, I walked around the side of the pond, over a small bridge and through the exquisitely crafted metal gates of the temple.

the lovely scene across the pond at Telaga Tista

“Om swastiastu. (Excuse me).” I started. “Yes?” they answered in English. “Dados gnamil photo? (Is it possible for me to take your picture?” I continued. The girls giggled and the boy smiled shyly as they said in perfect English, “Oh you know Balinese! Yes, you can take our picture” and, almost as one, they struck a lovely, composed pose - with solemn faces. The Balinese are very interesting when it comes to taking photos. In every other moment of their life, they always seem to be smiling, yet when the pose for a portrait, the smile disappears and is replaced with a serious look. Nyoman told me they do this because they view a picture of them smiling at the moment is inaccurate since, according to Nyoman, they are not always smiling. The quirky thing is that they ARE always smiling, but because of their philosophy on photos, it’s very rare to capture the true Balinese spirited smile unless it is a candid shot - or you learn to make them laugh just before taking their photo, a technique I’m beginning to master.

me with Agus

After taking several photos of these hospitable Balinese people and of several shrines within the temple grounds, I walked back to the pavilion across the pond to join Nyoman, Kadek, Adriana and Nyoman’s friend Agus who had joined us. Although I teased Nyoman about the inaccuracy of his “uneducated country folk” assessment, I was very glad to have learned some Balinese so I could show respect to the people from whom I was asking for photos. This began a discussion of the complexity of the Balinese language.

Bali still recognizes a caste system which is comprised of four levels: Brahmana, Ksatria, Wesia and Sudra. Each caste speaks a different form of Balinese so that when a person of the Brahmana caste is speaking to someone of the Sudra caste, as was the case between Agus (Brahmana) and Nyoman (Sudra), they were essentially speaking two different languages and sometimes had difficulty understanding each other. Obviously, the caste system has adapted over time such that members of the two extreme castes, such as Nyoman and Agus, could be friends. Even so, they both still observed their places within the caste, each speaking their own appropriate level of Balinese with Nyoman taking particular care not to make a mistake and risk offending his friend.

Hindu priest gathering water from sacred pond

 As we were having this interesting discussion, people had begun to congregate at the temple across the pond. Agus told us that the men dressed all in white were different kind of Hindu priests. One of them paused on the steps and collected water from the pond in a jug for the upcoming ceremony prompting Agus to explain that the pond was filled purely from rainwater and, therefore, was considered sacred so people were not permitted to fish or swim in it. Nyoman and Agus discussed between themselves that the ceremony was starting at 2:00. It was 1:50 - only 10 minutes to wait. I noticed a young boy walking hand in hand with his younger brother along the edge of the pond and I photographed them, engrossed in nature’s world. The older brother looked up and noticed me with my camera. He got his brother’s attention and, thoughtfully, told him to look at me … and they both smiled for their photo!

brothers posing for photo at Balinese countryside temple

 At 1:55, Nyoman gathered up our group and we started walking. I was surprised and disappointed when, instead of heading across the pond toward the temple compound where the ceremony was about to begin, Nyoman lead us to our motorbikes. Inexplicably, he and Kadek whisked Adriana and me away without a single prayer having been uttered at the temple. Apparently, we’d been taken here only to enjoy the exquisite scenery. I’ve learned that sometimes questions get lost in translation so rather than risk offending my host, I just went along for the ride.
We stopped for lunch at a little warung in the middle of shiny green terraced rice fields and then hopped back on the bikes for another hour while we headed further northeast to Pura Lempuyang (pura means temple), one of nine directional temples on the island of Bali. According to my guidebook, some temples on the island are so important they are deemed to belong to the whole island rather than to particular communities. These are called directional temples (kahyangan jagat). Pura Lempuyang sits on the top of a mountain 768 meters high (over 2500 feet) and during our visit there, fog would roll in and out, much like San Francisco, often obscuring our vision.

Pura Lempuyang

 We were required to park our motorbikes in a large parking lot and take a bus up the mountain. Even after being dropped off by the bus, we still had to hike up a very steep hill to get to the temple. We walked in the temple compound and our jaws dropped. To say that Pura Lempuyang is elaborate is a drastic understatement. As Pura Lempuyang defies description, I’m grateful I had my camera. We climbed approximately 75 steps to get to the temple itself, passing along the way countless stone carvings scattered along the steep hill, most holding the silk and bamboo umbrellas we’d seen throughout the day. Tall skinny flags waved in the breezes and created a festive atmosphere. As a testament to the fact that Galungan is celebrated over many days, temple laborers were still working on several shrines and other projects for a special celebration scheduled to take place the following day.

some of the many stone carvings at Pura Lempuyang

We trekked to the top and into the temple proper where a group of people were already gathered in prayer. We waited for them to finish praying and then our group was ushered in. The format was just like when Wayan and I went to the temple near Ubud a few days earlier - cleansing with water, flowers “dipped” in the swirling incense smoke three times, blessing with holy water and then rice put on the forehead and throat. “Bagus (good),” the priest told me as I correctly observed the ritual.
By the time we descended the 75 or so steps out of the temple, it was 6:00 and starting to get dark. Nyoman told us there was another temple 2 kilometers up the mountain if we would like to see it too, but suggested that, as it was dark and his family obligations had been satisfied, we ought to head home. We took his advice and hit the road for home … 2 hours to Ubud. There was no light for photography so I tucked my cameras away and called it a day.

Click here to see a video of the Galungan Festival.

Additional photos for this and other blog entries can be found on the “Photos of Her Adventure” page of this blog.