Nyepi... the Balianese Day of Silence

I felt pains of social irresponsibility. The rising sun shimmied across the water, giving a golden depth. 6 am. Four of us sitting in a front-facing line. The boat narrow and lean. Cobra. Our Captain, Made, seemingly skipped over the safety instructions. Perhaps attributed to the lack of emergency plan. No place to stow life vest in the wooden planks. A motor propped up against one side. Runners at either side. The kind of boat that has been used for generations… with the addition of a motor. Lovina is famous for it’s dolphins. A tourist draw. Both domestic and foreign… tourist not dolphins. Nearly 20 boats swarmed upon a patch of sea. Outwardly nothing special, but beneath a morning playground for the notorious residence. They surface in two’s. The boats leaping to get their customers’ the best photo opts. Zipping across the water, literally on top of our aquatic friends. The dolphins disappear. Like a game of cat and mouse. Taunting and playing. The motors roar louder and faster as the dolphins jump higher.

We have come to the north coast of Bali, to Lovina, for the dolphins, for snorkeling, for the near by hot springs.

Three pools of various sizes and depths set in lush. green. tropical. Water flowing into the pools through stone carved faced-fountains. A river flowing a couple hundred feet below. The hot springs. Sounding lovely, relaxing, and wholesome in the Lonely Planet. Perhaps on another day. Another morning. But not this afternoon. We knew better. A public holiday for the Balinese. Nevertheless, we chanced it. As did several hundred Balinese. We stood out. The only white people. The only people in swim suits. The locals jumped and crowded in the shallows fully dressed. Shorts and t-shirts. My bikini and white skin stark. The water brown and cloudy. The temperature of urine. Sonia, a doctor, assured us that urine was at least sterile and likely better than what was really lurking in the murkiness. Girls giggled and chatted with us. Asking if we liked this and if we like that. Trying not to open our mouths too wide for fear of the slashing teens. We navigated to the less crowded deeper parts as few people seemingly knew how to swim.

While indeed the dolphins and hot springs were pivotal to the weekend, the main event was the Nyepi celebration. Nyepi is the Balianese Day of Silence / Lunar New Year. As Bali is laced with a strong presence of spirituality, the day (and activities leading up to it) pays respect to the Gods and harmonize with nature. Why not in line with our western new year’s celebration? Nyepi falls of on the day following the dark moon of the spring equinox.

Villages and neighborhoods labor night and day to produce elaborate ‘Ogoh-Ogoh’. These are gianormous representations of the evil spirits that live amongst us. Vivid colors, bulging eyes, wild hair, fangs, fierce claws, and corpulent figures. I think I much prefer to think that not-so vicious creatures roam about the spiritual realm!















Through out the day prior to Nyepi, the people take offerings to their local temples… fruit, nuts, rice. Strategically and beautifully arranged ridiculously high. On the eve of Nyepi, the Ogoh-Ogoh’s are parade through the community after prayer in the temple. Carried by groups of young boys dressed in sarongs and t-shirts, the effigies are twirled, shaken, and danced about in the streets. People congregate at the main intersection of the village for an ‘exorcism’ as this is the meeting place for the bad energy / evil spirits… of course I am sure you all knew that!

The noise literally deafening. Fireworks. Homemade cannon like fire blowers. Drums of pots and bottles. Cheers and screams. To the beach (at least in the coastal villages of Lovina). The Ogoh-Ogoh’s are doused in gasoline and blazed. The evil spirits vanquished.

Nyepi it’s self is celebrated in sharp contrasted. A day of silence, fasting, and meditation.

No lights.
No noise.
No traveling.
No cooking.
No entertainment.
No working.
No tourist exceptions (except for activities within a hotel complex… so I guess a bit of rule bending)

The airport even closes.

To leave the house in cases of emergency the special ‘cultural police’ must first be consulted.

Hence we lounge about the pool of the hotel studying our Bahasa Indonesia. The only occupants… except for the mosquitoes.

The next day, a fresh start.

Hanging Ten

I am keeping the phone line open. Expecting a call to be in the sequel to the movie ‘Blue Crush’. Haven’t seen it? A surfer chick movie that is admittedly much better than anticipated… not quite Oscar worthy but close.

Exchanged the nearly un-crossable streets of Denpasar for the sands of Kuta. Kuta is Bali. At least in tourist terms. It’s the beach. It’s the surfing. It’s the shopping. It’s the Australians. Like the Bahamas is to Americans, Kuta is to Aussies.

About 15 minutes away but a world different. The atmosphere less traditional. The locals heavily ‘Australian-ized’ … from boardshorts to expressions to food. Even most things stocked on the shelves of the Circle K convenience stores are imported to cater to the southern neighbors. This is where the 2002 Bali bombings occurred. The site of a hopping club, now a memorial.

My travel companions, the typical bunch.

Rachel and Andy, early 30’s married couple from England, spending the next year on West Timor working as hospital management advisors. Amiable and excited to explore.

Sonia, also 30-something English, an ob-gyn. West Timor bound. Although just for a brief 6 month stint as this is a re-placement location after being evacuated from Kenya earlier in the year. Candid and adventurous.

We all seemingly share the notion of making the most out of this Indonesian experience.

While Rachel and Andy sought out a lush hotel with pool, Sonia and I took off for an ally. True, we live just minutes away, but the transport costs add up quickly. So a cheapy dive it was. The price drops quickly without modern amenities. No need for a pool with the sea at the door. No need for topsheet and blanket. No need for hot water… only when we went to shower, we realize no hot water translated into no any water.

While Rachel and Andy frolicked in their crystal blue pool, Sonia and I took to find a surf school. Tumbling into the waves, the surf board tugged on the ankle strap. The sun hot and water warm. Salt on my skin. Salt in my mouth and nose. I seemingly gulp in the entire sea. Learning to surf was top of my ‘to do in indonesia’ list before even arriving. Check…….. still working on perfecting the standing part.

Lost in Translation

Our words are in Bahasa Indonesia yet the response time after time is a look of horror followed with a murmured “I don’t speak English”. Though the pronunciation and word choice may seemingly be corrected it is indistinguishably similar to my ears. Yet, the Balinese people are warm and helpful. They shout greetings of “hello, how are you” and “good morning”… the later even in the dark of night. I have even had people start counting in English when I pass by their curbside perch.

After dinner a couple of nights ago, several of us went to track down a local bar for a study-break drink. Away from the copious tourist hotspots of Kuta, Legion, Ubud, Sanur, and Nusa Dua, the watering hole options are sparse. The supermarket seems to be the chief purveyor of beer. Nevertheless, we were triumphant!

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Bir Bintang
Karaoke
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Admittedly not so interested in Karaoke but beggars can’t be choosers… right. The dim of the street and glowing sign above light the façade. The shadowy exterior gives way to a deep night darkness. No illumination. One by one, we stumble down the three steps. Searching for a sign of life. A female voice and another. They grab our hands and lead us to a lounge table. The music deafening. Seriously deafening. Scantily clad girls, a contrast to the conservative traditional, come over to shake our hands and sit around our table. We laugh and exchange looks. This place definitely offers more than beer and karaoke! One of the girls gives our sole male companion, Andy, a menu and holds a flashlight so he can read. Rp. 30,000 ($3.50) for a bottle of beer. Nearly twice what one may expect to pay elsewhere. It’s a treat.

On the back of the menu are ‘packages’. Four beers and 2 private ‘waitress’ for 500,000. The eyes adjust. Just the four of us. One older man. And perhaps 10 girls, who may or may not be in the sex trade industry.

We can’t talk because of the loudness. We can’t see because of the darkness. So we sing. Beatles. Oasis. Frank Sinatra. Whatever English cheese pops up onto the wall projection.

All this fun and home before 10:00.