the sky went gray, and it started to rain.
I got up quietly and stood by the back wall and put on my rain coat. on the other side of the wall you could see the pure spring water bubble through the fine black and gray sand of the pool. I watched the ceremony proceed despite the rain. the women propped baskets over their heads. the priest's chants blended into the softly falling rain.
At the end, Kadek approached me and asked whether I wanted to come to his village. "of course" i replied. Conveniently i had been walking around Bali aimlessly with everything i had in my broken backpack (map, toothpaste, toothbrush, bar of soap, rain coat, camera, t-shirt, sketchbook, a ball point pen, and a bed sheet).
after the long van ride to his village, he introduced me to his friend. I would be staying at her house that night. Since i was used to addressing adults with 'anda' or you (formal), i referred to her as anda in the initial conversation may times. Kadek pulled me over to his side when she went into the kitchen. with a very cross face he said, "in bali, we do not address elders with 'anda'. it is not proper. since you are new to this place i feel i should inform you. you must call her bu and her husband pa." In indonesian 'bu' means mother and 'pa' means father. I didn't realize i was supposed to address these strangers as mother and father. i apologized to Kadek and never made the mistake again.
The balinese house is quite different from the american house. the balinese family lives communally. two or three generations live together, next to each other within a walled area. the entrances to the houses never line up with the entrance of the walls: thus evil spirits can never have a direct path into the house from the street. there are ornate thatched topped shrines in the front area dedicated to the gods and familial ancestors. by the house is also an area where the instruments are kept. the animals: pigs and chickens are kept in the back. I talked a lot to the father of the house, a school teacher in the district. he said his 5 year old son wants to become a tour guide for american visitors...
when i awoke, the houses were empty except for the grandfather and the mother. the grandfather spoke balinese, which i would found very hard to pick up. i asked the mother whether i could hear some gamelan music. she told the old man to show me the music room. he brought me over to the dusty room, and sat behind a large xylophone and started playing. his hands crossed the air slowly above the xylophone: with his right hand he struck the metal keys with a wooden mallet, with his left thumb he muffled particular resonances.
there was no sheet music. in fact, people have no need to read or write music there. they hear it, remember it, and play it. balinese dance is taught much the same way. in bali, dancers learn by watching and doing. the dance teacher corrects the student's errant gestures. postures and movements by standing behind the dancer and guiding and sculpting the different parts of the body to correct positionings and rhythms. to contrast, in the west, ballet is taught with mirrors surrounding the dancer.
the old man groaned as his mallet struck the notes. i was especially surprised that his left hand appeared slow and sloppy while the sound remained pristine. his hands had probably played these songs for decades. dissatisfied, he got up, looked around, and then got an even bigger soft mallet out. it was big enough to play 2 notes at a time on the xylophone. he continued his song contently and then looked at me when it ended... i asked if i could try, but i couldn't remember his notes exactly, and gave up. i said the only phrase i knew in balinese "sing biseh ito." (i can't in balinese) he laughed.
balinese temple etching
balinese temple sketches
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