Things I See on My Walk Home from Mas

People. Many of whom want to know my name, where I’m going (home to Bedulu), where I’m coming from (learning mask-making), and why I’m walking so far when I could just flag down a motorcycle. Others want me to get out of their way on the street, and still more just want to know how I’ll respond when they say “hello.” Others — and this is one of the smallest categories — ignore me. A few, like the guy who shook my hand and then firmly gripped my wrist, want to sell me things or give me a ride. Those people, though, are few and far between, and I generally feel remarkably safe walking alone. Most people just want to know why I, a bule (slang for white person or tourist), am walking by, such a long way from home.

Rice, although not as much as I would expect, given that agriculture is Bali’s second-largest source of income. Along my five- or six-kilometer walk, the fields are concentrated in three or four spots. Mas is in the greater Ubud area, a huge tourist destination, so most people make a living carving masks and other things. For some reason, ducks are an especially popular subject.

Temples, at least four of them. Temples are hugely important here — just three nights ago I went to a temple festival that will last for ten nights to accommodate all the people who want to attend. I should point out that the four in my tally doesn’t include each family’s personal shrine, which would bring the count up to several hundred.

Offerings. Usually small, just a canang sari (a small square palm leaf basket filled with flowers) and a stick of incense, but frequently placed, in front of almost every house or shop. Today, though, as far as I can tell, is a holy day, and the offerings stand in small spires, honoring one god or another.

Chickens. Even when they aren’t growing rice, Balinese people pretty much always have a few chickens on hand. The chickens have free range of the yard, street, and generally the neighborhood. I still am unsure of how everyone identifies their own. They’re everywhere, and sometimes this doesn’t work out so well for them: yesterday, I passed a hen in the street, lying on her back and feebly flapping her wings after being hit by a car or motorcycle. Surprisingly, though, these chickens apparently aren’t all as dumb as they look. For the most part, very little harm comes to them.

Trash. Up until fairly recently, all Balinese trash was organic, so people just chucked it in a pile and waited for it to turn into compost. The Indonesian infrastructure doesn’t seem to have kept up with the introduction of plastics, so the trash just keeps stacking up. There’s not such thing as a dump, as far as I can tell — just piles by the road. Despite the heat, they don’t smell, probably due to the masses of chickens picking them over for food. Occasionally I also see smoke, from people burning what of their trash that they can. (Sometimes this includes what wouldn’t normally be considered “burnable” and the smell of melting plastic fills the air.)

An addendum to people: naked people. For the last stretch of the back road, before I hit the main road that runs from Ubud to Gianyar, people bathe in the canal that runs alongside it. This leads to the awkward situation of me wanting to return the greetings of the kids who shout “hello” to me, but not wanting to offend anyway by invading their privacy. Mostly, I just keep my eyes down and try to wave at the right (read: clothed) people.

Dogs. Mangy-looking ones. It’s hard to tell between the strays and the pets, because there’s a different concept of pet care here. I’m not usually afraid of dogs, but I am in Bali, because rabies is endemic and I just generally don’t trust things that growl menacingly at me. Usually, they ignore me if I ignore them, but yesterday I must have looked at one mother dog wrong, because she started chasing after me. It wasn’t until I turned around and yelled “stop!” that she did, leaving me to walk on with shaking legs and a pounding heart.

Ogoh-ogoh. This year, Nyepi (sort of the Balinese New Year) will occur in mid-March. For one day, all of Bali will fall silent to trick the demons into believing the island is uninhabited. The day before Nyepi, people make as much noise as they can, and parade around giant puppets of mythical figures, demons, and deities fighting. These puppets are ogoh-ogoh. They're huge, usually significantly larger than life-size. The neighborhood boys make them, starting a month or two before Nyepi. They weave the figure out of palm leaf, then cover it with newspaper strips and styrofoam and paint it. In the afternoon until late at night, a horde of boys gathers to work on it. Yesterday, one bunch asked for a donation, so I swapped 1000 rupiah (roughly ten cents) for a chance to paint a few stripes of white across the ogoh-ogoh’s chest.

Explosions. Some of the kids building ogoh-ogoh also build makeshift canons — basically large PVC tubes with gasoline poured into them. They shoot them off randomly, starting mid-afternoon. Yesterday, one of the older kids was nice enough to order the younger ones to hold fire while I walked by. Still, once I had passed, I steeled myself for the imminent bang. I guess even in Bali, given half the chance, kids still just like to blow shit up.

So yeah -- just a few notes about everyday life here in Bali and the things I see on a regular basis. I'm still terrified of the dogs, but hopefully I'll manage to avoid getting hit by an ogoh-ogoh-cannon.