Last Days of the Semester: Galungan and Bedulu

It's a bit surreal to realize that as I'm writing this, my semester abroad is officially over. Last night, we had our final party with the host families, ISP advisers, and some of the students from Udayana University who came to Munduk Pakel with us back in March. Then this morning we signed off and said our goodbyes. Most of us are either sticking around in Bali for a few days or traveling throughout Southeast Asia, so I might run into some of the other students in the next week (and I did about an hour ago) but still, the semester is done. Odd.

For the last few days we've been back in Bedulu, finishing things up for the semester. Tuesday and Wednesday of this week were Galungan, which some Balinese people have described to me as their version of Christmas, but I'm not sure I see the connection. (I think it's mostly because they hang decorations that kind of look like Christmas trees, in a very vague sense.) Everyone's description of the "purpose" of Galungan varies, but from what I understand, it's mostly a time to honor ancestors and make lots of offerings. (Balinese Hinduism is, to massively oversimplify, sort of a combination of Indian Hinduism, traditional ancestor worship, and a little bit of animism.) For the first day, people stay home and make offerings in their own family temple -- each family compound has their own temple/shrine -- and on the second day, people visit their friends and extended family.

The alleyway by my house. If you blow the picture up, you should be able to see the things that are "like Christmas trees" -- they're the palm leaf arches over the road.

Oh, of course I'd forget this sort of thing: on Galungan and the holiday ten days after it, Kuningan, lots of pigs get sacrificed to make babi guling (roast suckling pig) and lawar (a dish made of vegetables, coconut, and pig blood).

 This is not a roasting pig. It is, in fact, a dog eating offerings (which isn't considered bad -- once the offerings are out they're fair game for animals to eat). As soon as I tried to take a picture of her eating them, she started barking at me angrily. See why I say the dogs here are mean?

(I should also point out that right now there are a bunch of kids playing gamelan outside the cafe I'm sitting in, and two of the kids are dressed in a very elaborate boar costume and dancing. I wish I had my camera!)

Now to jump forward in time: I have a day to kill in Ubud, and then tomorrow my family comes to Bali! For a little over a week I'll get to play tour guide, and then after that we head to Thailand (assuming the political situation is stable enough, touch wood). So I'll have more adventures to post about there, and then I'm home May 31st. Excitement!

Mystery solved

For a while now, I've been having mild stomach aches nearly every day. I didn't give it much thought, since I'm no stranger to random stomach pain; I had it a lot before I figured out I'm casein-intolerant and even after that, so I tend to just ignore it and/or pin it on the fact that I have a rather sensitive stomach. Especially since I'm living abroad, I figured I'd just eaten something that my stomach was unfamiliar with.

Turns out, I'm pretty sure, it's the water.

My homestay family compound has three kitchens, one for each nuclear family (my host parents, and each host brother and his wife and child), which is pretty standard around here. Usually I refill my water bottle from my host brother's kitchen, since it's closest to my room. He and his wife keep their water in one of the big water bottles, the sort you flip upside-down to attach to water coolers. It's always the same bottle and it just kind of magically refills (which is to say I've never seen them refill it), but I assumed, since it was water they give me, that it's not regular tap water.

An explanation, for a moment, as to why the distinction is even relevant: Balinese tap water isn't particularly potable. People who have grown up on the island all their lives drink it, but when we students showed up we were warned repeatedly not to drink plain tap water, only to drink bottled water or tap water that's been boiled. We were told it wasn't even a good idea to brush our teeth with tap water.

So this morning, the magic water container was empty. I went to find my ibu, who took my water bottle from me and said she'd refill it and bring it back to me. (This is pretty standard: my host family still considers me pretty much a guest around here, so they don't like letting me help around the house. It makes me a little uncomfortable, since I'm used to doing my own dishes and being self-reliant, but they do it all despite my protests, so I've more or less given in.) Instead, I followed her to the kitchen, thinking it was silly for her to have to bring the bottle back to me when I could just as easily carry it myself. I arrived in the kitchen just as she was finishing filling my water from the spigot.

At first I thought she was just rinsing it, but she put the cap back on and handed me the bottle. "That's tap water, though," I said, a little hesitantly. She nodded in the way that one does when someone's made an obvious statement. I shrugged, then carried the bottle back to my room.

So, presumably the magic water bottle is indeed also tap water, which would explain a lot: how it never gets swapped out for a different one, how it never takes long to refill it, how I'm always a little sick. I haven't quite figured out how to deal with the situation yet, but I'm going to do my best to switch back to bottled water, even though I hate how much plastic I go through as a result. Given all the warnings about tap water, I'm pretty certain at this point I should consider myself lucky for only having gotten really sick once (knock on wood) this semester, and I'd rather not court that happening again.

I don't mean for this post to be a rant about how I'm a delicate foreigner living abroad or anything like that. Generally speaking, these sorts of things aren't a problem, and they're vastly outweighed by the cool parts of living abroad. But it is an interesting example of how something so benign as tap water can be two completely different things to people who have grown up in different situations. To my host family, it's normal everyday hydration, whereas to me it's a potential hazard. It's also one of those times where I'm not really sure how to address the issue with my host family. I don't want to make a big deal or insult them, since they've been wonderful, I like them a lot, and I appreciate all that they've done for me. But at the same time, I really don't want to get another horrible stomach bug.

There are a thousand things I'm going to miss about Bali when I go home; I've no doubt of that. But I am definitely going to have a new-found appreciation for potable tap water.

So That's Why They Call It the Rainy Season

I had just finished lunch in Ubud and was en route to finding a new cafe with wifi, when it started to rain. I ducked into the market to buy an umbrella (usually I wouldn't mind getting wet but my computer was in my backpack), at which point it started pouring. Now, I'm not talking "slightly above a drizzle" pouring. Nope -- after about twenty minutes, the streets looked like rivers, current and little rapids included. A very nice group of Balinese people let me sit in their pottery stall for a couple of minutes, until I got bored and ventured out. I wish I'd had my camera with me. It really was amazing.

Anyway. The French tourist story.

A couple of weeks ago (I think; my comprehension of the passage of time is a little wonky at this point), my Ibu and Bapak informed me that two French tourists would be staying in the spare bedroom across from mine for two nights. (By across I mean in the building next to mine, the one with the bathroom I use. I think I've explained that Balinese houses tend to be a collection of small buildings rather than one big one. If I haven't, well, then, there you go.) Apparently this sort of thing happens with some frequency; as long as my host family has spare bedrooms, they figure they may as well use them.

That evening, I was sitting on my porch reading when an enormous tour bus pulled onto our street. We live on a fairly major street in Bedulu, but it's not the main road that goes through town and to see a tour bus there was bizarre. I had assumed it was just going to be two random tourists; instead, it turned out, it was a whole group.

So these two ladies came into the yard accompanied by one of the group guides and my Bapak. I tried very hard not to judge them by the enormousness of their suitcases (which really were bigger than mine, and I've been here for two and a half months. Ah well.) Bapak showed them the room, and hardly a moment passed when there was a shriek. Ibu and I looked in that direction, and caught something about a lizard. They had seen a tokek, the bigger of two varieties of gecko commonly found in Bali. Now, if you piss off a tokek (i.e. by chasing it or trying to catch it), it might bite you, which'll probably hurt. But short of that, they're totally harmless. I'm pretty sure one lives behind my closet. Still, they refused to go back into the room until the guide came out with a dead lizard in hand, which he did.

While this was going on, my ibu and kakak (older brother) and I were cracking up, teasing them in Indonesian. My ibu asked me if I was afraid of lizards, and I laughed, telling her that they're everywhere and there's no sense in being afraid. I didn't have the heart (or the language skills) to explain to the two Frenchwomen that another tokek would probably find its way into the room later.

Things were pretty uneventful until the next night, when Bapak came to get them to go to some dance performance their group had planned. As they were leaving, one of the women pointed at the painting that hangs outside my kakak's door. "I bought one just like that!" she said. "Only bigger."

So my bapak promptly started trying to sell it to her. He explained to them that he and Ibu own a painting shop, which is kind of true, in that my Ibu owns a tourist tchotchke store outside of Goa Gajah which sells some paintings, among other things. Then he named a fairly ridiculous price.
She declined, but said, "maybe we got it at the same place!"

At this point, my bapak feigned being upset. "No, no, no!" he exclaimed. "I painted it myself."

Up to this point, my ibu and I had been watching the exchange with interest, giggling occasionally, but at this point we completely lost it. My bapak is a very talented man, and he makes awesome woodcarvings (that being his job), but he definitely doesn't paint. Without thinking, I said to him, "bohong!" which means liar. For a moment, I panicked, not sure if it was really bad to tease one's elder. Fortunately, when I said it my ibu laughed even harder and repeated it to him.

The French women didn't buy the painting. Still, it was a pretty entertaining thing to watch.



In other news, to answer Ryan's question about whether auspicious days are spontaneous:

So, the Balinese have several calendars. There's the lunar calendar, which determines when things like Nyepi fall. Then there's a seven-day calendar, based on the Gregorian calendar and used for things like school calendars and general day-to-day business, since it matches internationally. It's also the basis for the 210-day Balinese year, since the calendar is made up of 30 seven-day wuku, or weeks. That determines when a temple's odalan, or temple birthday, falls. Then there's a five-day calendar and a three-day calendar, both based off of traditional market days (one Javanese and one Balinese, though I can never remember which is which). Then there's also a calendar that works something like 1-day week, 2-day week, 3-day week, etc etc, but that one is completely over my head so I won't even try to explain it.

The point is, when you look at a Balinese calendar, it's got all sorts of writing on it. Each day will have the Gregorian date, the Gregorian day of the week, and then what day of the five-day, three-day, bizarre cycle I don't understand, and lunar week it is. Also, all of the wukus have their own name, so that's on there, too.

As far as I can tell, in terms of religious offerings, the five-day and three-day week are most important (although the wuku is important for odalans). Each week has its "most auspicious day," and the intersection of those days, Kaja-Kliwon, is the most auspicious day of all. A lot of rituals go on on that day. Days that are just Kaja or just Kliwon are also reasonably auspicious, and I think some of the other intersections are too. Some of them are not auspicious at all, but I don't know which particular days those are.

So to make a long story short, yes, people absolutely know about these events in advance. They take a ton of planning, especially for something like the enormous odalan at Besakih. In the days before a festival, women are making various offerings out of palm leaves and flowers, and the men are doing the cooking necessary for sacrifices and offerings. Also, the temples are decorated, and I imagine the high priests are also doing a whole bunch of things to prepare (though I can't say with certainty what they are).

But this stuff also goes on on a daily basis, too, since every day people make offerings, usually in the mornings and the evenings, part of whatever they've cooked that day. It's actually kind of problematic: a generation or two ago, people made offerings less frequently, but as tourism and other forces have emphasized Balinese Hinduism, there has been pressure to make more offerings. In and of itself, that's not necessarily problematic, except for the fact that daily offerings require both a lot of money and a lot of time. As a result, some Balinese families put more effort into offerings than things like education.

Still, it is pretty cool to watch the whole community come together in preparation for the big festivals. Everyone gets really excited, and the temples really do look spectacular. Plus, it's a lot of fun to get to go to them.

Woosh!

That's the sound of time passing quickly. I didn't realize it'd been so long since I'd last posted!

The last few weeks have been pretty laid-back. We're prepping for our independent study period (ISP), so we've had a bunch of papers due and we have exams next week. After that, classes are over and we have a month to explore the topic of our choice. I'll be studying satua, traditional folktales, most of which are animal fables. I'm going to be going around Bedulu (some people are going elsewhere on the island, but I like Bedulu and I really like hanging out with my host family) getting as many people to tell me stories as possible. Then I'm going to try to figure out why the stories aren't told as commonly now as they were before (my hypothesis: electricity, TV, and public education). Then I'm going to attempt to deduce whether there's a correllation between people not telling the stories as much and changing cultural values.

Basically, it's all an excuse to get people to tell me stories.

Prep for ISP -- meeting with my advisor, writing up the proposal, etc. -- has been taking a lot of my free time, but last night I went with my host parents to two huge temple festivals. Now, I can only understand some of what my host family says to me (and I think because they know that they never give me fully comprehensive explanations of what's going on), so I had been under the impression that at six o'clock, we would ride a bus to Besakih, the biggest and most important temple in Bali, then go to the festival, eat dinner, and head home.

Technically, all those things happened. At 6, we piled into the car and drove toward Mas, where my bapak works. We met up with his boss and some people he works with, then sat around on the bale (sort of a porch/gazebo-ish structure) for a while waiting for more people to show up. Then we piled onto a big bus (the kind they use for tours), at which point my ibu informed me it would be a two-hour ride. Roughly an hour and a half later, we arrived at Pura Ulun Batur, the second biggest/most important temple in Bali. I figured maybe I had misheard my host parents. We prayed for ten minutes (the big festivals are a pretty quick in-and-out affair, because there are so many people who want to make offerings and pray), then walked back to the bus.

"Next we'll go to Besakih," my ibu said. That would take another hour to get to, and by this point it was around nine pm. I snacked on some of the fruit my ibu had bought, and napped. When we got there, I was floored. Besakih is huge -- my ibu said that there are 1000 temples within the complex, but I think that might be a little bit of an exaggeration, but only a little bit -- and the whole thing was fully adorned with brightly colored fabric, gold, offerings, flowers, and fruit.

We first walked up the stairs (the temple is on a hillside) to a relatively smaller temple to pray. My bapak said that there are different temples for different castes; because the family follows the patriarch's caste, we were in the ksatriya temple. (Quick review: there are three high castes. First is brahmana, the priestly caste. Second highest is ksatriya, the warrior/ruling class. Third, I believe, is wesya, the merchant class. After those castes come the sudra, the commoners. Caste in Bali isn't nearly as important as it is in India, but it does determine things like where in a village someone lives and where one goes to pray.) After that, we went to the main courtyard, which was enormous. The ground was covered in offerings that others had made and left. We knelt, waited for the high priest to begin instruction (which basically involves when to pray, who to pray to, and when to stop), then followed his instructions. After that, we were finished, and walked down the stairs of the temple.

At this point, it was roughly 11:30pm. My bapak went to buy us fish sate, and we sat on a wall alongside the road and ate it with rice and fruit that my ibu had bought. When we finished, it was time to head home, and we piled onto the bus again. We got home around 1:15am, and I headed to bed.

The temple festival at Besakih lasts for 15 days, in order to accomodate all of the people who want to come. Later in the week, my brothers and their wives will go. I'm not sure if they'll go to Ulun Batur, too, but it wouldn't surprise me if that festival also lasts for a long time. To an outsider, it appears that these festivals just kind of pop up without reason, but usually it's because it's an especially auspicious day. I'm pretty sure these festivals were odalan, which is sort of like a temple birthday and happens twice a year (because the relevant Balinese calendar has 210 days).

The homestay begins!

Our group has shifted to Bedulu, a small town not far from the oh-so-touristy city of Ubud (where I am right now). Ubud is kind of a bizarre place after being in Kerambitan, because it's full of bule (slang for white people) and people trying to get us to take taxis. We avoid them and hop on the bemos (sort of a bus) instead. I haven't had my camera with me much since we've gotten here, but here are some pictures of Tanah Lot, a temple we went to when we were still in Kerambitan:

The temple just before sunset.

Tanah Lot is on a rocky outcropping right on the coast, so the waves end up surrounding it. Also, the sunset is amazing.

My homestay family here in Bedulu is awesome. Balinese households live in compounds rather than one main building, so there are always lots of people around. I live with my bapak and ibu (my homestay dad and mom), their oldest son and his wife and son, and their third son and his wife and 7-month-old baby. The third son is only a couple of years older than me. There is also either my bapak's or ibu's mother, who is a totally badass woman who carries 20-30 pounds on her head home from the market like it's nothing. I'm pretty sure she only speaks Balinese, because the only words I understand when she talks to me are things like "bapak."

I spend most evenings just hanging out with my homestay parents. Balinese don't eat together, so there's not a lot of hangout time surrounding meals (although the first night I was there, my bapak sat and watched me eat because he didn't want me to be sitting by myself). Before and after, though, people are pretty much always together. Two nights ago my ibu taught me how to put together dried leaves to make part of the offerings they use, and last night I watched Javanese soap operas with her and told her about the snow at home. My bapak tried to get me to smoke with him, and we talked about Rambo and Arnold Schwarzenegger movies and other movies he loves. He has about 6 roosters for cockfighting (which is illegal in Indonesia except for Balinese religious ceremonies, which means I'll get to see it at some point) that wake me up every morning at dawn (and sometimes earlier). There is also a dog that has learned that I'll pet it if it sits near me.

We have this weekend free, so the six of us are heading to Uluwatu, on the very southern tip of the island. We'll check out the temple in the area, and of course the beach. Next week I'll be back with more pictures, and no doubt some tales about mask-making and batik. (And probably some scrapes and burns -- I'm rapidly getting a reputation as the clumsiest member of the group, after stepping in a tidal pool at Tanah Lot and then stepping on a dead sea urchin a couple of days later, among many other clumsy instances.)

(Oh, and Professor Just -- I realized a couple of days ago that one of our language teachers, De Yudi, worked with the Williams winter study program. I've been hearing lots of funny stories since then!)

Righto -- sambai nanti, everyone!