Note the swastika (ancient Hindu symbol)
First ate a fine breakfast, of a large fresh fruit salad, a fried egg jaffle, + a big pot of coffee, all included in the original purchase price. Or free, whichever you prefer. Then, chatting with Made, the actual owner of the losmen (called Frog Pond Inn, incidentally) + he suggested a walk we might like to take, + having no better plan ourselves, we decided to do so. First we had to walk up the hill leading out of town, but it was only when we had done so that we took proper note of the fact that there were only 4 shots left on the film in our camera. We had meant to buy a new roll, but none of the shops seemed to have the new VR Kodak film, so we had procrastinated. And now here we were beyond the shops, having put a thing off + off until it is too late – the same situation that we’ve found ourselves in so many times before. I marched briskly back to the next photo shop, bought a film (an old-style Kodacolor II) + caught the bemo back, a Rp 50 ride.
Then we could begin the walk proper, + a terrific walk it was too, heading across to the village of Pejang on a path that wound thro’ the paddy-fields. It was very beautiful + very peaceful, with just the occasional cluster of buildings, often grouped around a temple. According to our map, there was supposed to be a shrine of some sort, but we spent ages wandering back + forth across the fields, with a local guy at each end of the trail we were forging, each insisting that the shrine wasn’t far, but neither giving more directions than a somewhat vague wave of the hand. Eventually, we were taken to the place by a young boy – it was hardly surprising that we’d had such difficulties, since the thing could barely be seen, just a fain outline of an arch high up on the far side of a steep riverbank, so it wasn’t even possible to get close to it to make it out clearer. Ah well, it was still fun… in retrospect, anyway.
Another short walk thro’ the hills, with the patchwork quilt of rice terraces spread out beneath us. Another temple in another village, interesting because it is there at all, with intricate carving yet without the spectacular architectural beauty of other temples we have seen… by which I suppose I mean Mexican + Guatemalan ones. Tho’ those ones were relics, while these are alive, in a way. At least they seem to exist in a sort of curious limbo between life + death, but perhaps that is because of my protestant attitude to worship + religion, atheist tho’ I be. In fact, to the Hindus of Bali, their religion + places of worship may well be vibrant + energetic, but to me they seem musty + dying. But then, I have the same feeling in an English country church.
The next temple was called Permatah Sasih, yet seemed to me a dull + boring place, despite the 2000 year old bronze drum that they boasted of so proudly. It was set high up in a temple building, so couldn’t really be seen, but it looked no more impressive than an oil drum to me. They also requested a “donation” here, which pleased me not at all. If you haven’t seen an Indonesian, or specifically Balinese, temple, I should perhaps describe one. It resembles a Christian church only in function, since it is entirely open, with a wall around it, being closer in that sense to a castle. The entranceway always has steps up to it, + the gateway + walls are incredibly ornate, with carved (or on the modern ones moulded concrete) facings, often with animal motifs. Within the walls there are a number of stone pavilions, each containing some altar – the larger the temple, the more of these small buildings. Often the temple is built on the side of a hill, so that one must climb further. The properly accepted dress within the temple is bare feet, a sarong, + a sash, but the degree of observance of these rules required by visitors varies considerably… high + low church, presumably.
Elephant temple
The next temple we visited was a little different. This was Goa Gajah, the elephant cave, + was primarily a T-shaped cave, entry at the bottom of the T. To the left was Ganesh (aha!) the elephant-headed god, at the other the triple shrine, indicating procreation, preservation + destruction. There were other shrines around, but nothing notable, + clearly the whole area had been considerably prettied up, cosmetically. Judging by that, + by the no. of women selling fruit + cold drinks by the “craft” shops opposite the entranceway, this was a popular destination for tour buses from Kuta + Sanur. Fortunately, we had the place almost to ourselves. I was required to cover my shorts with a sarong, provided by the people manning the gate, but that didn’t bother me.
Our route then took us along the main road, and back to our losmen via the small monkey forest. It began to rain as we walked along, but the sky didn’t look too threatening, so we plodded along, ignoring the calls from the bemo drivers. To our folly tho’, since it was soon chucking it down, forcing us to shelter. What was more, it looked as tho’ it may have settled in, so eventually I was able to persuade Val that we should take a bemo – she really is dreadful when it comes to spending money. Even so, we had to walk home in pouring rain from the centre of town, so arrived back at the losmen very cold + wet indeed, so it was a brisk rub-down, some dry clothes, and a cup of tea.
Later, fortunately, the rain stopped, so we decided to salvage the rest of the afternoon + headed off to see a couple of museums in town. The first one is the Museum of Art. Ubud is renowned as an artist’s centre, + there had certainly been a good deal of care put in to the layout. The museum was small, just 2 single-storey buildings, buyt they were set in a beautifully located + laid-out park. The work it contained too was of a high standard, the wood carvings in particular impressing me, but the paintings too both imaginative + well-executed – such a step up form the Woolworth’s art predominating at Kuta.
We then charged down the hill form there to visit another art museum. This was a private one, in the home + exhibiting the work of a Spanish artist, Antonio Blanco. The yellow guide describes the house as superbly ostentatious, + so it is, set up on a hill overlooking the river. To enter, one first passes into the gatehouse thro’ a circular door (into the womb?) + then ring an electric bell, which summons an ancient retainer, an old Chinaman. He receives one’s payment, Rp200 per person, + then leads one thro’ an oak door + up as flight of steps thro’ a small garden. As one goes on ahead to the gallery itself, he strikes a single note on a large gong to summon other attendants, who show one into the gallery itself. Our host happened to be Sr Blanco’s wife, a native Balinese lady, his former housekeeper, + the model for many of his paintings. I enjoyed looking at the paintings we saw, tho’ I didn’t pay them enough attention. They were generally naturalistic depictions, still lifes, nudes, portraits, but there were some overtly humorous ones, punning poems, written onto canvas, tho’ generally with some sort of tongue-in-cheek illustration as an integral part. As poems, I don’t think they would stand up divorced from their illustrations, but integrated they were witty + clever. One that particularly caught my attention, tho’ I recall few of the details of the literary side, concerned Winston Churchill in particular, + the British in general, and contained a photo of the man, giving one of his famous V-signs. And fixed to the top of the frame was Sr Blanco’s own v-sign, one digit being a plastic lady’s finger, the other a cigar. At Sra Blanco’s invitation, I wrote a comment on it in the visitor’s book. I was told that Sr Blanco was taking his bath at the moment, but I was invited back tomorrow to chat with him, if I should care to. I thanked her for the invitation (was indeed pleased to have received it), + we left.
Ate a pleasant meal that evening at one of Ubud’s many pleasant restaurants, + then went to see a performance of the Ramayana, one of the classic Balinese dances. It lasted a little over an hour, which was quite enough for me, tho’ I was pleased to have seen it. In general, except for one or two moments of high athleticism + genuine excitement, I found the movement too formal + stylised for my taste. Some of the important roles were played by women, + I’m afraid custom prevents them from doing much more than, I’m afraid, mincing + mewling. However, the costumes were excellent, especially in their use of masks. And the orchestra was very interesting. Known as gamelan, it is, with the exception of one plaintive flute, entirely percussive, with sorts of xylophones, gongs, drums, rattles, combining in the most precise fashion to give a curious atonal sound, + commenting on the action, as well as heightening it. I was unable to tell whether the performance we saw was of the highest standard or not, but it was certainly very competent.
A splendid day, with a breat deal both attempted and achieved’ so often we set out with limited expectations as to what is possible, and then that too is left unfulfilled. But we enjoyed our walk, we saw lots of temples, we weren’t too seriously hassled, and there were all sorts of cultural experiences.
