Bali: the island of paradoxes. A culture going back thousands of years overrun by modern day hippies seeking to awaken their spiritual potential and tourists on vacay. Ten percent of the population is expatriates who’ve designated the artistic town of Ubud as their hub. The narrow one-way streets are crowded with honking motorbikes and air-conditioned vehicles busing visitors from one site to the next. Lining the roads are overpriced craft shops, convenient stores and your easily spotted all-vegan, all-organic expat safe havens.
My first night in Ubud I walked to one of the most famous night spots in town, “The Laughing Buddha Bar.” I
heard they had live music and was looking forward to jamming with some
locals. As I neared the brightly lit hut I heard what sounded like Salsa music. Inside there were tables lined with Europeans, Australians and Americans drinking mojitos and bopping their heads to a cover band playing “Oye Como Va!”
I turned around and walked out.
As I was strolling in the humidity down a coconut palm-lined path I heard the faint sound of Gamelan (a traditional Balinese music ensemble). I followed my ears through a park to a large outdoor stage where a chorus of about three dozen young boys in white uniforms were practicing. I hovered in the dark under a large banyan tree and got my own private performance.
Since then, I’ve continued on my hunt for the true spirit of the Balinese. I’ve tip-toed down allies, peeked behind buildings and motorbiked through jungles and just like “they” say about love, you find it when you’re least expecting it.
One afternoon I visited the jungle temple, “Tirta Empul” famous for its spiritual
waters. In the middle of the grounds lies three sacred pools. They
consist of dirty brown water filled with coi fish. Lining
one side of the pools is a large concrete wall covered in moss with
engraved tribal heads spouting the holy water. The Balinese fully dressed with sarongs line up tightly in the pools sometimes waiting hours to pray before the tribal heads and dunk
their heads underneath the water.
Tourists walk through the sacred area
snapping photos at the locals as they engage in their ritual. The juxtaposition of the Indonesians’ spirituality
and the foreigners’ amusement displays a clear divide. As I sat on the
steps of the entrance observing the spectacle I decided to cross the
line from one world into the other. I followed some Indonesians
behind the temple and into a locker area. I noticed those entering the
lockers were walking over to a desk and purchasing a key and a sarong. I walked over to the desk and the cashier looked at me confused. I handed him the asked 3,000 Rupiah. He laughed, shrugged and gave me a key and a sarong.
I changed and walked back over to the pool area. I then walked off the
ledge with all the tourists, down the steps and jumped right behind the
last Indonesian in line inside the pool. I heard gasps and
everyone in the pool turned around to stare at me. I smiled, waved and
said “Hello!” “Hello!” many of them responded and began to laugh. During
the wait I made friends with several locals who spoke broken English.
They walked me through the process of lighting incense beside the
spouting heads and reciting mantras before ducking down. I kept my mantra simple, “Thank you for this experience.”
