DAY TWO, part 2: Bali, continued again

We met up with Mutia, and found out that her friend had been delayed at work and still hadn't met up with her. In the meantime, though, Mutia had sat down with a local tour guide and discussed things to show us. She explained that since she's Indonesian, she felt like showing us around, and was afraid that if she didn't show us all the things she loves about the place that we'd somehow hold it against her and not like her or her country. So she'd gone ahead and gotten a list of possibilities for us to choose from, including a local temple, some Balinese dancing, and even our tour of Borobudur and Prambanan, in Jogjakarta, which isn't even on Bali. We signed on for most of the ideas. The first one was a tour of a local market and a visit to a performance of the Kecak dance, traditional in Bali. We agreed to meet back up in the lobby in a couple of hours.

In that downtime, I strolled around the beach and lay out to try and get rid of some of my pastiness. Rachel, Zoe, and I met in the lobby at the agreed-upon time, but Mutia came late. Her friend had finally arrived, and they'd gotten carried away catching up on everything. She came along with us, and the five of us headed out with Ketut, our guide.

Because Rachel's mom is awesome and let us get such a rockin hotel for free, we wanted to buy her something nice as a souvenir. So we asked Ketut to take us to a few jewelry stores and other nicer places, so we could look for something. We all deferred to Rachel, figuring she'd do a much better job of guessing her mother's tastes than we could. She's pretty indecisive, though, so we didn't get anything. We did spend a while in some cool souvenir shops, though.

I finished looking around pretty quickly at one of the shops, and so excused myself to a seat outside. Ketut came out and joined me. We started talking about his language, and I found out that he, like most of the people in Bali, speaks both Balinese and Indonesian. Somehow honorifics came up, and he explained that there are different levels of address, which are analogous to tu/usted, tu/vous, and 敬語. Which level of politeness you use depends on both your level and the level of who you're addressing.

He explained that your level depends on which caste you're from. I've learned a tiny bit about Hindu/Vedic castes, but had never learned that they made it to Indonesia. From what he told me, each village in Bali still has a chief, and that chief keeps track of who in his village belongs to which caste. Based on what Ketut told me and some extra reading, I learned there are four castes in Bali: the Brahmans (priests), the Satrias (warriors, including kings), Wesias (merchants), and Sudras (peasants). He went on to say that although traditionally you would follow in your father's profession--thus reinforcing the caste--recently that tradition's been broken. Nevertheless, the castes still remain, and are maintained by each village's chief. As an example, he mentioned our driver. Despite the fact that they both do the same job, the driver belonged to a higher caste, and so Ketut would address him differently than he would an equal.

Of course, I may have misunderstood all of this--I didn't bring my notebook, and by the time I wrote it down, it was in the middle of recalling everything else that had happened today.

We eventually gave up on shopping for Rachel's mom, and moved on to one of the local markets. Our van stuck out like a sore thumb, basically broadcasting that we were tourists--as if our skin color and Zoe's platinum blonde hair weren't enough. Whenever we'd park, we'd be met on our way out of the car by beggars, many of them women holding young children.

The shops we visited were arranged in stalls, each one piled high with merchandise, and headed by a merchant who was often a woman, and almost always a politely aggressive salesperson. I decided from the start that I neither wanted nor needed any of the clothing they were selling (and I don't pretend to know the tastes of the women I know back home), so I didn't fall for their bargaining. The girls, however, didn't do as well. It wasn't entirely their fault, though: one stall we came to had a woman accompanied by her daughter and two of her friends, and the three of them couldn't have been more than twelve years old. They hadn't been spending the day at work with their mom for nothing, and somehow their youth made them even more irresistible.

None of the merchants we met during the whole trip were obnoxious or sleazy: they knew exactly when to push, but also when to accept a refusal and give up. (Except one guy, but that comes later.) While they had your attention, though, they knew precisely how to keep it. These girls were a prime example: they sincerely and innocently asked for Mutia, Zoe, and Rachel's names, how old they were, and where they were from. This didn't come across the same as a used-car salesman asking your name and favorite color. ...Well, I guess it might have been the same in principle, but the girls did an amazing job of feigning genuine interest. Mutia and Rachel bought a few sarongs (while still haggling), and Zoe, try as she might, eventually succumbed too. We made sure to get pictures of the mother and the girls.

A few bucks poorer, we piled back into the van and headed to the dance venue. Mutia and Ketut explained that Bali has about five hundred different traditional dances, all of which are still practiced today. Each one relates to a story, and draws on myths from their various belief systems: tribal, Hindu, Buddhist, and Muslim. Most of them mix two or more, reflecting just how rich their heritage is. The one we were going to see is called the Kecak ("KEH-chahk").

According to the program, the show we saw combines three traditionally separate elements. The first element was the Kecak itself, where a chorus of 40-50 people are seated around a fire and rhythmically chant "cak!" (pronounced "chahk"). (There's a pretty good video of it on YouTube.) Dancers then emerge and perform part of the Ramayana legend. The dancers say nothing, communicating through choreography alone. The part of the story we saw told of Prince Rama, exiled from his kingdom. Accompanied by his wife, Sita, and his younger brother, Laksamana, they are traveling through the forest. The demon king Rahwana kidnaps Sita, and Rama sets out to rescue her. Along the way, he enlists the help of the monkey king Sugriwa, battles Rahwana's general, Megananda, and eventually prevails. The longer version of the story is here, with the names closer to the Indian pronunciation.

The second part of the performance we saw was called the Sanghyang Dedari dance. A shaman, called a Pemangku, entered, accompanied by two young girls. He put the girls in a trance, and they began dancing. According to Ketut and Mutia, the girls are said to be possessed by a spirit, which coordinates their movements. The dance traditionally is done to ward off evil spirits. The girls must be prepubescent, as virginity is regarded as holy. There's a video on YouTube of it. This rendition looks a lot different from the one we saw, but the general idea is the same.

The final part of the performance was called the Sanghyang Jaran dance. A young man entered the stage, dressed in palm leaves. A fire was prepared using coconut tree shavings. The man was put in a trance, and began dancing barefoot around the fire. The trance apparently attracted him to fire, and, sure enough, he soon jumped right in the middle of it. He made no sound, but continued dancing, scattering the embers, until two of the others pulled him back from the fire. Another man gathered the embers, and the spellbound man was let go. He danced around the fire for a few seconds before jumping right back in. This continued for a few minutes, until finally the man was leaping in, lying down on his back, and rollicking in the fire. All the while, the original singers continued chanting, and the hypnotized man made no sounds--no screaming, no swearing, nothing. Once again, YouTube has a pretty good version of the dance. The one we saw was slightly different--our dancer was a little less energetic than the one in the video.

He eventually was pulled from the fire and passed out. His body had no visible burns (though it was by now dark outside), but the bottoms of his bare feet were black with soot. The shaman returned, sprinkled water on the man's face, and he instantly awoke. He acted as if nothing had happened. I have no idea how much of this was culturally authentic, or how much of it was staged, but it was still amazing to watch.

After the singers left the stage, the audience (about forty of us) was allowed to mill around. I made sure to walk up to the stage, where some of the original embers were smoldering. Sure enough, they felt every bit as hot as charcoal does. Again, I can't swear there wasn't any trickery going on in the background, but I didn't bother myself with that. As long as everyone watching believes in the power of the shaman, and the entranced person believes in the power of the shaman, then to them it makes no difference whether he objectively has any power.

That done, we headed out for supper. Our guide took us to a restaurant that he said featured dancing. Sure enough, when we got there, we were seated right in front of a stage. Soon after we ordered, two girls in beautiful costumes came out and began dancing. I have no idea exactly what style they were performing, so I'll just call it Balinese. I was definitely impressed that they were dancing in front of us, but I was almost more impressed by the fact that we were the only customers in the restaurant. They even let us take a picture on stage with them afterwards!

We ate more amazing Indonesian food. I'd describe it, but there's no way to articulate the flavors they use. The ingredients are mainly the same Asian staples: rice, noodles, vegetables, and seafood. Mutia tells me there are hundreds of spices in Indonesia, and since almost all of them are indigenous to the area, they literally have no other name besides their Indonesian one. That means I literally can't explain what they are or how they taste. Suffice it to say, everyone should go to Indonesia to try the food.

Anyway, we piled back into the van and headed back to the hotel.