Cynicism/trust

I walk along the beach as the sun is going down and get chatting to a local man, Putu, who has some jewellery to sell. I tell him that I am not buying, but ‘Looking is for free’ they always say. Then he tells me that he lives in the village and tomorrow night there will be a big Hindu ceremony. If I would like to go and learn something about the Balinese culture, he will take me with his family. He will pick me up from my accommodation and we will go to his house and then to the temple for the ceremony and then there will Balinese dancing too. If I wish to come I will have to dress appropriately in a sarong, with a sash round my waist and a long-sleeved top. If I don’t have the right clothes his wife can lend them to me. He doesn’t want any money for this; he wants to show me Balinese life and the Hindu religion. He talks about the offerings that will be made. His wife will go to the market tomorrow morning and buy the necessary things to make a big offering. I will also have to bring an offering and his wife can prepare this for me too. She can make a small offering for me for 35 euros – hmmmmmm. We chat some more and I explain about my travels and although I am very interested to find out more about how they live I have to make careful choices about how I spend my money. He says the Balinese don’t care what they spend on offerings. The more they spend the more luck they will have in the future. Eventually we agree that I will go with them for 100 000 rupiah (about £8). Then he says, ‘Come on, I’ll introduce you to my wife and family’ and I get on the back of his scooter and he takes me up the lane away from the beach, across the main road and down a side street. It is dark by this time and I realise I don’t know where I am going, or who with, or how I’ll get back. On the way he tells me that actually he has two wives and the other one lives on the beach.  We arrive at his house and his wife and children are sitting on the veranda. They don’t seem fazed by the fact that he has brought a tourist home. Perhaps he does it all the time. Wife number 1 smiles and makes me a coffee. She doesn’t speak much English. I give him the 100 000 rupiah and he writes the arrangements on a scrap of paper, which he signs and gives me. While I am drinking my coffee he talks to his wife and then says to me that maybe the celebration won’t be tomorrow night; it might be the night after. Hmmmm again. Then he takes me back to my accommodation on his bike and says he will pick me up at 8pm tomorrow.

During the day I wonder what the chances are that this will happen this evening. I am sitting in the garden of the guest house in the early evening, typing this up actually, when there he is. He says he has come to find me early to let me know that the celebration will be tomorrow night, which is the full moon – not tonight. He will pick me up tomorrow night now. Let’s see…..

The following night I dress in my sarong and a long-sleeved top and go down to the front of the guest house and find Putu waiting for me. We go on his motorbike to his house and on the way he tells me there is a family problem. His nephew’s girlfriend is pregnant; they are both only 16 and still at school. The nephew lives with Putu and his family. When we arrive various family members, including wife no 1, are sitting on the veranda. No-one is dressed ready to go to the temple and no-one makes a move to get ready. The unfortunate nephew arrives and lolls about like a stroppy teenager and then goes off in a huff.

Then Putu says, ‘Time to go’ and he takes me about 4 miles out of town to where the temple is. On the way he tells me that he now has to go and talk to the girlfriend’s family. He drops me at the temple and tells me he will pick me up in an hour. I feel a little unsure of myself, but follow the crowds into the temple area, which is at the back of the beach and wander around. There are thousands of people there in traditional dress. The men wear sarongs and head scarves and the women wear sarongs with a scarf around their waist and many carry beautiful fruit baskets on their heads. Inside the main temple courtyard hundreds of people are sitting on the ground and women are queuing up to present their offerings. There is an orchestra on one side and an ‘altar’ at the front. Without someone to explain, I have no idea what is happening. I don’t see another western person there. I don’t feel I shouldn’t be there; but I feel almost invisible.

Between the religious proceedings and the beach there are stalls selling sweets, toys, balloons and food, such as you would find at a fair and also games of chance, some of which are more geared to children and others that are surrounded by tight circles of men.

Hindu ceremony

Stalls at the temple

Game of chance

After an hour I go back to the road where Putu says he will pick me up. I wait patiently for 20 minutes, until it is 10 o’clock, in which time the men directing the traffic ask me if I need transport. ‘Someone is picking me up, I’ll wait a bit longer,’ I say. Then it is obvious that the event has finished because the motorbikes and cars stream out of the temple. As it starts to quieten down I consider my options: a) walking back   - not a good idea on an unlit road with no pavement; b) asking the traffic men if he can arrange some transport for me – I’m sure that won’t be a problem, but I’ll have to pay for it. Just then Putu arrives. ‘Sorry,’ he says, ‘it took longer. Did you enjoy?’ ‘Not really,’ I reply. He doesn’t respond but takes me back to my guest house and we shake hands and wish each other well.

So what did I learn?

1)      Nothing too much about Balinese culture with only observation and without someone to interpret it for me

2)   To maintain a healthy balance between cynicism and trust

3)      Probably not to make arrangements with a man I meet on the beach