| |||
|
Arts & Entertainment Books Comics Health & Body Media Mothers Who Think News People Politics2000 Technology - Free Software Project  Travel & Food Columnists
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
- - - - - - - - - - - - Also Today For a full list of today's Salon Travel stories, go to the
Travel home page. - - - - - - - - - - - - Search Salon - - - - - - - - - - - - Recently in Salon Travel Daily Planet Out of the Blue Daily Planet Wanderlust Daily Planet - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - |
In search of the real Bali | page 1, 2, 3, 4
In the fields, posted like sentries, were sandstone shrines to which the farmers brought offerings of flowers and fruit for Dewi Sri, the rice goddess of Balinese Hinduism. Off the road a larger shrine was being visited by dome-hatted farmers saying prayers for their six-week-old rice shoots, which were about to be transplanted to the fields. Our long trek under the fiery sun eventually brought us to the dusty "main street" of the village of Penarukan. Tawny villagers peered from their huts and ran to stare at the stranger. I grinned, waved and winked, reaping a reciprocal harvest of smiles and friendly gestures. An additional hour's hike through the rice paddies ended at the clay walls and wooden entrance gate to Sudjana's family compound in Kelating, where an escort of wide-eyed, excitedly chattering children encircled us. More youngsters and adults joined the troop as we approached the veranda of a large house in the center of the compound. Sudjana's parents, brothers, sisters, cousins and other assorted relatives followed us onto the porch of the wooden-frame dwelling, which belonged to his uncle. The assembly watched my every movement and listened raptly to my conversation with Sudjana; he was the only one of them who spoke a word of English. Everyone seemed delighted at our arrival, but I couldn't get over the fact that no one had really greeted Sudjana, who hadn't visited his native village in four months. The only formal greeting was probably a faux pas on my part. I prevailed on Sudjana to introduce me to a spirited elderly woman sitting cross-legged on the veranda steps. She shyly came forward, vigorously chewing betel nut. While everyone looked on amusedly, I bowed and shook her hand. Her eyes sparkled in a prolonged smile. She was Sudjana's great-grandmother, the clan's humble senior member, whose healthy appearance belied her 92 years. The lively nonagenarian, who had been as far as Denpasar only twice in her life, was born in Kelating. In fact, her great-grandmother had also been born in Kelating. The 1,354 inhabitants of Kelating traced their common ancestry back to a restless rice farmer named Maranggan who came west from the town of Klungkung and founded this village more than two centuries ago. Sudjana's closest relatives, numbering 42 people, lived in their own family compound, which formed part of a bandjar, a subdivision of the village. In their "mutual self-help" way of life, they grew their own rice, tobacco, cotton, vegetables and fruits, each breadwinner cultivating his own field, but all required to help one another in irrigating and harvesting. Should one man acquire more land than he could look after himself, he was asked to share his harvest with others assigned to aid him. Practically all the implements used in the compound were made by the villagers themselves, including cooking and eating utensils, wooden plows, bamboo fish traps, straw baskets and oil lamps. Simple furniture, fashioned from the abundant trees in the coastal woods, and simple clothing, some woven in the village and some bartered for in the town, completed the needs of their lives. Their tiny, self-sufficient community drew its own water from deeply sunk wells. While sitting on the veranda cooling off, I was surprised to see the district officer suddenly appear at the entrance gate on his bicycle.
| ||
 |
 |
 |
 |
Next page |