Wijaya Blog

SYUKURAN at Balerung Stage, Peliatan for A.A. Mandera

2012-01-18T09:57:00.011+08:00

On the occasion of his post-humous lifetime achievement award from the Hindu Youth of Indonesia ,
for services to Balinese dance amd music

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VIDEO:

ALL SINGING, ALL DANCING, ALL SMOKING BATAKS

2012-01-18T09:16:00.008+08:00

Balinese Wedding: Elin & Aleksi, Tiing Gading, 6 January 2012

2012-01-17T09:09:00.010+08:00

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VIDEO:

TRAVEL DIARIES: Lake Toba, North Sumatra

2012-01-12T09:33:00.004+08:00

Published in Now! Jakarta, February 2012

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A view of Lake Toba and Samosir Island from Tebe Point.

Lake Toba, North Sumatra

Last month I went to Lake Toba for Christmas and discovered a whole world of all-singing, all-dancing, all-smoking Sumatrans. The scenic splendour of the Lake Toba region and the frantic fretwork of the handsome adat houses were wondrous, but were naught compared to the exuberant character of the Batak people I met there over ten days.

A catholic church on the shores of Lake Toba.

‘Ompu’ Nommensen, the German Missionary who introduced Christianity to the Lake Toba region in 1864.

Batak men wake up barking and yelping, then eat giant quantities of two-tone noodles before changing into urban cowboy outfits and heading for the palm-toddy stall to await the 3 p.m. ‘Sunset Cocktail Hour’ opening.
Batak women wake up and placate screaming and yelping Batak boy-children (“Shut up or I cut you in half”) before diving into laundry cubicles to abuse items of clothing. They then head off to the rice fields or the market, to make it all possible.
It’s as if all the 2,000,000 tough-talking Bataks are apologists for the 180 million back-peddling, super-refined Javanese on the island to their East.

• • •

Balinese Turis Domestic Apel poses on the Lake edge at Balige
	View from the Ompu Kerti, hotel, Balige at dawn.

For my first four nights I stayed in Balige one hour west of Porsea on the crater lake edge. My home was the bizarre Ompu Kerti, owned by Batak superhero General (Ret) T.B. Silalahi. It is “bizarre” only by Balinese hotel standards: tourism in the Lake Toba region is still in its Soviet Era.
Biographies of the great general/former national minister were available at the front desk but I chose, instead, to drive the short distance up the hill, to the remarkable T.B. Silalahi Centre and Batak Museum. There one gets a 3-D experience of Batak culture, might and megalomania. The Silalahi Centre is next to the social-realist style tomb of the last king of the Bataks, Sisingamaraja XII, which is next to a charming colonial era mountain bungalow — the lobby building of the old Swiss-owned Toba Hotel (built in 1927), which is now home to the cemetery ‘s wiley caretaker.

The supreme Batak being at the T.B. Silalahi Centre overlooks the Mayoral complex beyond.

The Lake Toba area is riddled with exotic architectural treats: quaint churches abound as do mausoleum monuments which are always large and fanciful. Graves come as psychelic-coloured adat houses in the sky; big ‘Black Pete’ rajas on ponies with magic wands is hand and pretty ‘ tree of life’ sculptures on Art Deco obelisks.
Basically, one’s daytime tourism choices boil down to two: one can ogle exotic architecture and scenic views all day, or one can go to a Lapo palm-toddy-fueled men’s fight club, or to the market (to buy ulos cloth or great wide-brimmed farmers’ hats), and get one’s head chewed off. At night it’s either the scary discos, the teenage macho Batak cyber arcades or bed.
I took a Balinese friend for protection (Batak men are nothing if not determined) and enjoyed a fabulous week of bizarre church services and family events. My hosts, the Manurung clan of Janjimatugu, were effusive in their hospitality.
I was dragged to church on Christmas Eve for Christian karaoke hour and then lead home like a water buffalo to be fed copious amounts of pork meat while the whole clan gathered around a tiny plastic Christmas tree and sang “Silent Night” as if their lives depended on it (See my video “Christmas with the Bataks” link: http://youtu.be/s1nMpxV_DPM)

On Christmas day, after church, I took the family on a long drive from Porsea to Pangururan on the western banks of the crater lake. We descended the wild- west pioneer-towns of Hutagalung and Harian — which are rife with settlements of Nias warrior-labourers. After 3 hours we stopped at the Department of Tourism-sponsored Tebe Lookout Point and Rusta Shack to admire the view of Lake Toba and Mount Pusuk Buhit, which is considered to be the ‘birthplace’ of the Bataks. In the Sagala Valley below we spotted the settlement of Limbong. On the steep drive down to the lake we went through many pretty traditional villages on the foreshores.
We stayed at the bizarre but comfortable Saulini Inn, opposite Pangururan near the hot springs, as I was keen to stay near the Sagala-Limbong Valley.
Pangururan sits on the west side of Samosir Island but is connected to ‘Sumatra proper’ by a causeway.

• • •

There are two roads heading from the hot springs to Limbong via the tomb of the Batak Rajas. We took the south road which winds along the crater rim shore for 5 kilometres before cutting through a tight river valley.

The steep-sided valley ‘pass’ opened onto a fertile valley which is ringed, on its northern, southern and western flanks by the caldera rim. Traditional Batak villages dotted the valley. It felt like a land time had forgotten, with a people you can’t forget.
At the tomb of the rajas we discovered a man placing mutant lemons on an altar to an animistic deity together with a list of all the “arrogant” family members he wanted cured.
Across the valley we found an ancient megalith praying stone, the Batu Hulon, dating from pre-Christian era of the Batak parmalin culture.
The first missionaries to the Lake Toba region were a pair of Belgians, in 1984, who were scalped and had their blood drunk by the chieftain.
One imagines that the culture was pretty ‘colourful’ back then.

A stylish grannie in Negeri Singkam Village.	Boxing day lunch in the church at Negeri Singkam.
	After lunch at the SYUKURAN at my friends the Manurung’s house.

At the end of the valley, on Boxing Day, we discovered Negeri Singkam Village — a real gem of neat rubble stone terraces and rows of exquisite Batak adat houses. Its pretty church, was having its Christmas Day service, a day late due to agricultural priorities.
Inside the church there was a huge amount of yelping and barking and smoking going on as the pork curry was being divided up from the pulpit.
We stayed for lunch and then roamed the village’s upper terraces.


The water buffalo is a symbol of strength and prosperity for the Batak people.
	Tanjung Bunga Village near Pangururan, Lake Toba West.

• • •

On the last day of our tour we drove around the North Coast of Samosir Island, stopping at Sumanindo for the Song and Dance and Puppet Show (well worth the detour as the atmosphere and the architecture inside the walled compound are magical).
Late in the afternoon we caught a very noisy disco-ferry from Tuktuk to Prapat an old Dutch-era resort town now over-run with the urban sprawl that accompanies mass tourism. Young Batak lovers canoodled on the poop deck.



Dance performer poses after the show at the Huta Simanindo, Samosir Island.

We flew back to Medan on Susi Air from Silangit, 20 minutes outside Balige, in a snazzy Cessna with two pilots but no other passengers. We had all the amazing aerial view of Lake Toba to ourselves.
In Medan we stayed in Jalan Surabaya in the centre of old town, at the delightful new Swiss Bellinn hotel, formerly a trendy boutique hotel called My Place.

Giant Amazon Medan — Chinese waitress at the Jalan ….. food street, Medan.

It has a back door which leads onto Jalan Selat Panjang the famous Hokkien-Medan food street.
I discovered descendants of Kublai Khan's warrior women and Chinese mensch uber-dagang babies manning cash registers. Fierce, giant, Amazon bimbos served perfect Hainan chicken rice and char kueh teow.

Architecture of Lake Toba

2012-01-10T11:29:00.022+08:00

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VIDEO:

SCENIC LAKE TOBA

2012-01-10T10:56:00.015+08:00

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VIDEO:

CHRISTMAS WITH THE BATAKS 2011

2012-01-10T10:32:00.009+08:00

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VIDEO:

MAPANDES (3 Bali-ozzie brothers have teeth filed in Suwung Gede)

2012-01-10T09:57:00.000+08:00

Twenty years ago my Balinese 'sister' Dayu Rai married a Dewa from Suwung. Dewa's. brother, Dewa Budi, based in Melbourne, had a charming, dinky-die ozzie wife Philippa (Jero Melati) and three indokrupuk Ozzie - Bali sons, Dewaz Peter, Philip and Putra. Today they are up from Melbourne to have their teeth filed, together with Dayu's'only daughter Desak Duwik and his cousin Dewa Ketut.

It's a teary occasion as we all gather with Ratu Aji Gede, the family patrirach (88); at these times we all remember ida bagus susila, dayu's'brother, who is no longer with us.

Stranger in Paradise: Exotica

2012-01-10T09:12:00.003+08:00

Putra Bagus Putu

Exotica

For me, 2012 started with disasters.
After a dream Christmas break with the fabulous all-dancing, all-singing, all smoking Batak people in North Sumatra I returned to Bali to find that Ngurah Rai Airport had descended into chaos — a version of Delhi train station during the partition of India.
Some enlightened Singaporean project manager had even added a coup de grace in the form of culture-neutral butterfly motifs, my pet hate which had been applied to the new ‘causeway’ floor
It took almost two hours to get from the airport to my home in Sanur (normally it takes 20 minutes) and once there I discovered that the French friends of friends who’d rented my house had stiffed the staff and that my remote controls were no-where to be found; all just as Kim Jung Il’s funeral motorcode was starting.
Once installed at home things rapidly got worse: I took three calls from old Indian clients suddenly in Bali wanting addresses for cut-rate, crappy furniture shops and my domestic tourist house guests just wanted to go to “Jogger”. I was with great relief that I was invited to a tooth-filing — that of my Balinese niece, Desak Duwik, and her three half-Australian cousins.

Phillip, Peter & Putra

30th December 2011: To Jero Dewa Bagus, Suwung Gede — the family gathers for a puberty ritual
At Dayu Rai’s home I find three Melbourne teenagers — Peter, Philip and Putra — in my brother-in-law’s bed in full Balinese prince outfits, hair and make up. They look like Christmas bon-bons.

TOOTH-FILING AT JERO DEWA, SUWUNG GEDE
Phillipa and Dewa Bagus Putu	Desak Duwik

None of them knew what they are doing or what for. Not that it’s important: the wondrous thing about being Hindu Balinese is that angelic Brahman ladies just drag you through rituals without explaining anything.

Dewa Ayu Heni Yusnita and Son

The star of the morning proceedings is the boys’ mother, the elegant Deborah Kerr-like Jero Melati (Ibu Philipa) who poses herself, on queue, in various demure attitudes around the courtyard. Her husband Pak Dewa is a true gent: theirs is an enduring love story, with three perfectly behaved Balinese-Ozzie boys to prove it.

4th January 2012: To the Balerung Stage, Peliatan for a night to honour the late great musician A.A. Mandera of Peliatan’s 2012 Hindu Youth Award
I have been invited three times via SMS. I accepted with apprehension as I was attacked in print recently, on a Facebook page (Bali Simple Living) for being a lackey to the Balinese royals and a bragger to boot. I told that Nanny-boy, surfie, tree-huggers to get real: being a conservative monarchist groupie in Bali is the best occupation: Think magnificent Hindu rituals, fancy dress and fine palace food!!! I told them that they could stick their rusty bikes up their bottoms.
Anyway, I digress.

To return to the wondrous Gung Kak Mandera who was the toast of Paris and Versailles in 1936 with his Peliatan Dance troupe, and his legacy. Two of his sons became superstar dancers: one the star of Guruh Soekarno Putra’s Busby Berkeley-style dance spectaculars, and the other the greatest TEROMPONG dancer of his generation.
I arrive a tad late to find a hall packed with Balinese dancers and musicians, all watching John Coast’s 1952 film of the Peliatan Dance troupe in Paris.
This is the first time I’ve seen the target audience at a film night in Bali — usually it’s the expat rent-a-crowd and Balinese VIPs.
As chief bule-poobah to famed Gung Bagus, the maestro’s heir, I am lead to the royal box where a handful of great mates are knocking back local cocktails.
Amongst the mildly-inebriated is Sebatu’s answer to Ali G, Mangku Nyoman Suar, lead dancer of that village’s Wayang Wong (sacred mask dance) troupe who are off to Europe and America in September.

The evening’s guest of honour finally arrives and the mystery of the “Royal Media Centre, Ubud” on the invite is finally solved. The awards scheme, and the Hindu Youth Brigade (Shiv Sena meets Suara Mahardika) and, one imagines, the Soekarno Centre in Sanur itself are the brain-child of the self-proclaimed ‘Raja Majapahit Bali’ Dr. Shri I Gusti Ngurah Arya Wedakarna Mahendratta Suyasa III who has the longest name and the best stylist in Bali. His golden “tongkat pecut” staff and Hindu sporran-doozie were dazzling.

Gung Bagus introduces the guest of honour not as a ‘raja’ (It’s a controversial self-appointment) but as “Dr. Gusti Karna”.
Dr. Karna gives an impassioned speech mostly about the need for the Balinese to respect each other and the need for us all to respect Balinese dancers, which we do.
He makes some erroneous claims about the lack of young talent in the Balinese art world today (I suspect he’s a bit out of touch with the art world) and about Peliatan being more vibrant, culturally, than Kuta (a spurious claim considering how remarkably Hindu Balinese Kuta is, underneath, in all respects) and about “foreigners” bringing performing artist to hotels in trucks (which is the way gamelan groups have always travelled).
The royals are all beaming in the front row — bathing in the reflected glory of the born-again ‘Raja Majapahit’. In the back stalls, we all remember Gung Kak Mandera and his legacy.

Bungklang Bungkling: Panes (Hot) by Wayan Juniartha

2012-01-02T15:59:00.006+08:00

Taken from ‘Bungklang Bungkling’, ‘Panes’, a column by I Wayan Juniartha, published in Bali Post, Sunday 11^h December 2011. Translated by Putu Semiada.

Panes (Hot)

It has been very hot these days. I Made Dot Nawang (I Made Wants to Know) wants to do some research in relation to this. He tries to look for some experts to interview.

He asks the same question: “Why is it so hot these days?”

The high ranking official says: “It’s all due to global warming: the people do not care about their environment today; trees are cut down; they litter; and everyone wants to have more than one car that creates pollution.”

That’s a typical answer from high ranking officials; always looking for excuses without trying to improve the situation: they don’t give solutions or take real action.

The legislative members say: “We will try to find out what is really the problem and set up a special committee to summon the parties who are responsible. We will use sophisticated methods to solve the problem and do ‘comparative studies’ to the USA and Europe in dealing with global warming.”

If this all they can do the problem doesn’t get resolved: they just keep spending the people’s money for their own benefit.

The priests say: “God is angry with us; the world is ‘dirty’. You need to hold a consecration ceremony in every village.”

The traditional village leader for ceremonial affairs (Bendesa Pekraman) says: “My ceremonies can accommodate hot climate, this must be our neighboring village’s evil conduct. They have always wanted to make trouble for us — from border issues to irrigation system conflicts. Now they complain about global warming. I want their village to be blockaded and make the cemetery not available for them when they have a corpse to bury.”

The business-oriented fortune teller says: “The hot climate is due to a powerful black magic: Just buy lots of incense that I have ‘recharged’ with magical power (pasopati) and drink lots of the mineral water that I have imbued with magical power as well.”

The AC and Fridge suppliers say: “Global warming means good business for us; more and more people will buy our products.”

Rich men say: “Hot? No, it’s not. It’s cool in my room and in my car too, let alone in my and office. What makes me feel “hot” is my secretary who often wears a mini skirt.”

I Made gets confused with these different answers.

The last person to give opinion is the mayor.

The mayor says: “Don’t talk about global warming: think about me first. I am upset having been accused of wanting to change the bhisama on the building height. I am a ‘real Balinese Hindu’, you know; Bhisama has to be followed. The things is that I was just asking if we could change the mandatory distance between an urban area and a ‘sacred area’ (temple) from 5 kilometers to just ‘10 meters’ .

I Made gets frustrated: now he himself feels hot.

STRANGER IN PARADISE: OCCUPY MILO’S ANCESTOR SHRINE!

2011-12-19T12:29:00.001+08:00

Abe (Alberto Putra Migliavacca), Milo’s nephew, backstage at his tooth-filing.

I have known Milo my entire adult life.

We both came to Bali as drop-outs — he from the world of ‘haute-schmuttah’ in Milan; me from architecture school in Sydney — and we have both stayed on, for almost 40 years, as ‘New-Balinese’ converts.

He rules the West Coast rag-trade spiritualists and I am the East Coast’s answer to Billy Graham, with a dash of Eddie Izzard. We each have our own favourite priests and ecclesiastical foibles (weaknesses for pretty faces and strong thighs among them).

Milo has ended up with a circle of born-again Hindu angels, a mixed-bag of gorgeous nieces and nephews (courtesy of his brother Ezio, a Legian lothario) and a band of merry men (his Seminyak banjar and attendant priests).

I go to palace cremations and make videos.

Now read on…

Milo in the rainbow warrior boat during Dr. Mario Veglia’s ashes dispersement in Sanur Bay, on 27th November, 2011.

4th December 2011: An Italo-Balinese dynasty is born — Major Hindu Ceremony at Seminyak Home of Bali fashion Giant

Today all the players in Milo’s life in Bali to date are gathered to celebrate the consecration of the kemulan shrine in his new family house temple. The shrine will become the earthly abode of his father’s recently Hindu-ized soul.

Milo has for decades been a devout Hindu — often traveling to India with his beloved guru, Pedanda Gunung and a contingent from Seminyak, his adopted hometown.

By consecrating a ‘family’ house temple — which involves the Hindufication of his late fathers ashes (Balinese religion is nothing if not infinitely flexible) — Milo’s entire family will be officially entered into the the Hindu-Balinese faith, full-time.

I arrive to find a garden full of glitterati and cogniscenti and fashionista — veritably le tout Seminyak.

It is a solemn occasion and the celebrity high priest Pedanda Gede Made Gunung is wearing a special Siwa-ite moon crescent tiara and pearls.

Milo for his part has turned a gold- trimmed South Indian ‘sari’ into a sporty twin set. I am in vintage Milo, wearing my order of the Shocking Pink Heliconia. The house is draped with orchids (Milo’s passion) and eye-candy, in the form of Abby, Putri and Luna, Milo’s nephew and nieces, who are having their teeth filed tomorrow, once the glitter-dust has settled.

At the end of the rituals, Bali TV interviews Milo and the high priest as today is something of a novelty in Bali — the internment of a spirit of (‘Bhatara Kawit Italia’ as the high priest calls Milo’s father) into a family house temple.

I am so proud of Milo for taking such a big step — Balinizing his entire family, and his ancestors, for that matter, back to the days of Lucretia Borgia (an ancestor, on his Mama’s side). It is admirable also that Milo has kept together such a disparate bunch of expats and helped lead them towards a lighter reality.

Bravo Milo!

26th November 2011: Poet-Filmmaker-Painter John Darling dies in Perth after a long illness

‘Ketut’ John Darling was Bali’s most devoted poet-filmmaker. He produced a dozen gems in a career tragically cut short by illness. His ‘Lempad of Bali’, made with the late Lorne Blair in 1980, opened the world’s eyes to the wonders of the Balinese culture. ‘Ketut’ John covered the mammoth cremation of the last great Raja of Denpasar (Cokorda ‘Gambrong’ Pemecutan X), the aftermath of the first Bali Bomb, and the great Inter-Hash piss-up held in Nusa Dua in 1997, amongst other less sensational Bali subjects.

I posted the following obituary on Facebook today.

• • •

20th December 2011: Bali is my Homo

Last month bulldozers moved in on Bali’s only gay beach bar as young homosexualists were seen nailing themselves to the future Alila hotel’s timber screen façade samples in protest. The trendoid ‘New Asian’ architect of the future Alila Pooftah has already decreed the once hallowed pansy park a “no flower” zone. A few miles away Bali’s most celebrated Arja dance drag performer, Ni Liku, was swiveling her hips on the lap of warrior princes at a police brigadier’s wedding.

The Balinese, and the Indonesians for that matter, adore girly-boys, but the territorial prerogatives of developers take precedence over heritage homosexualist sites, it seems.

The thick pandanus-fringed shores of the beach between the new ‘W’ hotel and the Bali Oberoi — once the sacred noontime turf of nimble-footed sexual predators — is now almost devoid of pandanus bushes.

The paradox is: New Asian, Muscle-Mary resort architecture — that strain of the applied arts that has lots of brown things in straight lines, equally spaced — is now the favoured style of straight fashion-victims worldwide.

Perth-born, porn-film-star Widjie Weinberg — who now operates a time share business out of Seminyak — was last year roped in to star in “Cowboys in the Pandanus”, a homage to the heydays of the gay beach.

Amazingly a Singapore production company then made an ugly copy-cat production starring Janet De Neefe and Wham-Bham Tengkiu Nyoman entitled “Cowboys in Paradise”, which caused quite a stir.

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Images from the PENILEMAN for Ida Ayu Kompiang Oka Sutarti and the
tooth-filing of her grandchildren, Puri Bongkasa, 24th, 25th November 2011
Photos by Made Wijaya and Tim Street-Porter

Bungklang Bungkling: Gengsi (Image) by Wayan Juniartha

2011-12-19T10:41:00.005+08:00

Taken from ‘Bungklang Bungkling’, ‘Gengsi’, a column by I Wayan Juniartha, published in Bali Post, Sunday 4^th December 2011. Translated by Putu Semiada.

Gengsi (Image)

Everyone looks happy because the new year is coming soon. They are all thinking about what they will do during the new year’s eve.

They become more happy as they hear the news that they will be given iPad each.

“I hear that the legislative members will be given iPads to support their job. After that, it’s our turn,” says I Nyoman Desas Desus (I Nyoman Rumour).

“It doesn’t matter whether you can use it or not, the thing is that people will be amazed seeing you carrying IPad,” adds I Nyoman.

This is typical of a Balinese: No matter how stupid someone is, he wants others think that he is smart. No matter how poor he is, he will always try to look rich; even though one has nothing, one doesn’t seem to want to work hard.

That’s why probably most jobs available in Bali are done by people from other islands; from working in the rice field to selling rice.

Even some suckling pig food stalls now are run by people from other islands.

“There are lots of jobs you can do, but why do you just sit here and get drunk?” asks I Pekak Pocol Ongol-Ongol (I Pekak Nod Off) angrily.

“You know, you can be a flower vendor: the Balinese need tons of flowers for offerings everyday. Iisn’t that a good business opportunity?”

They might not listen to I Pekak. The Balinese (men) don’t seem to care about flowers (bunga) growing in their yards. They just interest in three kinds of things (bunga):

Firstly, one is more interested in beautiful girls (Bungan Rurung) he sees on the streets. When one sees such a girl, one wants to take her to bed and drop her back at the same place.

Secondly, one is interested in ‘bank interest’ (Bungan Bank), too. One deposits his money he gets from selling his ancestor’s land or other inheritance. By doing that, he doesn’t need to work hard and he can go through easy life. And for some men, they spend their money for girls (Bungan Rurung).

And the last one is that one is interested in borrowing money (Bunga Berbunga). There are lots of banks offering money to borrow for long term period with low interest. Today, it’s common that everyone buys something by credit; mobile phone, motor bike, car, rice, prostitute, anything one wants. One thinks that nobody will ask him where he gets the money from as long as he looks neat, wears expensive clothes, and drives a shiny car.

“Do you understand, Kak? Today is very different. Why should we bother ourselves selling flowers (bunga) here and there, while we can enjoy our life with the three things mentioned above?”

“Well, there is the fourth one; that is “Bunga Politik” (financial rewards obtained after getting a political position). It means that one will collect money from any sources possible to return money spent during the campaign. That’s why the legislative members ask for lots of ‘facilities’ for their own. One day, they might ask for underwear and condoms for free.

That’s how the situation is, when one wants too many things for ‘image’ (gengsi) without the motivation to work hard.

Travel Diaries: INDIA - BHUTAN

2011-12-15T09:20:00.011+08:00

Published in Now! Jakarta, January 2012

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Early morning, Kovalam Beach, Kerala: Fishing boats return.

Last month I travelled to Kovalam, in deep South India, in search of the perfect garden design moment.

I had lunch at the wildly popular new ‘Bait’ seafood restaurant, which over looks a fisherman’s bay teeming with despondent if perfectly-formed fishermen. The back waters there looked so dreamy that I commandeered a buggy from the delightful Taj Vivanta, the former Taj Green Cove, who operate the ‘Bait’ restaurant and made a short video (See http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HuOcP3rXC0I) which has now gone viral on You Tube.

Views of the dreamy backwater lagoon from “Bait” restaurant at Taj Vivanta, Kovalam, Kerala (garden design by Bali-based PT. Wijaya).

From Kovalam I travelled north to Keppel Beach — near Fort Bekal, in far North Kerala on the Karnataka (Mysore) — border where a team of garden magicians (lead by Made Sucipta and Wayan Legawa from Timpag, Tabanan, Bali) have created a sensational parkland and water palace at the Taj Bekal. The collection of Hindu-Balinese-Modern garden art, by Made Cangker of Keramas, Bali, is particularly note-worthy.

The gardens of the Taj Bekal (Planetarium Bar by Noleen of Grounds Kent Architects, Perth and Bali).

The backwaters of the Taj Bekal, North Kerala, soon to be the site of the All-Punjabi swan-boat gymkhana.

It is not easy to create great garden art in India: the British colonials having left a legacy of municipal potscapes; and no-one seems to have worked out how to keep water in the ponds since the Moguls left.

The savoring of garden design success is often fleeting: resort managers invariably come in and start pretty-littering with incongruous garden furniture and festively funny lighting.

Star gardener Rajan poses with his 2012 calendar month at Taj Bekal, North Kerala.

• • •

My last work-stop was Delhi in the far north — deliciously dry and cool (18 degrees) after steamy Kerala — where revisionistas are poised to move a marble pavilion into a major view corridor on my marquee project there.

The price for peace maybe eternal vigilance ………… but one is forced to conclude that there is a lack of respect for negative space across the sub-continent.

• • •

From Delhi I flew to Bhutan, for a second dose of the elixir of life they serve there; and also to buy Bhutanese brooches for Balinese brides (jewelry mule being my latest encore career).

I also wanted to make a short documentary on the Thimpu Centenary Farmer’s Market which I had only glimpsed during my last visit to Bhutan, in October 2011.

Offering ‘top knots’ on an altar in a farm-house chapel near Paro, Bhutan.

Visiting local markets is a great way to meet local characters who seem to converge in the meat section. There, much ribald humour can be heard over the body parts of dead animals. This has been the case in Balikpapan (Kalimantan), Kendari (Southeast Sulawesi, but with fish) and Tanjung Pinang, on Bintan Island off Singapore. Stories on all these markets have featured in this diary.

In Bhutan I stayed again at the enchanting Uma Paro.
This trip, a group of well-heeled communist Chinese had just flown in from Kathmandu in a private jet.

They strode into the dining room like the SS into that opening scene in the café in “Indiana Jones and The Temple of Doom.”

“Today they want breakfast,” I warned the trembling Bhutanese staff, “Tomorrow they’ll take the lot.”

In fact the Chinese were very nice and only shouted a lot between courses.

The Bhutanese are refined and demur by comparison.

• • •

LEFT: Bhutanese beauty on the main stairs of the Thimpu Centenary Farmers market.
RIGHT: The author in Bhutanese costume outside his favourite farmhouse, near Paro, Bhutan.

The next morning on the way to Thimpu we stopped at a farm to watch my guide Tsheway engage a young heifer stud bull in ‘shadow boxing (an old trick to amuse the tourist performed with curled D tongue, posturing vocal dynamics and we happened upon an exquisite series of temple rooms inside the farmhouse. The lady farmer-priest told us that the deity there was pre-Buddhist (Bonism) era and was very powerful. So many of the power objects (water buffalo horns) above doors, and the rituals, she and Tsheway described were like those found amongst Indonesia’s Batak and Toraja people today.

I also discovered stashes of very graphic woven woolen blankets from Eastern Bhutan which took my fancy.

The exquisitely-designed Thimpu market straddles the Thimpu River which runs along the west side of the nation’s capitol. The two storied main section sits on the eastern bank while the handicrafts and Bangladeshi apparel sections are reached by an ancient roofed, pedestrian bridge, which has views to snow capped peaks in the distance.

On the handsome granite steps of the bridge’s eastern entrance the prettiest girls in Bhutan buy beef and mustard seed leaf momos (Tibetan dumplings) from mausoleum vendors with a basic chili sauce. One can sit here and watch the entire youth population of the magic kingdom go by.

• • •

LEFT: Head brooch-seller at the Thimpu markets, Bhutan.
RIGHT: Colourful character sells momos on the steps of the Thimpu market bridge.

Inside the market I roamed about searching for antique Bhutanese brooches and textiles for the interior for an architecture of ASEAN project I am involved in on Bintan Island, near Singapore. Many Bhutanese textiles seem the source for many of the textile styles of Southeast Asia.

I had a field day amongst all the temple paraphernalia and ethnic artifacts for sale: the stall keepers the very picture of poise and politeness.

Back in the main market — a masterpiece of traditional-modern architecture, bathed in natural light — I discovered row after neat row of glistering mountain vegetables and lovely local ladies, who all spoke good English, cheekily. They were all dressed in colorful versions of Bhutanese dress.

After the markets I had lunch with H.E. Benjie Dorji the former Minister for the Environment and his glamorous cousin Dashi Kundum Dorji, the Thimpu Valley’s answer to Helena Bonham-Carter. Both had been involved in Mala Singh’s recent book on the King of Bhutan’s photographs. Both were extremely urbane, amusing and sophisticated, like many of my Delhi friends, but fresher. They introduced me to the architect of the brand new 900 student Royal College of Thimpu who took me on a tour after lunch.

Bhutanese schools and universities are all brilliantly designed: complexes of traditional buildings arranged in large parklands. This new college sits in a pine forest just above Thimpu and has extraordinary views from every level.

The students were all in traditional dress and had ultra-modern hairstyles: the Justin Bieber-Pscycho-Korean crooner look for men; the girls had more Hollywood glamour coifs.

Royal Thimpu College students sporting popular “Korean-crooner” hairdo.

One holds great faith in a country with such well-designed and funded education institutions and such saucy society ladies.

Bungklang Bungkling: Tapel (Mask) by Wayan Juniartha

2011-12-08T15:24:00.003+08:00

Taken from ‘Bungklang Bungkling’, ‘Tapel’, a column by I Wayan Juniartha, published in Bali Post, Sunday 21^st November 2011. Translated by Putu Semiada.

Tapel (Mask)

The meeting of the palm toddy association members has been delayed. It was scheduled for 6 o clock, but it’s already 9 o’clock and only 3 of them have arrived at the meeting place.

The chairman is wondering where everybody is; usually when there is free palm toddy, most of them come.

“I guess they are tired of drinking tuak,” says I Wayan Emplegan SBY (Sing Bani Ngudiang) or Slow in Making Decisions.

“It’s not quiet right, chief. Most of them are late due to the ASEAN Summit,” says I Made Kuli Mapi-Mapi (I Made Pretends to Know Everything).

“What is really the connection between our members and the Summit? None of our members are high ranking officials,” the chief argues.

The chief may have forgotten that when high ranking officials gather, the first to suffer is common people.

When a minister pays a visit, lots of cars and police are involved to block the road.

What would happen if 15 presidents visited the island? All the roads would probably be blocked. It might even look busier than a karya (big festival ceremony; and everybody knows what happens when the president of the United States visits the island.

“I couldn’t go anywhere. Any direction I wanted to go to was blocked and they asked me for some identification. That’s why I came late,” says I Made.

I Made might be luckier than I Ketut Nyamprut whose house is in Nusa Dua. Just when he went out, a police sworn at him as he carried a sickle in his waist.

“He was going to cut the grass before attending the meeting. He had been interrogated for 3 hours in the security post. They might think that a sickle might endanger a plane.”

The police and the army seem to be scared of an old man carrying a sickle. It reminds us of Pak Minta, the gardener who was passing and carrying a sickle in front of the president.

After his interrogation, I Ketut can’t go anywhere; the roads around Nusa Dua are blocked due to the visit of President Obama. The people who live there and can go nowhere while Americans can go anywhere there and block the roads.

“Under these circumstances, I find myself watching ‘mask’ dances for hours,” adds I Ketut.

Everybody is surprised to hear this. As far as they know, no mask dance is performed at Nusa Dua during Obama’s visit.

“Everywhere there is a ‘mask dance’. The police and the army are wearing ‘masks’; they pretend to be strong and tough. As a matter of fact, they are so upset that they have to stand by day and night without any chance to see their wives and children. They want to go home actually.”

President Obama is also wearing a ‘mask’. He smiles and pretends to be a good friend of Indonesia. Actually he wants our oil, coal, timber and our other natural resources. On the other hand, Freeport, KFC, etc have all ‘occupied’ us.

“Our high ranking officials are also wearing ‘masks’. They say that they hold the summit in the name and for the people’s sake.”

“As a matter of fact, they are all happy being able to hold the summit using people’s money. The summit is more like a ‘project’ that in some cases they ‘share’ the money and we don’t quiet know where the money goes.”

“And they are happy too because they can use people’s money for ‘holiday’, guarded by the police.”

“In addition, when dealing with Americans, everyone seems to be happy to be ‘slaves’; as if they are ready to ‘lick ass’; for them. Shares and commission seem to be much more important than the people.”

“They think that the people are stupid. We too often see people wearing ‘masks’ — we know what they are like behind the mask.”

Bungklang Bungkling: Bisama (Agreement) by Wayan Juniartha

2011-12-08T15:21:00.008+08:00

Taken from ‘Bungklang Bungkling’, ‘Bisama’, a column by I Wayan Juniartha, published in Bali Post, Sunday 27th November 2011.
Translated by Putu Semiada.

Bisama (Agreement)

For the first time the sound of the kulkul (wooden bell) in swarga loka (the world of gods) is too loud. Since the war against giant-king Mayadenawa, there has been no kulkul sound and the gods live happily ever since as the people keep doing ceremonies and praying to them.

Then, one day, the divine kulkul sounds vey loudly; all the gods come out, each carrying a weapon.

“What is going on?” asks God Wisnu.

It is Sang Suratma who hit the kulkul.

“We are all in danger,” says he loudly.

“Why is that? Who is our enemy? Or are there drunk bad people coming here?” ask God Brahma jokingly.

“Well, actually all the mayors in Bali and the legislative members will omit the ‘bhisama’ (unwritten regulations) on space planning (i.e. permitted distance to build commercial building from important temples) and building height.”

“If the ‘bhisama’ is omitted, the temples will be surrounded by hotels, cafes, bars and discotheque. If the regulations on building height are omitted, there will be many building higher than meru, which is not good for the gods,” Sang Suratma (the secretary god) further says.

All the gods become discouraged, having heard what Sang Suratma said.

“Don’t panic, you know my position when we talk about tourism in Bali, says Bhetara Rambut Sedana (The God of Money).

Bhetara Rambut Sedana has the same mind-set—like the legislative assembly members and the mayors—that is how to increase the local income (PAD). If there are more hotels and other buildings, more money will come. And when there is more money, more ceremonies will be done.

“How can this little problem give me such a headache; I get bored of taking care of the Balinese; they keep talking about ‘Ajeg Bali’ (Sustainable Bali), but they are too greedy to achieve that,” says God Wisnu.

“What things are not sold by the Balinese? From their ancestors’ land to their culture, and even their own dignity?”

“I have nothing to do with bhisama: If all the temples in Bali are gone, it would not affect my divine power at all.”

“It is the Balinese themselves who will face problem, if the forests are lost, and with abrasion, social conflicts among themselves due to land acquisition and money from tourism business owners. Most of them will just become “slaves” on their own island; and how they will look after temples with no gods in there.”

“Whatever happens on the island, the gods will remain living peacefully in nirvana.”

“Shouldn’t ‘important people’ such as agung (kstaria) and dalem descendants (anak agung, cokorda), and mayors who should look after and defend Bali?” says Sang Suratma rhetorically.

All the gods laugh loudly.

“Don’t be too romantic: everybody is equal before me. You see, in Bali many of them claim themselves ksatria descendants but their mind is more business-oriented,” interrupts God Siwa.

“You just write down the names of legislative assembly members and mayors as well. If I have time I will see them one by one. I want to see their reaction when they see Banaspati Raja (the God of Death),” says God Siwa laughingly.

Gedebong Goyang Comedy Group in Sanur Village Festival

2011-12-08T14:50:00.001+08:00

ROYAL WEDDING KEPAON, Brigadeer A. A. Ngurah Made Sutanaya and Ketut Marsiniasih, Jero Lanang Tanjung Kepaon, 30 November 2011

2011-12-05T09:23:00.011+08:00

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VIDEO

TAJ BEKAL GARDENS BY PT. WIJAYA

2011-12-01T10:02:00.008+08:00

Dr Mario Veggia's ashes are dispensed. Sanur Sea off Batujimbar.

2011-12-01T09:33:00.003+08:00

Faces and Fashion at Puri Bongkasa

2011-12-01T08:34:00.028+08:00

Ceremonies and Offering at Puri Bongkasa, 24-26 November 2011

2011-11-30T14:55:00.026+08:00

FACES, FASHION, ARCHITECTURE, INTERIOR— BHUTAN, NOVEMBER 2011

2011-11-24T10:02:00.017+08:00

Stranger in Paradise: Denpasar’s Radical Prince

2011-11-21T09:26:00.023+08:00

Portrait of the Prince of Kesiman by Wedha

Things are heating up on Facebook’s Bali Cultural Group Discussion page: the Balinese are tired of being told that they are doing nothing to protect the island’s delicate ecosystem.

Young Ngurah Oka Putra says that us ‘olds’ — that would be me, and the three career bisexuals from greater Javanese universities who also contribute — should pull in our heads and let the young intellectuals have their say.

Meanwhile the destruction of the urban environment by municipal planter boxes and cheesy Malaysian modern potscapes continues apace, as does the ‘restoration’ of ancient Majapahit temples — many restored to within an inch of their lives with thick black Star Trek-style andesite ‘face lifts’.

Tourists, meanwhile, have deserted the temples and are flocking instead to shows like Dev Dan in Nusa Dua — the polished dance spectacular — and to the laser shows at drinking holes along the coast.

Good luck to them.

20^th October 2011: A visit to meet the Prince of Kesiman

Denpasar has three palaces — Pemecutan, Satria and Kesiman.

Puri Agung Kesiman is in East Denpasar, in a district famous for its nice people and handsome red brick architecture.

In history, the palace is famous for the magical powers of the 19^th century Kesiman prince, Cokorda Sakti Kesiman, who would often commune, divinely, with the God of Pura Luhur, Uluwatu.

Over the last 30 years this column has often featured stories of the Kesiman warriors at the fabled Pengrebongan trance dance festival, of the palace’s exquisite royal chapel, and of the palaces connection to the 19^th Century Kuta-based Danish trader, Mads Lange.

Puri Agung Kesiman ceremonial gates

• • •

The Kesiman palace sits on a ‘plateau’ inside an impressive thick, brick-walled compound on a busy corner of the Denpasar–Gianyar road.

Sadly, little of the original classical palace survives — only the thick compound wall, ceremonial gates and a moated ‘royal chapel’. In the 1960s the original palace was torn down and replaced with a fashionable ‘office type’ (rumah kantor) home.

• • •

The main gate of the Pura Pengerebongan, Kesiman

This morning I enter the complex via a towering split gate.

I find the Cokorda (prince) at his desk in an open, ‘lean-to’ garage just inside the entrance to the first court, he is surrounded by his paintings and books and cigarette smoke.

He proudly shows me the palace magazine “PURI AGUNG KESIMAN — Meaning, Value, and Self Pride Restoration” that he and a group of local chaps have put together, and explains how the palace has just restored two of the palace gates.

I am impressed — the gates have been sensitively restored, which is rare, and the palace is looking better than ever, give or take a few suburban bungalows.

I have known the prince since the early 1970s when we were the ‘Bright Young Things’ on trail bikes; of East Denpasar we used to meet at dusk at Meme Disco’s turtle satay stand near the main town square.

Unlike the other (9) royal princes of Bali who tend to be refined and ‘regal’, the Cokorda Kesiman is a bit of a wag. Once a motor-cross champion, and a member of parliament, he is today what you would call a ‘political agitator’.

His conversation is spiced with diatribes against corruption and greed.

His face is highly animated and he works his bulging eyes like a circus clown.

“Lovable rogue” is an expression which comes to mind when being entertained by him.

• • •

After coffee he drags us off to see his ‘studio’ which is 200 hundred meters west of the palace, on the same road. The Cokorda’s Penggak Men Mersi (“half past crazy” collective) studio is a hodge-podge affair in a style part disco-palace part officer’s mess from the film “Bridge over the River Kwai”. It is the sponsor and patron of many local dance and gamelan groups.

Displayed inside, on the main gallery walls, are a dozen, large satirical protest paintings by the prince; they depict various scenarios involving corrupt courtrooms, the wholesaling of Bali and the oppression of the people.

Cokorda Kesiman’s ‘Penggak Men Mersi’ (half past crazy collective) Gallery and his paintings.

An old yellow Mercedes (his father’s first car) is parked in one corner and has been painted with ‘Planet of the Apes’ type monkeys.

It is all very creative and artistic and revolutionary and one hopes that the prince can one day stir up a reformist movement or two, before it’s too late.

Together we bemoan the recent destruction on a nearby corner of Denpasar’s most famous kulkul tower — the fabulously Rococco-Balinese Abian Kapas Kaja kulkul (see photos this page and video http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hffe0o2Ngx4

22^nd October 2011: To Puri Banyuning Palace in Bongkasa for the royal cremation of my old friend Ibu Ida Ayu Kompiang Sutarti Oka, widow of the ‘Raja’ Bongkasa, a former Minister for Sport in Indonesia

I arrive at 9 a.m. and find a hive of activity: the local high priestess is consecrating the funeral bier and black bull sarcophagus parked in the street outside the palace. Serfs are busying themselves putting finishing touches to the ramps being built over the palace walls for the bearing of the coffin and processions later.

Inside, the deceased’s thee daughters and chief daughter-in-land Lucy are sitting in the golden ceremonial pavilion, demurely, in matching purple sarong, at the foot of the deceased’s coffin.

• • •

During the morning, family and friends and dignitaries file in; the more ‘senior take their place in the large, princes’ pavilion cum verandah that forms an eastern side to the large court. Gambang (wooden xylophone) music plays gently in the background.

It is a garden party atmosphere — unlike the pompous, bun-fight feeling that sometimes prevails at other Balinese royal houses — and the girls are looking GORGEOUS.

At noon we are all — all 500 of us — invited to the back of the palace for a sumptuous sit-down lunch before the mad dash to the cremation ground.

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Faces & Fashions
at the Royal cremation of Ida Ayu Kompyang Sutarti Oka,
Puri Banyuning Bongkasa, 22nd October 2011

At one, an honor guard of Baris Tekok Jago warrior dancers forms at the feet of the first ramp (tragtag) and the coffin is born down and out, preceded by a line of princesses bearing spirit effigies and offerings.

The procession to the cremation is a magnificent affair; the bleganjur marching gamelan band from Br. Kutuh Sayan (see video http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kyuepI1fY-8) has never been more theatrical, nor more outrageous. The stately tower, bull and gilt palanquins are all glistering in the mid-day sun; the lush green villagescape is a perfect backdrop.

At the entrance to the cremation ground the Kapok trees unleash a shower of seed pod packing which ‘snows’ down on the procession.

It is a fitting send-off for a great lady.

28^th October 2011: More Bali-bashing in the Australian press

The WHY BOTHER article in today’s Sydney Morning Herald has put the boot into Bali again, via the pen of journalist Carolyn Webb.

The article includes paragraphs such as the below:

“In short, Ubud would be a great holiday destination, if they removed the frankly terrible street touts, and the tacky souvenir shops. I am not exaggerating to say that vendors of transport and souvenirs harass tourists from morning to night. Single women, especially, cannot walk more than 10 metres without being shouted at, approached, pleaded with, harangued and harassed with the words, “miiissss, miiisss, transport, taxi, where you going….miiiissss?” I thought my name had been changed to Miiisss”.

• • •

The next day, I am asked, indirectly, by the Age of Melbourne to defend Bali against such claims, but I can’t.

"The piece is perfectly well-reasoned and written,” I write. The girl has a point; no “counter-attack” needed. Just, perhaps, a letter saying how Bali's tourism zones have become more ‘commercial’ due to the blight of mass tourism. Point out also that, miraculously, the real culture still survives and that, behind every “transport, Miss”, is a real person. If one chooses a 'hardened' tourist destination — such as Venice, Paris, Rome — for a holiday one has to be prepared to work harder to keep one's personal space personal.

But, truly, why bother? Do us all a favor and go to Noosa.”

• • •

The Sydney Morning Herald is the same rag that distinguished itself the morning after the recent 6.8 level earthquake. If one googled ‘Bali Earthquake’ that morning from overseas, as I did from Bhutan, one got, first up, the Herald’s headline “Pot Boy survives horror quake in Denpasar jail.”

Bungklang Bungkling: Mudah (Cheap) by Wayan Juniarta

2011-11-18T10:04:00.006+08:00

Taken from ‘Bungklang Bungkling’, ‘Mudah’, a column by I Wayan Juniartha, published in Bali Post, Sunday 6^th November 2011. Translated by Putu Semiada.

Mudah (Cheap)

“How much is a life of Balinese worth? How much money do you need to ‘kill’ a Balinese?” comes a question.

“It depends,” says I Made teluh Desti Terangjana (I Made The King of Black Magic).

I Made is a black magic broker. He has no black magic power but has lots of friends from black magic world. His friends range from the ‘beginner’ to ‘advanced’ ones.

“It depends on how you want one die, suddenly or slowly; or how strong one is; or what kind of ‘black magic’ one wants to use to hurt other people.

“A low quality ‘poison’ costs 5 million Rupiahs, while the good one even cost 50 million Rupiahs. With a good one, your victim will die like someone who has heart attack.

“It is expensive, but you can pay in installments. Many shamans receive payment by credit cards. They even give you one year guarantee. As long as you pay, they will give guarantee that the victim will die. If they don’t, the shamans will do themselves.

“Well, it is still expensive though, as it costs you millions of Rupiahs. If you want to kill a Balinese, you don’t need to pay that much or use your credit cards,” says I Ketut Tanpa Jaminan (I Ketut No Guarantee).

“What you need is 500 thousand Rupiahs. It’s quick; you don’t need to go to Prajapati Temple (The Temple of Death), nor offerings to Goddess Durga (The Goddess of Death).”

“You just need to go to a motor bike shop with your 500 thousand and pay it for deposit. Then you can go home with a brand new motor bike.”

“After that, you give the motor bike to the person you want to kill. It won’t take long.

“He might get killed because someone might hit his bike on the street or vice versa; or he might fall into a ditch and get killed.”

“Today everyone seems on the rush on the streets; motor bikes, cars, trucks, all of them are rushing.”

“Nobody seems to be tolerance to each other on the street. Each thinks that the other is enemy so that they don’t need to give a way to the other. Even when a ‘god’ crosses the street, they might just hit.

“More people get killed on the streets than due to black magic. All kinds of black magic are much less powerful in killing people compared to people who may get killed from driving their motorbikes crazily on the streets.”

“Look at the young people, how crazy they are on the streets. What they want to do is to ride as fast as they can. That’s why the chance they get killed is much higher.

Given above, how cheap a Balinese life is.

Travel Diaries: KENDARI

2011-11-17T10:21:00.015+08:00

Published in Now! Jakarta, December 2011

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The sign that helps sailors who may be lost.

I have always been intrigued by the lost kingdoms of Indonesia — of ancient kingdoms such as Kutai, Pajajaran, Daha and Sriwijaya.

Last month I visited Kendari, the capital of Southeast Sulawesi, and discovered that the region’s Tolaki people — from the Konawe valley, 60 km south-west of the capital — were descended from the Padangguni kingdom that had flourished as early as the 2^nd century A.D. It could even have preceded Kutai, Taruma Negara in West Java and Sanjaya in the Dieng Plateau, and be Indonesia’s oldest. In the first millennium, influence of this ancient kingdom spread to the islands of Muna and Buton Islands. In the 14^th – 15^th century the kingdom adopted the Siwa-Budha faith. Eventually, in the 16^th century Padangguni, became Islamic, under Raja Lakidende, whose magnificent grave I visited in Unaaha, the Tolaki people’s capital.

LEFT: The ‘Unity’ monument that towers over downtown Kendari.
RIGHT: Swan paddle-boats frame the Ferry Disaster Monument in Kendari Bay.

A depiction of humane whale-culling found at the Kendari Museum.

The Tolaki remain today as a fair-skinned, gentle and gracious people — quite unlike their dark, less-refined cousins on the islands.

As a people, they seem to have lost touch with their history: no-one I asked in my two days there knew anything about their glorious past; most thought that they were “descended from the Japanese.

Tragically, the present government is building Kendari in a mindless modern style — replete with the requisite Social-Realist and Atomic Age monuments — with no cultural reference to the region’s Padangguni era. Only in the ‘Kota Lama’ (old town) have rows of early 19^th century Chinese-timber shops survived the relentless march of tasteless municipal modernism.

LEFT: Tolaki beauties in village home.
RIGHT: Animal prints are all the rage amongst the local Chinese supermodels.

Kendari does have a fine airport and a few good hotels. I stayed at the pleasant Swiss Bel-Hotel, which is a good base for trips to the islands in the Banda sea — Buton, Muna, Wanahelu — and for excursions into the hinterand, where the villages and the scenery, including some dramatic water falls, are a delight.

• • •

A colourful Bugis fishing vessel at the Pasar Kota fish market.

The highlight of my trip was my expedition, early the first morning, to the harbor-side fish market, the Pasar Kota (Pelelangan). Daily, a fleet of picturesque Bugis fishing vessels disgorge their catches onto the jetty, where they are weighed by a gaggle of loonies and then conveyed to the shore market, which is a melee of consumers (see my video on youtube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OoA2BRdrRaM

The scene at the weighing-in station on the fish market’s wharf.

After the market the truly chic go to Ibu Monica’s Pangsit Mie café, ‘ Aroma Sedap’ on Jalan Soekarno, in China town, where perfect roast-chicken noodles can be enjoyed in a gay party atmosphere.

Ibu Monica’s Pangsit Mie café

Another highlight of my trip was the valley of the ‘verge virgins’ — a 5 km strip on the Kendari–Makassar Highway, about 15 km outside Unaaha, where pretty Tolaki maidens sell corn on the cob from well-designed lesehan food stalls.

It is Gods’ gift to truck-drivers.

• • •

Rows of corn vendor stalls line the highway outside Unaaha.

8 November 2011: A trip into the interior

I take a local taxi 80 kilometres out of town to Unaaha (Rp. 500,000 for four hours, includes tip) via the valley of the verge virgins, in search of any evidence of the past, great Padangguni Kingdom. The road is well paved and the villages that line it — neat rows of Eastern Indonesian style box-huts with pretty gardens — are well maintained.

The first sign of ‘civilization’ are the roadside stalls selling smoked fish. The remarkable produce — eels, snails, swamp mollusks, river and sea fish — is exquisitely displayed and the vendors as polite as any in Central Java. The stalls themselves are elegant thatched huts, with roofs fashioned out of sago leaf. In fact sago is a staple for the Tolaki ; Papuans many farmer’s hut and houses are built solely out of sago palm timber.

LEFT: Smoked fish hanging in Tolaki stalls along the Kendari–Makassar highway.
RIGHT: Star-sex-kitten corn vendor, Inul.

The corn on the cob vendors’ stalls have sago palm roofs too, which look wonderful all in a row in the broad shade of the Temesu and Mahagony trees that line the road.

At each stop, however, my quest for information on the history of this remarkable fertile plateau loaded with exquisite people is met with blank stares.

• • •

In Unaaha, I find Raja Lakidende’s grave quite near the town’s centre : it is a magnificent, 5-tiered ziggurat funeral mound affair within a largish walled park. Just across the road, next to an obscenely ugly concrete balai adat community hall, is the grave of his Queen, which sits under a giant Ficus elastica tree.

Raja Lakidede's grave in Unaaha

Each year the governor of Southeast Sulawesi sacrifices a white water buffalo at the grave. The royal tomb keeper tells me that the descendants of the last Raja hold regular rituals here too.

What a shame the ancient local culture can’t be included more into the fabric — physical and otherwise — of this fast-expanding town.

• • •

9 November 2011

I make two cultural probes inside Kendari town on my second afternoon.

I visit the Museum, an ugly two storey office building designed to rival the Soviet Era’s worst and the marketing and tourism complex, which is a big theme park entered through a gate/portal resembling the Portuguese/Dutch fort on Buton Island. The park has a number of poorly design and badly maintained rumah adat (traditional houses) of various suku (tribes) of the region. The Buton traditional house was the only one worth visiting: the two storied (Balinese wantilan style) structure was well built and had some beautiful carved detailing, including a Chinese naga on the ridge of the kitchen’s roof.

Typical country village house near Unaaha

LEFT: Model of a Buton house at the Kendari Museum.
RIGHT: A Tolaki ‘traditional’ house in downtown Kendari.

It is only back in my hotel room at night that I discover, via Google, the rich history of the Tolaki people on a website of the same name, hosted by local historian Sabry Matasala.

• • •

In two days I could not find one good example of a traditional rumah adat though I have sent a scout to take a photograph of one which I believe is at P2 I.D. in Kendari.

• • •

Pulau Buton Island, which I will visit on my next trip to this region (stay tuned) still has a kraton (palace) and strong links to its rich past apparently.

I long to go there now and help unravel the mystery of this ancient culture. (It’s easy on Express Air, via Makassar. Ed).

Bungklang Bungkling: Raja (King) by Wayan Juniartha

2011-11-09T09:18:00.004+08:00

Taken from ‘Bungklang Bungkling’, ‘Raja, a column by I Wayan Juniartha, published in Bali Post, Sunday 30 October 2011. Translated by Putu Semiada.

Raja (King)

The palm toddy warung looks different today. There are four decorative bamboo poles (penjor), hanging coconut leave decorations (paku pipid), and a carved chair in the middle of the warung.

I Madé Obsesi Megalomaniak (I Madé Full of Obsession) is sitting on the chair.

“Starting from today, I’m the King of Kediri for Bali, West and East Nusa Tenggara,” says he.

Next, he puts on a crown and a royal costume with golden trim which he has bought. He is so rich that he doesn’t even need to pay for the costume by ‘credit’ like one who claimed himself a king named Raja Kumis Babakan Pulé (King with thick moustache but has no money).

“My royal name is Abhiseka-Jayadini-Jayaditu I Gusti Ngurah Nyem Lalah Demen Nampah,” he adds.

Everybody claps their hands. The association members are democratic people. There has been a rule that only the chairman should be elected by voting. Anyone who wants to claim himself as king or priest is welcomed as it is their personal right and must be respected.

“Why King of Kediri, instead of Sriwijaya which is more historic, or a Chinese King with lots of fortune,” asks I Wayan Campah Kelur (I Wayan Never Thinks Twice Before Talking).

“Well, Sriwijaya has no close relation to Bali. Actually I prefer Majapahit. Majapahit is still much respected by the Balinese.”

I Madé is right. A lot of Balinese are still amazed by the golden era of Majapahit Kingdom. They want the golden era back. They might not understand that, if it came back, they would become common people and will be oppressed by the king and local rulers as well.

“Besides, there is already one who claims himself as King of Majapahit for Bali area.”

“And Kediri has been chosen as it is much older than Majapahit.

“So I will be the highest one in Bali. Most of Balinese Kings are descended from Majapahit Kingdom. I’m ‘descended’ from Kediri.”

Everyone claps. I Madé has given them a packed rice lunch each, palm toddy and beer for free and a T-shirt, plus transport allowance. The Balinese are quiet happy when they are treated like that.

“What is it special for you to be a ‘king’ when you don’t have your own people nor kingdom? Who do you expect to recognize that you are a king? Who would believe you?” asks I Wayan again.

“I’m sure you do not really understand the current situation. You can ‘buy’ anything you want as long as you have money, including ‘recognition.”

“You can pay journalists to get yourself be featured in newspapers. If you are featured in newspapers every day, you can go here and there to do your job as a king. At the end people will believe that you are a king.”

“You can even cheat the gods. If you come to the spooky temples every night, give some donation and pretend to be in trance, and when you are in trance, say that you’ve got messages from many different gods that they have approve you to be a king; eventually the temples’ custodians (pengempon) would believe you.”

“If you are often featured in newspapers and in trance, you will soon become popular. Even though you are from lower caste or not really smart, you will look like a smart one; from nothing to something.”

“You already have everything, Madé; you are a successful businessman, you have lots of wives and lots of money; why do you want to be a king?”

“Today, the most important thing is ‘status’. No matter how much money you have, it won’t guarantee that people will respect you. No matter how bright you are, if you are from a lower caste, nobody will listen to you.”

“And the Balinese are a bit feudalistic. Everyone will listen to the person as long as he is from higher caste and all they can say is ‘yes’ (nggih).”

“That’s why I want to be a king. Nobody wants to be an ordinary person in Bali. Most want to be a ‘king’. The thing is that, some say it frankly, others don’t.”

Everyone laughs. Actually everyone wants to be a ‘king’. It is much better indeed to be a king compared to an ordinary person, like Pak Minta, the gardener who was caught by the president’s personal guards as he passed riding a bike in front of the president during an event in Bali.

“If Pak Minta were a president, the guards would respect him.

Bungklang Bungkling: Wayang (Shadow Puppet) by Wayan Juniartha

2011-11-09T08:46:00.004+08:00

Taken from ‘Bungklang Bungkling’, ‘Wayang’, a column by I Wayan Juniartha, published in Bali Post, Sunday 23rd October 2011. Translated by Putu Semiada.

Wayang (Shadow Puppet)

Why does less and less Balinese have names inspired from characters in the shadow puppets (wayang)?

“People used to name their children or grandchildren by characters in wayang,” says I Made Abimayu.

His wife will be delivering a baby in two weeks and he has been busy preparing a name.

“It’s been difficult to find a child’s name taken from characters in epics.”

Everybody nods. They know that it’s much easier to find a child named ‘Kevin’ instead of ‘Yudistira’ or ‘Natasha’ instead of ‘Srikandi’.

“Parents nowadays are getting clever,” comments I Putu Joblar.

I Made gets upset. He wants to name his future child taken from “wayang’ characters. But now his own friends tease him that parents naming their children characters from “wayang” are stupid.

“What did you say?” asks I Made.

“If you read Mahaberatha or Ramayana carefully, you won’t name your child taken from a wayang character.”

“Who wants to name his child ‘Yudistira’? In Mahabrata epic, it is said that Yudistira is wise and kind. But when he gambles against the ‘Kurawa’ his personality is totally changed. He even uses his brothers and wife as bets for gambling. If one does so, how could you consider him a wise man.”

“And who wants to name his child ‘Arjuna’? In the epic it is said that Arjuna always claims himself single anywhere he goes to attract girls. He can’t stand when seeing a beautiful girl. He is good at meditating but becomes week when it comes to girls. Who wants to have a son like that never dares to fight but always chases girls.”

Let alone ‘Gatotkaca’ or Abimayu. No parents want their children to die young. No parents expect their children to be heroes. Heroes dies.”

Today, wayang is not popular anymore. Cinetrons, infotainment and political news are preferred,” comments Ketut Cenk Blong.

“If wayang was still popular, people would follow God’s orders properly and respect the truth (dharma) no matter what it takes.”

“Who wants to do that now? One would like to be rich as soon as he can — have a big house, a lot of cars, a beautiful wife, secret lovers everywhere, famous like cinetron stars, or like artists or politicians seen on television.”

“Today money seems to be the most important thing for everyone which makes one greedier. One sells anything one has (including parents’ lands) sacrificing one’s self-respect and cultural prostitution is now common. No matter if it makes one fight one’s own brother, or friends, or ignore ancestors’ messages (to save the land, etc).”

“They want their children to be good-looking, rich, and famous, like cinetron stars. That’s why one names children like cinetron stars such as: Julia, Pasha, Steve, Ruben, Selena, Justin and no more names such as Bima, Rama or Sahadewa.

“The thing is that it is difficult now to find someone whose behavior is as good as his name.

Travel Diaries: BHUTAN

2011-10-28T14:44:00.008+08:00

Published in Now! Jakarta, November 2011

==============================================================

The official wedding photograph of the King and Queen of Bhutan.

Bhutan

Bhutan is heaven on earth — a non-smoking section of the planet with a medieval God-King system and restricted tourism.

The mountain kingdom’s only airline, Druk Air, is run by goddesses in pink ikat sarongs; in every major town men do archery in Argyll socks; and the national spot is flirting.

I was on cloud nine for the five days I was there.

• • •

Getting to Heaven on Earth is only easy if one goes through Hell on Earth, the new Bangkok airport.

The clever Thais decided to ignore the South Asian trend for spacious, light-filled airports and built one inspired by ‘Blade-runner’.

It’s as if they took South Asia’s gift to modern urbanism — the dark, dust-coated, no-go zones under elevated concrete highways — and used it as a theme for the airport’s design.

One wanders around the airport — lost like a rat in a maze — until one sees, in the far distance, the side of a multi-storey carpark painted purple.

Left: A gracious Druk Air flight attendant at 30,000 feet.
Right: Welcoming committee from the fabulous Uma Paro hotel.

For my transit there I stayed at the swank new Novotel Airport hotel (available by the hour via the gate 4 counter but not on-line) before catching a 0415 flight to Paro, the only airport in Bhutan.

Airbone, the small Airbus wove through the misty Himalayan valley skies and set us down gently at 6.30 a.m., just as the first rays of dawn were illuminating Dzong Paro, the fortress-like citadel that guards the town.

The airport building is Bhutanese style with elegantly decorated timber framed windows and a handsome tiered roof. The airport road is lined with cone-shaped conifers, reminiscent of the alleyways at Fontainebleau Palace, near Paris. Outside the airport, the main trans-Bhutan Highway runs along one side of a wide river.

A series of enlightened Bhutanese monarchs have managed to keep out the urban sprawl which has ruined Darjeeling and Sikkim, on the Indian side, and on the other side, the Chinese progressives who they hate since they annexed Tibet, Bhutan’s motherland.

We are now up to monarch number five from the one dynasty formed since the country was ‘united’ in the early 1900s. He is known as K5 and due to great fortune, not planning, is to take his queen on the last day of my stay. Bhutan is a devoutly Buddhist country with underpinnings of Bonism, the ancient animistic culture.

• • •

Dzong Paro, on the northern slopes of Paro Valley.

Left: Stupa in a ‘town square’ at the eastern approach to Paro town.
Right: Local lasses stroll past the Dzong Paro fortress park wall.

Left: Interior of Uma Paro
Right: With my butler Pema on our way to the Royal Wedding breakfast at Uma Paro library.

After breakfast I roll down the hill to Paro, the capital of the tiny (pop. 700,000) country’s western-most province.

The township is ‘announced’ by a ‘square’ of painted brick stupa — squat, handsome, pagoda-like structures — adjacent to an archery field straight out of Robin Hood.

I spend the afternoon visiting temples and farm houses in the Paro Valley.

By late afternoon I am head over heels in love…….with everything and everyone Bhutanese. I feel like a big pink lotus finally emerging form the mud into the sunlight.

It was the same feeling I had when I first arrived in Bali in 1973 but with the menacing under-tones of the Soeharto regime replaced by beaming biksu monks and contented cattle.

View of Paro Valley from the Uma Paro dining hall, Bhutan.

Left: Monks and a local Thimpu Abbot perform rites in a farm house prayer room outside Thimpu.
Right: Well-preserved republicans at the monastically-exquisite Amankora.

Left: Shopping arcade architecture, downtown Paro.
Right: Vendor in the handicraft market, Thimpu, Bhutan.

My driver, Ghopal, a Bhutanese of Nepali descent, channels John Galliano in a Paro fabric shop.

Dour chanting fills the air.

My guides drop to their knees to perform suppliances while I case the farm house for further treasures.

In one bedroom wing I find a huddle of monks playing “Hulk Hogan” play-station on a wide screen television.

In a communal kitchen daughters-in-law are preparing a feast.

Later, after butter tea and rice snacks, we are let loose back into the rat race.

It is an experience I will never forget.

Day 5: The Royal Wedding
Most of a day four is spent at the tailor getting fitted for my Gzo costume/dressing gown (see Youtube: http://youtu.be/Uedrh3ITkUM) and today I wear my light grey chequered outfit and long black socks.

Thus attired I hit the hotel library at 7 a.m. to watch the royal wedding before my flight to Bangkok leaves at 1 p.m.

A crowd of employees has gathered. On Bhutan TV, we see processions of princes, monks and the glamorous future queen arriving at the magnificent Dzong Punakha two hours East of Thimpu.

In the broadcast we see that the vast central court of the Dzong fortress — itself the size of Buckingham Palace — is completely ever shadowed by a five storey high Buddhist Thangka, a religious painting in front of which the preliminary rituals will take place.

Later in the morning the newly-wed King and Queen move to the royal chapel for a formal ‘crowning’ ceremony and then out into the park to meet the people.

The popular King and his ravishing new Queen are feted with dances from all over the country including one Gzo-clad break-dancer who wins the newlyweds hearts.

Stranger in Paradise: Expats and the Arts

2011-10-28T14:33:00.006+08:00

Dance Nyoman Sura of Kesiman at Sir Warwick Purser’s 70th birthday in Ubud, 28 September 2011

Expats and the Arts

Bali’s fame as the ‘Island of Artists’ was in no small part due to its promotion, during the 1930s, by a small band of European and Mexican artists — Covarrubias, Spies, Niewenkampt, and Hoefker. In their work, they all portrayed Bali as an idyll for artists.

Today, despite inroads by sexpats, villa people and real estate developers into the island scene, it is still international artists, writers, dancers and photographers who make the biggest contribution, of all the foreign sectors’, to the continuation of the world’s most gorgeous culture.

Every year more and more top-rank Indonesian artists and writers make Bali their home too, which enriches the island’s reputation as a haven for creative people.

Last month saw the launch of many books by prominent expatriates and Indonesians.

Leading the pack was Jamie James’ sensational micro-buster ‘Rimbaud’ in Java’ published by Editions Didier Millet of Mertasari, Singapore and Paris (see excerpt from Zadie Smith in box).

Out of the same Mertasari, Sanur compound came long-time resident Leonard Lueras and Yayasan Purnati’s ‘The Art of Ogoh-Ogoh’, a sensational photo album of images of the Island’s demon effigies.

In the same month photographer Andrew de Jong of Canggu and Woolongong released a bouquet of beefcake beauties called ‘Men in Indonesia’, which is flying off the book shelves in gay saunas and select bookstores around the world.

The Island’s most prolific publisher, Sarita Newson, of Kiwi-Kintamani extraction, also published a book on ‘Ogoh-Ogoh’; and Ubud-based anthropologist Jean Couteau launched a book on the art of a Sanur-based Dutch painter. Celebrity furniture designer Carlo Pessina also had a retrospective of his distinctive designs at the GANESHA gallery at the four Seasons in Jimbaran.

"Far too much creative endeavour" as Noel Coward famously remarked in his 1930s ditty on the island's culture.

Meanwhile the Balinese have been busy 'raising the bar' with ever more extraordinary temple dance performances, festivals and cremations. Creativity in fashion is peaking too, with the Balinese women taking floral applique and saucy mules to new heights of extravagance in their temple dress (see photos following pages).

I had to travel as far afield as Gunaksa, outside Klungkung, to find a good, old-fashioned, all native Barong Dance.

4th October 2011: Back to the magic hill outside Gunaksa village, Klungkung to film a repeat of last month’s amazing Barong Masolah dance for the Cinémathèque Francaise de la Danse.

As no-one seems to want wants my romantic- poetic gardens anymore — the clever New Asian architects have succeeded in brain-washing developers and the public alike in the belief that minimalistic, formulaic gardens are next to godliness — I have had to retrain 30 or so of the tropical world’s best gardeners, as mosaic artists, decorative paint specialists and cinematographers.

This would be impossible anywhere but Bali, where artisans are ultimately flexible.

I have almost completely deserted garden design for ethnography and show business: my encore careers as film-maker, exotic dancer, and soft-porn star (less of that later. Ed.) has taken over.

As barefoot/Facebook film-maker I have now made over 70 short films and documentaries, most about Balinese rituals, but also films on famous Indonesian fish markets, Independence Day on Bintan, and Cougars from Coolongatta.

Truly inquisitive minds can go to Wijaya Pilem2 on You Tube to see the results.
Others can wait for Alam TV or Fox News to discover me.

I have a loyal Facebook following for my films which includes specialists from the Paris Cinemateque (the world’s oldest repository of films on ethnographic dance), the former head of the Indian National Trust and Logie award-winner Lissa Coote.

Tonight I take my field unit and a borrowed camera to Pura Bukit Puluh to reshoot, properly, the amazing Barong Dance I saw at the neighboring Pura Mastapa last month.

• • •

On arrival the grand temple is bursting at the seams; pilgrims are flooding in from as far away as Negara, Lombok and Singaraja.

In a back room, off the main wantilan hallI, I find the dance troupe of trance-masters getting dressed, but the charming corps de ballet dancers are not there.

"The main Telek dancer is menstruating" my friend, I Barong (his real name) screams across the dressing room, pulling a face.

Last month I filmed Wayan’s father, the troupe's lead Barong Dancer, ‘flip out’ when, at the end of the performance, hen emerged from the Barong — wild-eyed and fancy-free -- to eat a live black chicklet in one gulp and flail around (in a nice not a nasty way). He was then served arak in a cup by his doting, dancing priestly son, also somewhat away with the pixies.

Earlier tonight I had greeted Wayan Barong as he arrived at the temple , looking like the young Tony Curtis in Prince Valiant — white teeth and long perfectly-formed fingers and gold rings flashing — and now I document him getting dressed into his Barong costume with its his hairy goat-skin leg-shields with their attendant bells and striped trousers.

• • •

(Later the same night. Ed) 9.30 p.m. : The Barong Dance is in full swing on the terrace below the long stairs and the towering gate that leads to the temple

After an hour-long overture the gamelan starts to play the trance-dance, melodies as Rangda, the Evil White Witch, taunts Barong, the village mascot, by slapping his mask with her spooky white head scarf (see “Barong Masolah” http://www.youtube.com/watch? v=usMZ7DfdJeI on Wijaya Pilem2 on You Tube).

My driver of 35 years, Grandfather Made Kader, is shooting with the big camera. He reminds me of Leni Reifenstal shooting ‘Triumph of the Will’ in Berlin, in 1936. All the dancers and the Barong seem to be playing to the camera.

Suddenly the star dancer Barong emerges from the hairy beast’s bodice and starts a frantic kris-dance (ngurek) of such intense beauty that one can hear the collective clank of a thousand jaws dropping.

• • •

The speech that I should have given on 1st October at Warwick Purser 70th Birthday Party:
"We are gathered here tonight, again, in white, looking our best for ‘Tuan Lurik’, the indefatigable hostess with the mostess of Jogjakarta, Ubud, Jakarta, Mt. Masedon, Portsea, Port Douglas, Batujimbar, Menteng, Tembi, Chiang Mai and Toorak fame.

Our Warwick has many talents — as a father; a homeware, home, and hotel- designer; philanthropist, lech and decorator — but he is most famous for being famous.

How does this happen? Well, one needs a good start, like the above talents, and one has to be charming and witty and have a well-born Melbourne wife.

Left: Sir Warwick Purser, and Susanna Perini from Biasa Artspace.
Right: Writer/Photographer Leonard Leuras at his Sanur book Launch

Left: Paul Ropp, fashion Designer
Right: Anthropologist and Comedienne Rucina Ballinger and author Jamie James

Melinda and Arthur Karvan at the Ogoh-ogoh book launch at Wantilan Lama Batu Jimbar.

Left: Tati Waworuntu
Right: Bulantrisna Djelantik and Rio Helmi

rom his earliest days with the much loved Lissa Purser — as managers of the legendary Hotel Tandjung Sari on Sanur Beach in Bali (1969-71)-- and through his years in Jalan Penarukan Jakarta — when he was building up Southeast Asia’s biggest travel agency PACTO — and a decade later as Minister of Tourism in Vanuatu...... and now as the white Raja of Tembi, South of Jogjakarta — the high and mighty and talented of Jakarta and the world have beaten a track to his glamorous and culturally-refined homes with the best-looking staff money can buy.

Long before it become fashionable, Warwick was professionally non-judgemental, blasé even, about life’s trials and tribulations.

While perhaps not a great conversationalist, nor even a good listener (he, he), Warwick sure knows how to put together people who are, and he has always done this with great generosity of spirit and verve.

He is also a master of ‘keeping things to himself, and he’s had a lot to keep! Ha!

His even temperament is his defining trait: Warwick is basically unflappable (though he folds neatly)

In almost 40 years of friendship I can’t remember him ever losing his block. He has , on occasion, lost the shirt off his back, his marbles, his sense of reality …. but he rarely succumbs to the vilest of vices ….. lip-curling petulance.

He was my first boss, and has mentored many careers including those of Agung Prana, Mendez, John Panca, and that of his daughter, Polly’, who is now marketing whizz at John Hardy Jewellery. Unknown numbers of other artists, dancers, musicians, masseurs and satpam have benefitted from his largesse.

We shine in his company.

In the words of the fabulous singing Farmer’s: “God Save Our Gracious Warwick”.

Bungklang Bungkling: Yeh (Water) by Wayan Juniartha

2011-10-18T14:45:00.005+08:00

Taken from ‘Bungklang Bungkling’, ‘Yeh’, a column by I Wayan Juniartha, published in Bali Post, Sunday 9th October 2011. Translated by Putu Semiada.

Yeh (Water)

It is said that water has been a big problem in Bali; a lot of rivers run out of water, lakes are getting shallow and ground wells are dry. In 2012 Bali will have water crisis.

“2012? Please don’t talk about 2012! I haven’t taken a bath for a week as the city water has been off, says I Made Engkah Naga (I Made Full of Bullshit).

Everyone understands well when I Made says that. Made is known for his habit of rarely taking a bath in spite of the city water supply. That’s why his friends call him cockcrow.

“Crisis is not really a problem. The most important thing is that how we can use the water wisely,” comments I Putu Tenggek Puyung (I Putu No Brain).

I Putu is a non-government organization activist who works hard in preserving the Bali environment. He ‘fights’ against high ranking officials and investors, but he never wins.

“First, you only need to take a bath once a day, only in the morning. Don’t worry if your body stinks. You’ll be able to sleep, at the end.”

His friends shake their heads. But they can understand as I Putu has never been in love yet with a girl. He might understand when he has a wife. When he does, he has to take a bath at least twice a day otherwise his wife will not sleep with him.

“Secondly, we must make our head bald so that you don’t need to wash your hair anymore. Washing hair takes much water, let alone using shampoo. A bucket of water is not enough.”

“Thirdly, change your clothes once a week. You will have only a few clothes to wash then. It saves lots of water. Or you can bring clothes to a laundry service that they can wash your clothes at the same time.”

Fourthly, do not pee too often so you won’t feel thirsty. And don’t spit too often either. If you feel thirsty, just swallow your saliva.”

They all think what crazy ideas I Putu have.

“Fifthly, Do not defecate in a toilet because it takes a lot of water to clean the toilet. Just find a bush. After you are done, clean it in on a tree trunk.” Adds I Putu.

They are a bit surprised. How can they find trees to clean after defecating? Bushes have gone; what’s left are electrical poles and house columns.

Sixthly, the most important thing, is to stop drinking water. Drink palm toddy or palm wine instead. It will save lots of water.

They all clap. They all agree on this one.

“This will become the most important contribution from the palm toddy association members for Bali on environmental preservation and water saving. So just let’s drink palm toddy and palm wine from now on.