JALAN-JALAN SA SOUTHEAST ASIA. Breathless in Bali. By Ramon Jorge Sarabosing
Ramon Jorge Sarabosing
BALI, Indonesia (MindaNews/14 July) – In Bali,they call me “Mr. English please,” and the Balinese locals are surprised to know Filipinos look like Balinese.
The only Filipino they know, it seems, is Imelda (Marcos). It was the first thing the security guard of Bali Rani Hotel in Kuta district asked me. Apparently, he finds her having 3,000 pairs of shoes funny and memorable.
It was the Balinese dance instructor who baptized me “Mr. English please” because my classmates would approach me in Bahasa Balinese and I would reply “English please.” As simple as that.
I have joined a Balinese warrior dance class where most of my classmates were 10-year-olds, one American and two Aussies. The dance is fantastic, especially if you are 40 something. It exercises all your muscles and nerves, from the tip of your fingers down to your toes, including even your eyes. It is a very expressive dance, but if you have to be a master warrior dancer, you have to begin at age 10.
As a habit, I looked for Filipinos there. I asked the lady at the front desk if there are Pinoy employees at the hotel, and she said none. I inquired from the guy at the restaurant, and he said zero. I went to the Catholic Church and was told there are several Pinoy nuns. Alleluia!
But I never got to meet them because they go home either late or too early. But it was the security guard who told me a revealing story. “Do you live in Dabao?” He asked me.
(He pronounced Davao as Dabao.) I said no. “You see,” he began, “My fighting cocks are from Dabao.” That fired up my curiosity. He said he buys them from a friend who breeds those cocks in Dabao. “They are very good cocks. Very brave, they fly and hit their opponents (local Balinese cocks) up in the air. Very unusual.” I thought all fighting cocks do that so I asked him if Balinese cocks don’t do that and he said, “no, its only Filipino cocks who do.”
Hmmm…
In Ubud, the cultural capital of Bali, many things amaze the visitors—from nightly cultural presentations, religious rituals, temples, a hundred art galleries (some in the middle of the ricefields), splendid food, the artists and artisans, and friendly and gentle locals. Two things got etched on my mind. One, local women doing manual labor. Yes, the women do sand and gravel delivery, carrying loads of them including hollow blocks on their heads to the construction site. “The men do the construction but it’s the women who bring the materials to the site area,” explained my Balinese host.
I asked whether the women don’t mind this, and he said no. “It’s extra income for them. That is why you only see them doing that early in the morning or early or late at night.” Petite these women may be, but they sure have enough strength to deliver them to some distance.
The other one was that huge handsome deer who followed me at the valley outside of the town. It was nearly sundown and in the field of grass his head popped out and he stared at me. For a second, I was thrilled yet hesitant to come near him, but he bowed his head as if giving me his permission. He had dark gentle eyes and his horns were lovely. He took a few steps as I passed by him, and I keep looking back at him. It was like seeing a real magic. I wanted to shout but ended up murmuring a prayer of thanks.
Whenever friends asked me if I went to some white beaches I would be hesitant to answer. I did go to Kuta Beach but who wants to swim with a thousand others. It’s so crowded I would rather dream of the tiny coves and islets of Surigao. What I’d tell my friends instead is the mountain village of Munduk, north of Bali. “This place is my Shangri-La,” a senior American stewardess told me. Our group of four was having dinner in an open air restaurant overlooking a spectacular view – contours of mountain peaks protruding from the hills and valleys in the distance. A million stars and a crescent moon made it even more heavenly, like the food on the table… the mountain breeze… the sound of gongs and bells and flutes courtesy of the resident musicians.
At day time, we would hike down toward the twin lakes and take photos of the ancient temple. It’s a different world, all green, clouds, a tranquil lake, dried pathway, peaks, waterfalls, flying eagles. Maybe Munduk is not for everyone and maybe it’s better that way. It makes you special, privileged to be there. In a sense, it speaks of Bali itself. (Ramon Jorge Sarabosing of Butuan City, has been going around Southeast Asia the past few months).
Source: http://www.mindanews.com/
Add comment July 15th, 2008