For the past couple of mornings I am awakened by a loud microphoned voice chanting a little before 5 a.m….it sounds as if it is right outside my door, and is similar to the muezzin sounds heard near yodfat at muslim prayer time. I decided this morning that it is an opportunity to get dressed and go see what kind of ceremony is going on in the dark pre-dawn at the nearby temple. It sounded so close, that I was sure it was the little temple next door to my room.
When I went to my open air bathroom first, suddenly the voice was coming from the opposite direction …okay…so I will go there, and then when I finished getting dressed in the traditional kabiya blouse on top of my sarong and mandatory girdle (that always takes ages until I hook up all the little hooks!) and most important; tied sash at waist, I walked outside with a flashlight to be lead by my sense of hearing to whichever temple it was.
I started to my right, crossing over the little waterway and up the stairs from the sea but soon realized that the voice was booming out from a different direction. Under the assumption that all paths lead to Rome, I continued walking and figured I could cut across a "side street" probably. Meanwhile I passed a mother and her son that was dressed and off to school ( at 5 :15!) and continued walking in the dark, passing men standing on the sides of the path urinating into the little canals that flow all over, and women carrying big plastic bowls with fresh fish on their heads. I decided to opt for a side road and circumvent the busy morning market since it would only be a lot of giggling at me in my "temple dress". And as I walked confidently on a little side path that I saw people coming towards me from, I was sure that I would soon arrive at the temple. Most of the people do not speak English, and I do not speak neither Balinese nor Indonesian, so, often we just pass each other in silence. But even in the dark I could sense that they were a bit puzzled about where I was so assertively striding towards? And 50 meters later I realized it was a dead end path leading to their house! I laughed, how they are so polite, they would never "correct me", or ask me why I am going to their house!
So, made a u-turn and continued to listen and search out which temple was the booming voice coming from…a few more dead ends on narrow paths through the forest which led to peoples entrances convinced me to keep on the main road next time I get to one. I had naively thought that since all the villagers need to get to the temple, there must be paths that connect from wherever they live, to the temple. But later I realized that that is probably why there are temples every 50 meters…since there are NOT paths that lead through this unplanned unsymmetrical maze of houses.
As I got closer to the main road that is THE road to travel along the northern coast of bali, and is a narrow 2 lane road lined with houses, kiosks and temples, I realized that it was the busiest I had ever seen the town! In the darkness at 5:30 a.m. people on motorbikes, trucks going by, lots of people walking on the street to and from the market holding a few vegetables and some fish to prepare todays meals…no big shopping carts to buy for the week, rather each day before dawn purchasing the farmer and fisherman fresh ingredients for todays meals. What especially surprised me was to see the street filled with kiosks selling "fast food" fried goodies wrapped in brown paper or in a small plastic bag for breakfast for the workers or children…
Meanwhile I knew the clock was ticking and if I didn't find the temple quickly, I would be too late and miss it. The chanting usually goes on for 20-30 minutes by a local chanter that knows the melodies and words, and then at the end the priest says the blessing which includes all of the sacrificial gestures and flower and water sprinkling and the ringing of a bell….
Aha….the voice was now coming from the other side of the road, where I had never been, and it was now a womans voice, so I continued my search, reaching the tall walls of a temple and ended up walking all around it and by the time I got to the entrance, the services had just ended…with only about 10 men and a woman walking out of the grounds…
Okay, now to walk back home…I decided to walk behind the priest that I assumed was going home in the village, and turned down a very narrow path, wide enough to walk single file among women sitting on the ground on either side of it with fish, flowers, fruits, vegetables…another market! So, even though I thought I could avoid the pointed fingers and giggle giggle, "look at her flashlight", "look at her in temple clothes",nudge nudge, murmur murmur and Balinese comments…I could not…and just smiled at them all and looked at what they were selling. After 2 blocks it ended and I just continued to walk among the back to back little houses and alleyways and canals, in the direction of the sea…again, assuming it would make some kind of grid. Wrong…it does not make a grid, but a few more wrong turns and surprised villagers as they found me in front of their little houses so early in the morning, and I ended up at a familiar statute and knew how to get back home from there.
And now, walking along the main road winding through the orchards and banana and coconut trees again, I started to realize that I must look like a chinaman in hassidic dress to them….so of course it makes them laugh. Finally arriving at the sea I was surprised to find it still like glass with the sun beginning to rise; a good time to go snorkeling! And then when I walked along the beach I was even more surprised to find it open and empty of fishing boats! I had looked out at the sea before and didn't see any boats and assumed that they had returned before dawn, but no. They are so far out still that you can't even see them.
So, my effort to get out of bed and get dressed and search after that hypnotic voice that calls out in the predawn darkness led me through scenes that I enjoyed discovering, and also allowed me to get some exercise in and discover other layers of Balinese life here in the north.
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