Celebration Day -- Jan 25b

During the village procession, the teenaged boys made up the gamelan band. Today, the first day of the celebration, I'm sitting here listening to seasoned players. The youth had enthusiasm. These men have experience. Some beat time  on drums, others on a gamalan.

I've just had to duck for cover, getting uncomfortable close. The rain started, and I can see people scurrying for the covered platforms and tents dotted around the grounds.

Back to the band. The primary player strikes the tune with a fine gilded hammer in his right hand. On each side sit the men who take on the harmony lines. With their left hands, each controls the length of the vibration. From a distance, I could barely tell.

There’s a row of hand drums behind the primary and secondary players. On the right are men with hand-held cymbals. At the back, the large gongs.

There’s no Stairway To Heaven on the playlist. The songs are both melodic and repetitive. And very traditional.


It's an hour later. A man wanted to practise his English and kept a conversation going. The rain is pelting down, harder than ever. And the band plays on. One of the lesser front row players started it. He was fooling around, almost playing jazz, and the rest of the band joined in with their traditional reverie.

This morning started off clear. I thought I'd be safe wearing my runners, and put my raincoat in my bag as insurance. Now I'm really missing those sandals. The few people that are braving the rain have abandoned even flip flops.

It's hard to believe this much rain can fall.


Finally, the rain let up a bit. It didn't stop; it was just less heavy. I, like many others, ventured out. I felt so bad for so many people. They were drenched to the skin in their very best clothes.

I walked home, despite being offered a ride several times. This reminds me of a conversation I had on my walk back yesterday. I was almost at the top of the hill when one of my students pulled up in a truck. He opened with “Hello, how are you.”  I replied with the standardized patter. His wife was giggling, so I added “Where are you from?”  Her giggles turned to laughter when he relied with the name of his village, and the laughter turned to a roar when I said “very far.”  I to.d my students this phrase would relax people in a conversation. Every one of their white visitors will come from somewhere very far. It's a safe expression, and will help the other person relax.


Back to gamalon bands. I almost left around 10:30 in the morning, but I saw a number of older men entering the temple, all wearing burnt orange rather than white. Some carried stands for gamelan keyboards. This band will play in the evening, when there is also dancing.


Despite the fact that it is the rainy season, the rain is rarely as heavy or as long as it was today. It started around 11:15 and ended around 4.

I'll go back to the temple at 7:30 to watch the dancing.

UPDATE: Thursday afternoon a women’s gamalon band played, every bit as well as the men’s.