Village Procession Day

Today, the day before the major celebration at the temple, it was a day for my village residents to go to the temple together and pray.

I was loaned a sarong and sash, and told to wear my white top. White top? Yes, with long sleeves. My snorkel shirt, to prevent another bad sunburn.

The procession was due to start at 3 pm. For the past week, the teenaged boys had been practising in the gamalan band. They were as ready as they'd ever be.

People trickled down to the village temple (news flash, there's a village temple in addition to each compound’s temple. Basically, the one road in the village is lined with temples, so I thought the one at the end of the road was just like the others).  I walked into the temple because it was expected of me, then left to the spot I'd scoped out half way down the hill.

Soon, I heard the band. People kept scooting up the hill, trying to make it before the road closure. When I saw a motorcyclist pull over, I knew it was show time.

First came the village leadership, then the tall flags and parasols. Families walked together, parents holding hand with their children. Men walked hand-in-hand. Women carried offerings, some in plastic bags, others in baskets. The band was in the middle of the procession, followed by groups of families and friends.

After everyone passed, I followed. My sarong limited the length of my stride, as did the steepness of the hill. Whenever I decided it was time for a photo, I struggled to catch up.

Across the bridge and up the hill.  The throng was sufficiently large that I couldn't see the front from the back until we got to the large field outside the entrance. I watched the flag bearers climb the steps and enter the temple.

The assembly stopped at three temples in the complex of 14. They may have stopped at more. I found I was getting overheated, and left early.

Upon arrival, the band parked by a platform inside the second circle. There was the usual bluster of a group of teenaged boys on show. They were well behaved, and quite a few checked out who was looking at them.

The first temple stop was by the holy water alter. It was a bit difficult to see what was going on -- that alter is positioned in a U-turn from its entrance stairway. There was a collection of priests and important people gathered, while villagers sat on the lawn. Two women seemed to be dancing, at least with their arms. With fluid sweeping motions, they looked like they were invoking good while swatting away bad.

Then the handbells started, and the assembly lifted their arms and put their hands together in the classic prayer position, with palms even with foreheads. When the bells stopping ringing, hands went down. After three prayers, priests moved through the crowd sprinkling holy water over each person. Another priest followed with a flat bowl of uncooked rice, and each person took a few grains.

They moved from the holy water temple to the alter nearest the pagoda. Again, important people were up front and the rest of the villagers sat. Again, bells signalled prayers and hands were raised. Again, people were blessed with holy water.

The primary alter was close by, and the primary (high?) priestess lead the prayers. Two older women near me sang; another pair further over were also singing. It could have been the same song, or a different one. They were definitely not synchronized. After a prayer, people would pluck a flower from their stash and tuck it or a bit of it behind their right ear. The rest would be tossed in offering.

For the first time since I came to the village, I saw tweens flirting. I generally do not see boys and girls together, but here the divide could be safely breeched. That universal behaviour was fun to watch.

On the procession, I saw plenty of people on their phones. Once at the temple, phones were put away. Cigarettes were not. A great many men here smoke.

I lost track of the assembly after that. I was seriously overheated in a long sleeved top and the sarong over my shorts. Once out of the temple, I hiked up my skirt and high tailed it home. Villagers started appearing about 20 minutes later, so I'm confident that I didn't miss much.

Tomorrow, the main event begins. I'm looking forward to the traditional dancing.

Alternative route

Today I looked at maps.me and decided it was time to try a new route for my daily walk. I've done the trek up to Jatiluwih seven times. I don't want to be a stick in the mud. Set in my ways. A slave to routine.

So rather than cross the bridge at the bottom of the hill, I turn right. Sure the hill was initially steep. I was fresh. It should be all right. Only the steep hill kept being steep and it kept climbing. Past the chicken farm with galvanized metal barns. Through a small wood, into the rice terraces. These ones were still the ploughing stage. It'll be another week before they are planted.

Finally, the top of the ridge, open fields and the possibility of a cell phone signal. I got through right away. Miracle of miracles. Usually, I dial a minimum of 12 times before connecting. While Anita and I had a lovely conversation, one of my students went by on his motorbike three times. He was carrying tools from one field to another. The last time, there was a man who looked like he was probably his grandfather on the back.

The path was “normal” for quite some time. A set of parallel cement lines, each about 18 inches wide. Then the cement ended. Then the track looked progressively less used. Soon there was only one track, one sporadically muddy track. It began to follow a canal. Up to that point, I had seen rivers and ditches.

It's never quiet in the rice terraces. At this time of year, there is always water flowing through ditches and from paddy to paddy. Where there are gives of trees, the din of crickets can be quite deafening. Cowsheds dot the terraces, and there is gentle lowing. And dogs question my right to be there.

Water flowed swiftly along the canal. On the far side, there were sometimes terraces, sometimes woods.

All the time, the path was getting less distinguishable.

I knew I had to reach the road to Jatiluwih at some point. Eventually, I saw cars and then the staircase to the road. I had to cross the river that fed the canal and there was a convenient bridge with a sluice gate. Then the stairs.

Asian stairs are notoriously steep. Fortunately these were not, although there was no railing. I counted 68 steps, made of large rocks set in concrete.

Then I got to climb the hill on the road. The first village was one I've seen in the distance. Jatiluwih was still about 600 meters away, past a sweeping U bend in the road.

At last I reached my familiar route. There were so many tourists on it (okay, maybe 15 people), and they weren't respecting protocol (move out of the way of farmers on motorbikes; keep your entire party on one side of the track). Needless to say, I felt superior.

Today, it took 1.5 hours to reach the top, and an hour to make it back home. I was very very glad to get back.

Double rainbow

As sunset was approaching today, I saw my first tropical rainbow:

You can barely tell from the picture, but it was a double rainbow. The second photo shows the second rainbow a bit more clearly.

What surprised me most was the colour. It's mostly pink (or red & orange).  I'm used to rainbows that show a more complete colour spectrum. 

I was also intrigued by the arc. It's fairly steep, compared to rainbows further north. I'm at 8 degrees south right now. Most of the time, I'm around 48 degrees north.

The rest of my day was quiet. I went up to Jatiluwih to download some books on iTunes, then read one. Most of the men in my class has been busy with a local death & cremation, so I cancelled class today. 

Tomorrow, it's back to normal.

Growing rice

Always one to be on the cutting edge of fashion, I tore off a banana leaf today, and used it like an umbrella when I was unexpectedly caught in a tropical downpour.

I know what you’re thinking. It's the rainy season. I've talked about the various rainfalls that I've watched, skirted or tried to avoid. So how was I caught out in the rain? Well the clouds looked neither dark nor dense.

If it gives you any consolation, a group of women planting in a field looked up and had a hearty laugh.

Last night, I had only three students. Some others were called away to help attend a death of someone in a neighbouring village. No foul play; just a lot to do to prepare for cremation tomorrow.

I don't expect many tonight either, so I needed to prepare a lesson that would reward those who came and not hurt those who didn't. It's a perfect time to talk about rice.

I started the day on wikihow, learning about what I've seen:
Seeds are soaked in water 12 to 36 hours before being planted
rice likes clay soil, and it likes the soil to be moist.  Weeds are removed, the field is levelled and flooded. It is then ploughed. Most farmers use gas powered ploughs, but in small fields, some still use water buffalo.
Like many crops, rice germinates in a nursery setting. Generally, the seeds are sown densely.
When the seedlings are six to nine inches tall, they are transplanted about four inches apart in rows that are 12 inches apart. There is no measuring. The lines are straight and even with experience.

I have been here for prep and planting. I haven't watch the rice grow, although the fields I walked through in Sumatra were in the growing stage.

paddies are monitored and weeded as the rice grows.
After about three months, it starts to mature and change colour
The fields are drained and the stalks turn golden.
To harvest the crop, the tops of the plants are cut off and laid out to dry. The tops are like other grasses -- the seeds (grains of rice) are on a stalk
Dry grains are sifted, to separate the rice from the hulls

According to the United Nation’s Food and Agriculture Organization (FAO), one hectare of rice yields three tons of rice. The Jatiluwih rice terraces cover more than 600 hectares. Conservative math means the area produces more than 5,000 tons of rice each year.

Rice, like grapes, tea and chocolate, is subject to terroir. Rice grown here doesn't taste the same as it would if grown in Denpasar, near the airport, or those rice fields that I visited in Sumatra. Even so, the special crop grown locally is red rice.

I walked the fields today, like I do most every day. Most of the time, I stop at the top, in Jatiluwih, to get a strong internet connection. Today, I used that connection to learn that Balinese Hindus believe the god Vishnu first grew rice in the ground. Then Indra, the god of bad weather, taught people how to cultivate rice. That is why it is grown in waterlogged soil.

I also learned that rice prefers slightly acidic clay soil.

Rice has been feeding the world for more than 5,000 years.

Indonesia is the world’s third-largest rice producing nation, behind China and India.

When I met with the head of the NGO that I'm volunteering with, he said some farmers complain that the fields are not retaining water as well as they once did. He contended that when animals are used to plough the fields, they compact the soil more, and this helps prevent excess seepage.

Productive land here is used primarily for growing rice. Land that is too steep may have palms, bananas, papaya or forest. I've seen ferns the size of trees in some gullies.  This morning I saw an elderly woman with a sickle (large curved knife) pruning a tree on a slope so steep I was sure she'd slip away.

Every now and then, I'm completely surprised, wondering why I didn't notice something before. Two days ago, I saw a row of pineapples growing on the wall of a paddy.  Another day, I saw a rose bush. I had to go back, just to make sure I wasn't imagining things.

The majority of visitors to Jatiluwih seem to be East Europeans. Australians come second. I chatted with only a couple of Americans and met a father-daughter team from Montreal.

As I've said before, these terraces are far more impressive than the comparatively puny ones at Talalagong, yet those ones get the crowds. They are also close to Ubud, and are on the usual tourist trail. I'm happy to be away from the tourist circus. I feel bad that people don't see the splendour that I do.

Chicken farms

I've talked about my walks through the rice fields, and how astoundingly beautiful they are. I've mentioned that my guesthouse is in a village of 110 families. Now it's time to mention the most numerous residents: the chickens.

The village is on a ridge supported by steep slopes. Terraced down those slopes are chicken farms. On the west side, the side I walk down most often, there are at least a dozen barns, each containing 500 to 1,000 chickens. There are more barns on the north, east and south sides of the village. So while there are 800 human residents, there are easily 32,000 chickens.

Every day there are trucks taking pick-up loads of eggs to the city to feed the hungry tourists. When the birds lose their laying power, they also go to restaurants.

Farming is hard work, and much of that work falls to women. Every other day I'll see a truck parked on the side of the stereo slope and a woman cautiously balancing a 20 inch basket of manure on her head as she slowly and deliberately makes her way up the plank to empty her load. I marvel at her strength and balance.

Walking by the barns at certain times of the day is amazing. There's a gentle roll of sounds from the hens, like the sound of surf rolling onto a pebble beach. They don't exactly cluck and it isn't quite a purr. It's very comforting.

There’s a pair of barns at the bottom of the hill, near the river. At times, the hens are louder than the water. Other times, the hens are silent.

And then there are the roosters. They seem to be partly for men's amusement. They are kept close to the house, sometimes in upside-down meter-high baskets. They sound from pre-dawn until dusk, a constant reminder of their collective presence.

The barns at the bottom of the hill.

The chicken statue at the turnoff to my village.

Some live chickens.

First lesson -- speed dating

Things went pretty well with my first English lesson today. I decided to start with a bit of speed dating. That would give me a chance to listen to people's ability without making them talk in front of everyone.

They didn't understand when I asked one row to turn around and face the other, even when I showed them. They couldn't grasp the idea of talking in pairs, or pretending to be the guard and pretending to be the tourist.

Once they got over that confusion, they seemed to get in the spirit.

As in any group, there are some who have good language skills and there are some who seem to have none. There are some who are willing to try and there are some who are sceptical.

We spent 15 minutes collectively going over the greeting patter, then I asked three people, sequentially, to greet me. The middle one did great. The first one mimicked my hand gesture when saying “very far” after hearing where I was from. It was very very funny.

I was ready to call it a day (leave them wanting more), but they wanted a bit more. We talked about why you don't ask someone their age, and when that question might be appropriate (only if someone is in trouble, and their age might impact the problem). We talked about the answer to the question how far is it to the top of the rice fields, and what the question sounds like.

I made it clear that the punishment for being on your cell phone is a step on the foot. You might have to stay late and learn more. You will not be allowed to leave. Same if you don't talk English when you're supposed to. A step on the foot. Say yes to corporal punishment.

I think it went well. We’ll know tomorrow when we see how many come back.

Water buffalo and weed eaters

Today, I timed my walk perfectly. I left after one rain, and made it home a minute before the next one. For three days now, I've done the circuit up to the momument marking the Jatiluwih Rice Paddies as a Unesco World Heritage Site.

I can't tell you how long the circuit is. My map doesn't have a scale, and everyone walks slower in the tropical heat. On top of that, there are a few steep hills. Today, I didn't rest at the momument and it took me one hour and 50 minutes.

It's a pretty amazing route. I leave the village by going down the steep hill that had that cursed loose gravel (see Winter, no, fall), cross the bridge and go right. Up an almost as steep hill, past the temple and into the fields.

Yesterday, someone was repairing a lower wall. They’d scoop out some muck with a hoe that has a blade that's 10 inches wide, and pile the sludge on the spot that needs repair. Then they'd tap it down and shape it with bare feet. When satisfied, they'd repeat the scoop and tap routine until the wall was the desired height.

For the past few days, the hills have been alive with the soft drone of weed eaters. These are used on the tops of paddy walls, and along the exposed side of the tall wall.

There has also been the gurgle and chug of gas fired ploughs, turning the mud and preparing a bed for the next crop. Dotted throughout the fields are cow sheds, with one or two complacent animals chewing as the watch the world go by.

Today, after seeing a motorbike pass me, where the passenger had a gas-powered weed eater in one hand and a sickle in the other, I was even more surprised to see a farmer ploughing his field with a water buffalo. It's the only one I've seen in this area.

So my views of old and new are complete. Tourists with selfie sticks by the monument and farmers with water buffalo in the fields. All on a January afternoon in 2017.