In March 2019, I traveled to the beautiful, lush Indonesian island of Bali located eight degrees south of the equator and warmed my winter dressed body. I exited customs after midnight and met my hired taxi. We drove south to Uluwatu known for its coastal beaches and surfing. A few hours later, I sat on a bench and watched a soft blue and coral sunrise and then I dog-paddled in the resort’s infinity pool whose view looks out onto the Indian Ocean.
That afternoon the same taxi retrieved me, and we headed to the bustling, interior city of Ubud. The layout of Ubud reminded me of a fishing net that pulls people to its center. On the narrow streets, motorbikes outnumber vehicles, and people outnumber motorbikes. The Balinese New Year was days away, and decorative dried-yellow coconut poles shaped like fishing rods called penjor towered in front of homes and stores as the mass of their woven, decorative tops of palm leaves and flowers bent towards the roadways.
On New Year’s Eve community-prepared paper-mache demons called Ogoh Ogoh were paraded with choreographed practice and then at the end of the evening either burned or abandoned. New Year’s day was spent in silence and the least activity possible, the government temporarily shut off internet connection, and no one was allowed on the streets. The Balinese believe this atmosphere will show that Bali is uninhabited and the world’s evil spirits will take their havoc elsewhere. This day was unlike anything my adult modern life has experienced. I had no demands, nothing to do, and nowhere to go and discovered a foreign joy in this day of stillness.
*Penjor photo credit: Julie Green Guidry
