Nyepi

{MARCH 12, 2013}

Outside is a quiet like I've never known. The silence is so heavy I'm afraid to even open the creaky wooden door of my bungalow. There's no movement in the surrounding rice fields; no automobiles or motorbikes honking in the streets. The only creatures that defy the stillness are roosters and crickets. Today is Nyepi, Bali's version of New Year's Day. The Balinese begin their calendar year with a day of silence. Nobody is allowed to leave their home from sun up to sun down. Even tourists are required to remain in their hotel, resort or homestay. If found wandering the streets, police will ask you to return indoors. The cultural idea behind Nyepi is that if the island is quiet enough, it will fool the evil spirits into thinking it has been abandoned, so that they will go elsewhere. For the Balinese, it's a day of prayer, meditation and reflection. For me, it's been a day of introspection, to catch up on reading and writing and correspondence. I think every country could use a holiday like this, where everything shuts down (even the airport) for a true day of rest.

{MARCH 11, 2013}

What a contrast this state of tranquility is to yesterday's celebrations. On the eve of Nyepi, the streets are busy and far from quiet. Locals are dressed in their best attire for morning temple ceremonies and the echo of the gamelan can be heard from anywhere along the main road in Ubud. Monsters (called ogoh-ogoh) crafted from foam and papier mâché are carried into town from nearby villages. The ogoh-ogoh represent evil spirits and are made by different organizations in each village. A considerable amount of monetary donations and weeks of labor go into making each one. I was impressed with the level of detail, creativity and individuality expressed. They are built on a grid of bamboo poles so that they can be carried by the boys in the organization.  

 

In Ubud, these artful statues are brought to the football field where they can be admired by the public. Some of the ogoh-ogoh are as tall as buildings and others light up at night or have a robotic mouth that opens to breathe steam. I got to the football field in the early afternoon and ordered a Bintang from one of the pubs facing the grassy lot. I sat down at a table that was reserved by a local expat, a Danish-Senegalese artist. He invited me to join his party where I got a taste of Ubud's colorful and thriving expatriate community. When the sun set, I rejoined the crowd on the field. The Balinese organizations were wearing matching t-shirts and sarongs. Entire families came out for the parade of ogoh-ogoh. Drums sounded. The young men carried the giant monsters, spinning them in circles while chanting. The girls led the procession into the street with blazing torches and a banner bearing the name of the organization. After the parade, the ogoh-ogoh are carried back to their home villages, where they're either destroyed (by fire until recent years) or put up for sale.

It was a loud and festive celebration in the streets of Ubud that night--surreal, spellbinding and sensational. The following morning was so impossibly quiet, I wondered for a moment if I had merely dreamed it all.