Phoning in to Facebook Indonesia

America is Facebook’s biggest market. So which is the country with the second largest number of Facebook users in the world? China would be an obvious candidate, but the social networking platform is blocked over there, and it has a relatively low number of accounts. In that case…Brazil, maybe? Or perhaps India? It may surprise you to know that it is Indonesia, overtaking Great Britain to move comfortably into second place in the first quarter of 2011.

Personal computers are still luxury items for most Indonesians. The vast majority  access Facebook via cell phone texting, a practice that ideally fits modern Indonesia. It is fast, discreet, can be improvised creatively and used on the go. It keeps you in touch, and it’s cheap.  Text-messaging caught on early here and was already better established in Indonesia than in either the USA or the UK before Facebook took off. So joining Facebook hasn’t meant learning a whole new skill set.

As you might expect, the first cell phone Facebookers were typically adult, upper middle class, urban, educated – and often Blackberry-owning  – Indonesians. But, interestingly, the recent explosion in numbers has been driven overwhelmingly by a much younger customer base, from fourteen years old and upwards. And apparently it’s not just boys. For every three self-described males that sign up, so do two females.

Intense peer pressure to join, and to be seen to be hip, are commonly cited as reasons for climbing on the Facebook bandwagon, along with the fact that free games are on ready supply there. But there are other factors too. Phones are now affordable for most young Indonesians, and a number of low-cost mobile Facebook plans have sprung up to capitalize on its popularity.  The Facebook mobile app. is easy to navigate and use. Facebook offers a rare opportunity to socialize in a way that often isn’t understood, let alone supervised, by adults. And it’s been customized by its young users here to be a distinctively cool subculture, and therefore largely inaccessible to those not ‘in the know’.

Many of the older Indonesians use their own names on Facebook, as do users in the United States and elsewhere, and I don’t see much difference between their postings and those of their peers in the West. But a number of the younger Indonesians I know have adopted new names by which to be known, eccentrically capitalized for display. As well as being fun and distinctive, these have the added advantage of giving them a degree of anonymity, especially if vigilant parents or community members might be online.

Younger users have their own dialect, too. This is a mixture of the already existing ‘youth slang’ popularly known as Bahasa Gaul, universal SMS abbreviations such as LOL (laughing out loud), and truncated Indonesian (e.g. kpn = kapan ‘when’; g = nggak/tidak ‘no / not’; mf = ma’af ‘sorry’). Comments are laced with text-created graphics, references to Western music and movies and, again, idiosyncratic capitalization. If you can’t keep up, you are not in the game. Though, having said that, a number of web pages are now available with translations into Indonesian for those struggling to get a grip on hipness, Indonesian Facebook style.

These teenagers are driving both a surge in cell phone sales and in Facebook accounts in Indonesia. Neilsen’s statistics show that the number of ten to fourteen-year olds owning phones here increased five times over the last five years. And the Indonesian demographic with the highest usage of mobile phones now is teenagers aged fifteen to nineteen. Similarly, there are currently over thirty six and a half million Indonesian accounts on Facebook. Almost seventy percent belong to users who give their age as between fourteen and twenty four.   All the indices suggest these youth-driven trends will continue.

Goldman Sachs appears to be tightly controlling who gets access to Facebook’s shares in America. Only the already super-rich, we are told, need apply. But, given these numbers, Indonesian telecommunications companies also appear to offer an excellent opportunity for investment. It will be a good day for capitalism if ordinary Indonesians get to make a profit.

On being punctual in Bali

When everyone agrees that something is so, it’s almost always fruitful to take a closer look. For example, it would appear many expatriates in Bali take it for granted that one of the biggest differences between them and the Balinese is their respective attitudes to time. Unlike Westerners, Balinese live by the idea of jam karet (rubber time). Their relaxed approach to time-keeping means that things simply happen when they happen. They just ‘go with the flow’, with a very easygoing attitude.  As a result, everything invariably happens later than predicted. Or so the story goes.

Sometimes this apparent lack of forward planning and focus on the moment is experienced as a good thing by bule (lit. ‘albino’; foreigners). The sense of immediacy that is generated by being thrust into an event with almost no warning whatsoever after hanging around for hours can be exhilarating. The lack of attention to the clock can feel like a welcome relief to those overburdened by the stresses and strains of their busy lives. But it can also cause more than a bit of friction between Balinese and Westerners, and the latter are wont to express frustration over the time-wasting inefficiencies to which they feel their lives are subjected. It often seems there’s too much waiting when something important needs doing.

In the interests of self-disclosure, I have occasionally felt some irritation myself. Even so, I’d like to suggest a rather different understanding of this ‘time-wasting’. I want to say that the Balinese are not simply rather too laid-back. And the ones I know may not always be punctual, but they are not indifferent to the passing of time.

If Balinese people were really uninterested in time-keeping, why do they have so many calendrical systems—at least twelve—by which their lives are intricately organized? And why does every household have a calendar with the significant days of each system available for daily scrutiny? There is the Gregorian system, for instance, introduced by the Dutch. This marks out official Indonesian holidays and regulates administrative and business affairs, and it is the calendar of the ubiquitous tourist industry. There is also the lunar Saka system, which we are told arrived in Bali during the Majapahit era, on whose New Year the Balinese celebrate one of their most important festivals, Nyepi. And then there’s the Pawukon system, associated with the 210 day cycle of rice cultivation. This set of ten concurrently interlocking weeks of different lengths marks out auspicious days for weddings, funerals, moving house etc.; odalans (temple festivals); kajeng kliwon, which happens every fifteen days; and the major Balinese festivals of Galungan and Kuningan.

So Balinese are very aware of calendrical time and the usefulness of forward planning. Why, then, do events so often take place later than scheduled, and organization seem more tenuous and unreliable than in the West?  My own feeling, notwithstanding the stereotype, is that this is not because Balinese are overly relaxed. Far from it. Most of the folks I know – and especially women – are working from morning to night.  It is because punctuality in Bali often has more to do with factors other than the ability to keep one’s eye on the clock. Tentatively, I would suggest that these include hierarchy, indirectness, and the belief that it is better to let things happen when it is right that they should.

Status is reflected in who shows up first, and where: the more powerful the person, the more punctual their visitors; and their power is also demonstrated by their ability to attract people to them. A very important person, unless they wish to ameliorate the irritation this provokes in Westerners, is very likely not to arrive on time for a meeting, just as the lower person would most usually be expected to go to the house of the higher. If the status of the two parties involved is not immediately clear, punctuality is one way of indirectly negotiating who is who in the pecking order, in a manner transparent to all Balinese. Indirectness is always the preferred mode of interaction here.

Balinese are also used to things only happening when they can. Rice should only be harvested when it is ready. Barongs only dance when it is appropriate for them to do so. Indeed, they may decide not to do so on a given occasion, despite a great deal of planning going into their appearance on the stage.  And Balinese are used to improvising alternatives at short notice to suit shifting circumstances. In Bali, that is how life is. Besides, as everyone here knows, forcing things to happen before their time – as well as being somewhat coarse – can result in disaster and some loss of face.

Of course, it seems safe to assume that a little of the ‘time-wasting’ of Bali is due to incompetence. Even laziness. Having said that, perhaps once one becomes an expat it may be all too easy to forget how it used to be like to deal with Western customer service representatives. Balinese may not always show up ‘on time’. But at least no-one gets put ‘on hold’ for hours and then disconnected while they’re being transferred. And at least in Bali there’s usually something to enjoy while you wait.

Selamat makan, it’s Massimo’s!

When my family misses the flavors of home, it’s time to visit our favorite Italian  restaurant, Massimo’s in Sanur. When we take Indonesian friends out to dinner, we usually head there too. You never know who you will bump into there.  But you can always expect a great welcome, and wonderful food.

While we recently enjoyed a relaxing dinner at Massimo’s, a former Indonesian President sat with her entourage at a nearby table, much to the delight of our Balinese guests. Massimo still takes the time to introduce himself to every table, and the place is almost always busy and bustling, full of long-term regulars and visitors to the island. The extensive menu covers antipasti, pasta, soups, seafood, meat and vegetarian dishes, as well as Indonesian fare. Mouthwatering aromas from the pizza oven waft out into the evening. Plus there are scrumptious desserts, and over twenty varieties of home-made Italian ice cream that can be bought by passersby at the front of the restaurant.

More than anything else, Massimo’s is where I can sink with relief into a chair and feel certain that I am just about to be wonderfully looked after. Freshly cooked bread balls and cheesy breadsticks arrive at the table almost immediately to take the edge of any hunger cravings while we check over the menu at our leisure. The pasta is home-made, the ingredients fresh, and the love of food palpable. Drinks are affordable, and the wine here is much more reasonably priced than in any other Sanur restaurant I know. I can enthusiastically recommend a carafe of the Chilean house red, even though the majority of wines on the list are Italian. And for true aficionados of Italy, assorted grappas and limoncello are also on the menu.

Several high chairs and a kid’s menu are available for Massimo’s youngest guests, along with the accommodating and affectionate attitude to children characteristic of both Italy and Bali. When our son was a baby, the staff regularly carried him away so that we could eat in peace. Though he is now three, he still left in the arms of our waitress the last time we were there to choose his flavor of ice-cream. And children who occasionally wander from their seats are invariably treated with kindness and consideration. This is not one of those restaurants that make families who enjoy eating together feel alienated and uncomfortable.

Why am I talking about an Italian restaurant on a blog about Bali? These days, international cuisines are so widely available in the tourist areas that they are as much a part of Bali as anything else. And we’ve tried quite a few. Whatever TripAdvisor may say, Massimo’s restaurant remains my personal favorite. If you want exquisitely prepared, small portioned gourmet artistry, there are plenty of other upscale places to eat. If you want a pleasant atmosphere, excellent food, good wine and great prices, look no further. Massimo’s!  Buon appetito!

Making offerings in the modern world

There are a lot of events for which banten (‘offerings’) must be made in Bali. Some are fixed by the calendar. There are the fairly standard offerings — of rice, flowers, salt, incense, and so on — contained in banana leaf containers. These are placed daily at various locations in the family temple and house yard. On kajeng kliwon, every fifteen days, these banten multiply due to the conjunction of two calendars. Further banten are required in large quantity for occasions such as odalan (temple festivals) and other days when special offerings are made.  And teams of ladies can be seen, well in advance, making the copious amounts needed for the big festival celebrations of Galungan, Kuningan and Nyepi. Other circumstances when banten are indispensable are less predictable, but can be just as onerous. These include births, deaths, illnesses, falls, departures, arrivals, and so on.

The majority of banten are made by women, and even standard daily banten can take up to an hour a day to prepare and offer. Yet many women may also have to look after children and/or elderly parents, clean and cook food, do laundry, fulfill banjar (neighborhood organizations) obligations, and – increasingly – work long hours outside the home. If their husbands work away from home they must take on even more responsibilities. Some, too, do so in single households – which are increasingly common here – and without the support of other women in the same house yard who might otherwise pick up the burden. So how, in the face of these daunting ceremonial requirements and their busy lives, do they meet these challenges?

One friend of mine, a teacher, simply works harder and longer than anyone I know. Her husband has a job on another island, she has three children and a fourth on the way, she looks after her in-laws and a disabled brother-in-law, she organizes and leads the local women’s cooperative, and she does all the household banten as well. Once I asked this incredible woman which festival she enjoys most in Bali. “Nyepi, the day when no one’s allowed to work,” she replied with a wan smile, “…because I can sleep.”

A second friend, a dancer, also makes the majority of the banten needed by her immediate and extended family. Occasionally, like my first friend, she goes without sleep when there’s no other way to make the amount of banten required. But she also sometimes pays a friend to make banten for her, especially if something particularly complex needs to be produced. And. like so many others in Bali today, she quite often buys in some of the containers, as well as the flowers and other ingredients, and puts them together in batches.

A third friend, a busy pharmacist, is younger than the others, and from a wealthy family. She has recently married and, customarily, this is when women begin to make banten in earnest and learn where to place them in the house yard of their new family. However, as she jokingly pointed out to me recently, my own husband – who is learning how to make banten – knows more about the process than she does. “ I don’t do it”, she said, “but I am better than your husband at one thing”.  “I am sure that’s true”, I replied with a smile, “but what?” “At buying in ready-made banten!” she answered with a mischievous grin.

Looking into my crystal ball, and seeing the ‘modern’ trend toward both single-family households and women working long hours outside the home in Bali, its hard not to conclude that more and more women will be buying their banten completed in the future. This is all the more so when their salaries mean they can afford this option. “My husband does not like it when I buy banten”, another busy professional woman friend here confided: “He says the success of the entire family depends on me fulfilling this spiritual obligation from start to finish. But what can I do?”

I take her point. In her shoes, I‘d feel conflicted too. There is no little irony, though, in the fact that it is the tourism industry which directly and indirectly gives work to both her and many other women. That industry sells the ‘unique and authentic spirituality’ of the Balinese to the rest of the world. At the same time, its economic imperatives steadily encroach upon the non-commercial creation of banten. But that’s capitalism for you. It means more money for some, at least in the short term. And, with a bit of luck, the tourists won’t notice.

Barongs and rangdas at the odalan of a major temple

On March 19th 2011, an unusual and atmospheric ceremony took place at the beginning of an odalan (temple festival) at a major temple in a large town in Southern Bali, which I was happily able to film. There was a spectacular assembly of all the barongs and rangdas connected with this notable  community temple, complete with their entourages carrying traditional regalia, umbrellas and lances, and music from the gamelan groups of their neighborhoods.

Many of the barongs and rangdas are old. All are revered by their communities, and are usually kept in their temples and only brought out for community performances. The barongs that day included lions, boars, and also present was a set of barong landung, said to represent the story of a Balinese prince who took a Chinese wife. Both the barongs and the rangdas are heavy to carry, but to do so is an honor and can appear to precipitate ‘trance’ in those who serve in this way.

By the time I got there, some of the barongs and rangdas from the surrounding banjars (neighborhood groups) were already present, with their entourages mostly seated behind them out of respect:

The barong landung arrived next, swaying as they moved with stately grace and accompanied by musicians and community representatives:

Almost the last to turn up were the barong and rangdas from a smaller temple to the west of the major temple:

The presence of one of the rangdas from this smaller temple – on the far right of the right hand photograph below – was required before the ceremony could begin:

Once everyone was present, all the barongs and rangdas were sprinkled with holy water:

Then, while offerings were made, the assembled barongs and rangdas began to circle a number of times in procession around the boundaries of the inner and outer courtyards of the temple, accompanied by music and their respective entourages:

 

With the procession completed, the priest finished the ritual ceremony:

Finally, the barongs and rangdas were escorted into the inner courtyard of the temple complex, where they stayed for the duration of the odalan.

I have personally never witnessed so many barongs and rangdas in a single setting, and the experience was riveting and unforgettable. But for those visiters who would like to watch them, individual barongs and rangdas can be seen dancing in the popular tourist performances that take place each day in Bali.

Our Family Kitchen in Bali

“Makan dulu!” (something like ‘Time to eat!’ or ‘Please do have something to eat!’) is one of the most common and insistent refrains in our family’s outdoor kitchen in the south west corner of the compound. It is courteous in Bali to smilingly invite any visitor or relative to share food that has been cooked, especially if one is eating oneself, and our family is no exception. Ordinarily, if one is not hungry, you can say “Sudah” (shorthand for ‘Thanks, I’ve eaten already’), but at festival time it would be impolite to do anything except happily accept and be seen publicly to enjoy everything on offer. Fortunately, that is never a hardship!

Yet few Balinese families, especially in rural areas, treat mealtimes as occasions when people socialize together. I have been told that eating was traditionally seen as an activity that showed one’s coarser (or even animal) nature and so it was usually done solitarily, and the practice has continued. I think the different way in which time used to be organized in Bali – configured around rice growing and religious obligation – probably also has a role to play. Whatever the reason, people normally tend to help themselves to food when hungry, or when it fits with the particular rhythm of their day, rather than to have fixed mealtimes.

So food generally gets cooked early in the morning in our kitchen and then covered on a table in a side room, which also houses the fridges and rice cookers. It is then eaten at intervals throughout the day, often sitting on the taban (low table/bed) in the open area while the rooster and hens roam freely. We have a traditional wood fueled fireplace for cooking, but these days it isn’t lit, although offerings are still placed there each day. Instead, both we and our family each use two-burner propane stoves to cook, as does every Balinese family I know, whether they still use their fireplace or not.

Our water comes from the well that was dug by our host when he moved his family into the compound, pumped electrically upwards and then piped into our kitchen and around the house yard. That water is drunk by our Balinese family but, coming from the West and so being less accustomed to local bacteria, we buy large containers of drinking water for our personal use which are installed in our guci (water dispenser).  The exception to this is the well water that is customarily boiled at the start of the day and put into thermos flasks to be used as required.

Chopping is done with large sharp knives on smooth round wooden slices of tree trunk, and dry spices are ground with a stone pestle and mortar. The mortar is shallower than those used in the West, and the pestle has a handle that makes light work of grinding. There is also a much larger cup-shaped wooden mortar with a long handled pestle, adult size, that is used to grind rice into flour and also sometimes to pulverize large batches of chillies.

Because few families have ovens, everyday food tends to be either boiled, fried, or wrapped in banana leaves and steamed in Bali. With tourism bringing in money to the local economy, meat is often more available to Balinese families these days, and a small amount is mixed through rice at most meals. Unless the meat is being chopped finely for satay, lawar (minced spiced food made by men at festivals and often eaten raw) or tum (banana leaf packages filled with minced meat and spices and then steamed) carcasses are usually butchered into small pieces with the flesh still attached to the bones, getting the most amount of flavor out of the cooking process.

Although ordinarily we tend not to socialize in the kitchen over meals together, it is a communally shared space, and not just for cooking. Money made the night before by family members is regularly counted out on the taban each morning. Its large surface also makes it ideal for producing daily offerings upon, and convenient, too, as they often contain rice and other foodstuffs. The men will sit together there, drinking and chatting as they make lawar for an odalan. And small children sometimes sleep there, secure in the knowledge that family members are close by. Without fixed mealtimes, people are always coming and going. I like it that way.

Sisterly solidarity with the women of Bali

In Bali, mainly due the excesses of tourism, Western women enjoy a reputation for being both rich and promiscuous. As a result, you may find yourself getting an unaccustomed and unwanted amount of sexual attention here. Customary rules of gendered conduct in Bali afford a degree of protection to women, but Western women who are unaware of them are quite likely to be seen as lacking in self control, and so easily exploitable, by a segment of the male Balinese population.

It is instructive that some Balinese men frequent kafes (cafes: this term covers both brothels and places where women will sit with their male customers), assuring themselves as they do so that any girls they hook-up with are from Java. The girls could not possibly be local, so the logic runs, because no Balinese woman would act in such a way.

So here are a few insights and suggestions for any woman visiting Bali, and especially those traveling alone and away from the tourist areas. These can be summed up very simply: the more you act like a Balinese woman a) the more respect you will get, and b) the more respect you will be showing your Balinese counterparts.

Tip Number One: Balinese women stick with women

Generally speaking, men and women do not mix here very much (except when they work in businesses, or inside their personal rooms and so away from public space). Men work with men within their communities, and women work with women. Men sit with men, and women sit with women. So if a woman wanders into a house yard unaccompanied and starts sitting with and chatting with the men, she – at best – is viewed as someone who does not know how to behave.

Tip Number Two: Almost all Balinese men are married

It follows that any guy who is attempting to chat you up in Bali is almost certain to be married too, a fact that does not escape a Balinese woman for a moment. His wife is not there with him most likely because men and women do not generally keep company with each other (see Tip One). She is probably at home with the kids, making offerings, at work, or in the company with other women. Yes, there are exceptions. But they’re just that: exceptions.

Tip Number Three: Balinese women generally behave with some decorum

Balinese women are  neither prudes nor killjoys. Far from it. Racy humor is a Balinese speciality. But, in general, the days of bare-breasted Balinese women in public, unless they are elderly, are pretty much gone. Old ladies in Bali sometimes smoke cigarettes. Very few younger Balinese women smoke (I know none); very few Balinese women drink alcohol (I know none);  and Balinese women do not openly hug men, even their husbands, in public. If you smoke, drink, are skimpily clad and tactile with the opposite sex – and especially if all four apply – you will be seen as easy pickings.

So, if you would like to show your solidarity with your Balinese sisters, and possibly save everyone a heap of trouble, consider following what most Balinese women do and don’t do, albeit in your own unique way. If you find yourself alone in a Balinese public setting, perhaps at a festival or community performance, look for where the women are, and join them with a smile. This will be hugely appreciated. And try not to inadvertently put yourself in an ambiguous situation alone with a Balinese man. Not on his motorbike, not in his room, and definitely not on a beach. His wife thanks you for your courtesy.

Tying the knot in Bali

When I went to the formal arrangement of a marriage some time ago here, a ceremony attended by family and friends on both sides, I was welcomed by the mother of the bride-to-be. After exchanging warm greetings, I asked her how she was feeling: “ I can’t eat a thing at the moment” she replied miserably, her eyes full of sorrow as she explained she was bereft at the thought of missing her daughter. Then, giving me a friendly pat, she drew herself up and stoically turned to greet other guests.

The marriage of a daughter is often a bittersweet affair in Bali. While she is under her birth family’s roof she prays at the family sanggah (houseyard temple) and makes offerings in accordance with the social and spiritual obligations there. When she is due to be married, she says a ceremonious farewell to those ancestors and prays instead to the ancestors installed in the sanggah of her husband’s family. She will be taught to make offerings as her new family makes them; and her spiritual obligations will be those of that family. A marriage then can certainly feel like losing a daughter, especially if she moves far away.

In the past, the loss of a daughter was exactly what some marriages entailed. Bride capture, now outlawed, used to be practiced in Bali. A man would make arrangements for a room to be available to him somewhere other than his own house. He would then, usually assisted by comrades, kidnap a hapless girl and keep her in the room. If her family were unable to free her, she would be forced into a quick marriage. And that would be that. In some cases, such a capture was largely for show. A tacit agreement would have already been made between all the parties. It was a much cheaper way to get married than having to go through the ceremonies that are otherwise required. In other instances, if without assistance and unable to flee, I am told the woman had no choice but to submit.

My impression is that, while bride capture is no longer commonplace, swift marriages are the norm here. I know of several couples who are nominally betrothed but are taking their time over tying the knot. In one case, the girl is still finishing her college degree. In another, a new house is being built for the couple and is yet to be completed. But the majority of ordinary weddings are arranged and orchestrated with some speed. One reason for invitations not going out until perhaps a week or two before, it appears, is so that either party can change their mind without too much time and money having been spent. Since anything and everything is improvised brilliantly in Bali, a few weeks is seen as ample time to make the necessary arrangements. A second reason may be that the woman is pregnant. As a matter of some urgency, the boyfriend’s family will then approach her family and begin the process of haggling over suitable dates for the rites that must be performed.

Whatever the reason for marriage, it is pretty unusual to remain unmarried in Bali, and occasionally a man will have more than one wife. My husband regularly receives bantering invitations to take a second wife here, and explains politely that he is not allowed more than one wife in America. “So leave your American wife here, and take your Balinese wife back to America”, one of his friends suggested playfully. If he has sufficient power, as men in successful multiple marriages here must have, to ensure that the relationship between his wives is memadu (sweet, like honey), then good luck to him. His powers of persuasion are considerable but, knowing his first wife, that’s a tall order.

On the importance of being refined in Bali

Some years ago, when we were about to start our first serious six month visit to Bali, my husband and his former doctoral supervisor sat me down to explain to me some rudimentary Balinese ways of seeing the world. They hoped to help me understand how Balinese might interpret my actions or demeanor, so that I would be better equipped to avoid making any extreme social faux pas which might reflect badly not only on me but on my husband as well. The discussion was wide ranging and helpfully touched on many points of Balinese etiquette, including the characteristics that are associated with the Indonesian words halus and kasar. While I am still very much a novice in the latter regard, I have since found their elucidation of this aesthetic to be so useful that it is about time I passed it on.

Let’s talk about physicality first. In paintings, carvings, wayang kulit (shadow puppet theater) and topéng (masks), to name but a few of the arts of Bali, and Java,  halus characters are always extremely refined and are often depicted looking downwards:

'halus' figures

As the images above show, such characters are recognized by their fair skin and fine proportions. Their features are symmetrical and graceful, and their movements are flowing. Their bodies are slim with little hair; their eyes, nose and mouth are thin; their fingers and toes are long and delicate; and their teeth are white and uniform.

a 'kasar' mask

Kasar characters, on the other hand, appear coarse, sometimes to the point of looking brutish or even demonic. They typically have darker skin which is often a deep or reddish brown, are hairy, and have crude features. Their eyes are big, often bulging, their noses are bulbous, and the masks of kasar characters almost always have misshapen, or missing, teeth. Their bodies are bulky and they usually walk clumsily or make exaggerated, blundering movements.

The ability of these two types to control themselves is an important means of differentiating between them. The lowered gaze of an halus figure reflects their self-control, expressed in their grace and economy of movement. Their courteous bearing and manners demonstrate their refinement and self possession.  And their actions are veiled. The less visible the actions of someone, the more halus they seemingly are, and the more power they are likely to be attributed. Such individuals are seen to achieve their goals through indirectness, behind the scenes, by deploying others to act on their behalf.

In contrast, kasar figures act immediately in the world, and their actions and motivations are on display for all to see. They are often characterized as unable to discern what lies below the surface at a deeper level, making them potentially more vulnerable to manipulation.  They are associated with unbridled desires and emotions, and with being quick to anger. They are lacking in calmness and patience, and are vulgar and coarse in their tastes.

In the stories and myths of Bali halus figures include gods and benevolent kings, while kasar individuals may be peasants, clowns, ogres or demons. But how do these ready-made categories play out in everyday life in Bali, especially in relation to the island’s visitors? Simply, the more graceful and indirect one’s behavior, the more halus one is presumed to be, and vice versa. If visitors to Bali appear coarse and ruled by their appetites, they are recognized as lacking a certain awareness and self-control.  Having said that, halus and kasar exist on a spectrum, and one is not necessarily seen as better than the other.  What is required is an appropriate combination of attributes at the right moment. So it is possible to be direct, like my husband, and still be perceived as upright, courteous and self-possessed. But, being direct, he would be the first to say that a little refinement goes a long way in Bali.

Preparing for our odalan

our sanggah at odalan

On Saturday, good friends of ours have invited us to a spectacular event taking place in their home town. It has been determined that a new mask of a particularly powerful character (rangda) is required for one of the community’s major temples, and the mask is now ready to be brought to life (pasupati) and installed in its new home. On Saturday it will make its way, accompanied by townspeople and a gamelan group, from the puri (palace) to the pura dalem (a community temple generally associated with the cremation grounds and death rites) where it will take up residence. And along the way the procession will stop at a particularly dangerous location so that the rangda’s power can be tested (ngeréh).

It would take an avalanche, a tidal wave, or something equally momentous to prevent me from witnessing such a riveting phenomenon. And thus has it proved. For it is also the odalan (temple anniversary) for the sanggah (family temple) in our house yard, and for our local bale banjar (the community meeting place).

Plans for the family odalan have been in the making for weeks, and preparations have already begun. Overhanging trees and overgrown shrubs in the house yard were cut back, unsightly weeds were razed to the ground, and the sanggah was dressed up in its colorful finery:

the offerings table: normally undressed; and dressed for the odalan

Next, the motorbikes that usually lodge in the long barn at the south end were assigned new quarters to make ample space for the teams that have been dropping by to help the family with preparations. Some of the helpers are relatives from a family whose odalan has already passed, putting them in a position to be free to help; and others are adjacent neighbors from the house yards to our north, south, east and west. These forces are supplemented by other relatives and well-wishers as they are freed up from other tasks. Without such help, our family would be facing an overwhelming amount of work.

Over the past few days, groups of men have tested piles of coconuts for whether they have water inside or not. If so, they were shaved to be used as part of several different kinds of offerings. They have selected and sacrificed some of  the chickens that are required for the offerings to those bhutakala (a variety of unseen being) that delight in gifts of blood, meat and alcohol. And they have made copious amounts of satay and lawar (a finely chopped mince of an appropriate meat – depending on the event, pork, duck, chicken, or occasionally even sea turtle –  combined with shredded coconut, garlic, chillies, shallots, ginger, lemongrass and a host of other spices) both as food for workers, guests and relatives, and to be used in offerings. Luckily, they were fortified as they did so by the vodka cocktails made by my husband as our contribution to the proceedings.

sacrificed chickens, satay and lawar for offerings

Meanwhile, three days ago, the first group of ladies arrived in the evening to start making receptacles for banten (offerings) out of palm and bamboo leaves: They sat on our open bale, chatting and laughing while they worked. Another group returned early yesterday morning to the long barn and worked until lunchtime, eating here as is customary. They are back here today to help fill the containers they have made with rice, flowers, fruit, and so on – for unseen beings with more refined tastes – and to build ornate columns of fruit, sticking the pieces with toothpicks into a bamboo support. The apples, by the way, are imported from America, much to the ladies’ amusement:

offerings in the process of being made by the women

Gold emblems, and elaborate containers constructed from pis bolong (lucky Chinese coins with holes) have also been utilized. The container below was filled with a coconut, uncooked rice, a banana, an egg and more pis bolong before being taken to the offerings table with the others.

a 'pis bolong' offering being made; and in its place in the sanggah

So we have had to decline our friends’ invitation to witness the testing of the new rangda, but they quite understand. It is busy around here. We are getting ready for an odalan.