Days 115 to 118 - Ubud and the Cremation Ceremony

The Sacred Monkey Forest

It was good to be back in Ubud. When you return to a place you feel familiar and familiarity is the feeling we associate with being home. In a minute way, returning to Ubud and the Warsi Bungalows was like coming home. With an air of confidence we knew where to eat and returned to our restaurant just down the hill on Monkey Forest Road.

After dinner we went back up the hill towards Ubud Palace and saw how the preparations were coming along for the cremation ceremony. All the black bulls which were to hold the dead were lined up neatly. A hawker came up to me and talked me into a sarong. Sarah got another one for her, but she has more use for them in everyday life. I chose one purely on pattern without checking the fabric which felt like a table cloth. On returning and tying it the way I'd been taught from our copious temples adventure it bunched up awkwardly at the front. The knot looked like and African head scarf and tucking a t-shirt over it made me look like I had a permanent erection. I fussed over the tying of this sarong for ages, and in the end settling for a less than embarrasing knot. I also got the fabric wet, so as to hopefully eliminate starch. That was futile and Sarah wouldn't let me buy another.

That evening we ate at a restaurant down near the river. During the meal we found ourselves talking to an ok couple. He was American from New York, and her Chinese by birth. They both now lived in Hong Kong. Our visit there 6 or 7 weeks ago gave us some topic for conversation. Being from New York, you kind of hope to meet a Londoners opposite number in The States. He had the considered way of talking. Conversations went to Sarah's life in Britain came up and the riots were discussed. Of which I try to be balanced and analyse the good aspects as well as the bad. I'll do that quickly now. The majority of Britain was dismayed at the riots. More cleaned up afterwards than took part in the looting. More youngsters turned up to clean in fact. Politicians did sod all, and the teenagers sense of entitlement fueled the riot. Like life in general, most of us work hard, the politicians and rich take and some from the poor ruin it for us. Anyway his response "they (the rioters) should be stripped of their citizenship and sent to Africa".  I'm not exactly sure which colonies Britain has left in Africa to send our hoody friends to. I also don't think you can lose your British Citizenship, if we could I would have renounced mine ages ago. Also we are not citizens, we are subjects of HM. It was from this point I got the measure of the man and from thereon tried to tread carefully with subjects. All was going well until he pointed out how great Hong Kong is for having no capital gains tax. How well taxation rewards the rich. I wanted to not talk anymore. Taxing the rich heavily is the very least we can do after they fucked up of late and left us all in the shit. I'm glad when we paid up and left. I don't want to be caught out like that again. If you are from New York or France or a traditionally more libertarian part of the world, please declare any red neck / chavish conservatism at the outset, so I may not be sick in my mouth when eating.

The 28th July was the day of the ceremony. I tied my sarong about me. Luckily on leaving our hosts at Warsi saw what an abortion of a sarong was tied around me. He offered to re-tie it and did a good job. It now looked less bulky at the front and I left with as much dignity a man can have walking up the street in the middle of a day wearing a dress.

The day was really hot, and without the normal breeze so typical of Ubud. It was with this we met the crowds outside Ubud palace. Most were Balinese, but there were many westerners it seemed. Many like me had shown respect by wearing a sarong. Some wore a hat to go that extra step. The part we saw, I will call 'the running of the bull'. A massive black bull was constructed as I mentioned earlier and this was transported by lifting, not wheels, and taken down to street to the final cremation destination. The same method was used for a big pagoda come slide for the bodies I assume. This was carried by much manpower. A few big cheeses, including a dour looking army general sat on the pagoda come slide, adding much to the weight. Their one concession seemed to be kindly spraying water on the lifters, how kind of them.

The Pagoda / Slide thingy

The bull and the pagoda moved at an impressive speed, and left us dragging. As it turned into a temple area we followed the example of many others and climbed a wall into the temple area avoiding bottle necked-crowds. Doing this loosened my sarong, leaving me pleased I changed my mind about not wearing it the Scottish way. Also somewhere up in the park the heat really got to me. Once the pagoda and the bull were parked, the cremation seemed to take an age. We agreed that they would probably light it when the night starts to fall. Therefore, we started to walk back to our bungalow. We took another way which added at least an extra mile to our foot journey. The heat got to me. Maybe the excitement of snapping pictures as if I was pulled back in time as a Vietnamese war journalist, and not drinking as much water as possible. We stopped in a store on the way back. I couldn't stand up in it much longer. I handed Sarah the money and my choice of things and sat outside on the curb willing myself to be less dizzy. The walk up Monkey Forest Road, was hellish and I was so glad I got back. My head ached profusely, and didn't really stop until this morning, two days later.

We ended the day with a meal and icecream and lastly we stopped into a bar across the green from our bungalow, which had been calling to me from both my Ubud stops. It was called Shisha Bar, and had a big Heineken sign over the door. Inside it was decked out like a hybrid of Morocco and Bangkok. Flowing sheets from the roof, shisha pipes (as the name suggests) and pillows thrown everywhere. However, models of the Buddha were everywhere leaving the decore confused. The two drinks we had were terribly expensive. Luckily for our wallet, my stomach kicked off badly and we had to head back.

However,  I got trumped on the health stakes again. I was conscious that Sarah was breathing loudly in the night and restless. She woke me up to say that she feels huge chills and body aches. I gave her my hoody and told her to sleep the best way she could. I don't think she could sleep. As daylight approached we googled malaria. I've been reading this book on journalists during the Indochinese Wars, and malaria was described as chills and body aches. It was unlikely she had it, but acting too late can be fatal. The doctor was open at 9am, so our bungalow hosts told us. So for the second time this holiday we found ourselves in a doctors surgery. The doctor examined Sarah and took a blood sample, and luckily it was confirmed to not be either malaria or dengue fever.

The Shisha Lounge

Tomorrow we are returning to Kuta to spend our last week in easy circumstances. Well lets not pretend Ubud has been hard in the least, if you take health out the picture. We have about 71 days of travel left. The end is in sight. The money and unforeseen incidents have cut our trip in half. I'm not sure I feel bad about that at all. We have to travel all the way back up from Singapore through Malaysia through Bangkok and onto Cambodia, Vietnam and hopefully Laos. A long journey by any reckoning. I think I could be regretful of not reaching China, India, Nepal and Tibet. Or I could see the journey for what it is. All were new places, even those I've returned to threw up something new. I did this to learn about myself and my tolerance. I come to the conclusion I need to be more tolerant towards people. I know I should be, but occasionally I feel guilty at my annoyance at hawkers, or even cracking jokes to Sarah about them. The are citizens making a living in their country and I'm the guest. It makes me an arrogant person with traces in myself that I dislike in others at home.

I've really enjoyed Bali. I'm not sure I will have much to say about our final week as Kuta is a relaxing but culturally stale place as opposed to the Bali we've enjoyed over the last few weeks. So there maybe be little to report apart from a lovely bit of snapper and cheap Bingtang. We may try our hand at actual surfing, not just boogie boarding. When I last tried to stand on a buoyant surf board, Kurt Cobaine was still strumming. I have little confidence in myself to look good. Especially as I will be surrounded by Aussies who learnt to surf before they knew how to swear. If this throws up some anecdotes, or Sarah is in front of an expensive general practioner again, I will be sure to update. Otherwise see you on the mainland.