Munduk Pakel

I couldn't think of anything super-witty, so just read it like Mmmmmmmmunduk PAKEL, which is how some enthusiastic Balinese people would pronounce it. Anyhow, you guys might not ever get to hear about the art projects or the host family or any of that, because I realized that I can't keep trying to tell you everything that goes on all the time. Ever. What cool stories would I have to come out later? What secrecy would be left? And practically, it's hard to write those massive posts, and it must be hard for you to read too, poor things.

So in the interest of simplicity, let's stick to this latest adventure, five days in Ary's home village of Munduk Pakel, a little farming town way up in the ricefields in the west of Bali. And when I say little, I mean little: it's literally a one-street town with no post office (but it still has over three warungs and a little ice cream motorbike that rides through every afternoon). There's definitely a laid-back village vibe, as everyone knows everyone else's business and things get really sleepy in the afternoons, but it was incredible. Probably my favorite part of SIT so far. We drove and hiked through the best, greenest and most picturesque fields of rice, terraced all up and down these hills, into the village, where most people turned out to say hi and invite us into their homes so we'd have a place to sleep and food to eat. Munduk was interesting because, instead of the usual one large extended family per compound, there were around four different families living in a single compound, just building more buildings further and further back down or up the hillside, due to marrying-in and other complicated family dynamics that I don't have time to explain here in full.

And then we had lots of adventures. The laundry list: we practiced gamelan. Twice (although the second one kind of sucked because we're not very good and that practice was less structured, and as you can probably figure out a percussion orchestra without structure is just a lot of painful, painful noise. And intro gamelan is kind of repetitive and boring to begin with, but we had to start somewhere). We bathed in a tropical river every day, although mine was a solitary activity as I couldn't exactly bathe with the other male students (BECAUSE THERE ARE NONE). I worked in a rice field, which was good wholesome fun and games hoeing in the middle of verdant greenery, with the mud between your toes and the morning rain in your face, until my co-workers started a mudfight, involved me, and led me to step on my own hoe, splitting the ball of my foot. But it's okay now, as I think it just opened the really big callus I've got there and freaked me out about "cow manure fertilizer" and "tetanus" entering my body.

Let's see, we also... had a flirtation dance! This was much more fun than the terror that the words flirtation and dance inspire when associated so closely. The way it works: a bamboo gamelan orchestra (much cooler than the other one because it's not so brassy sounding) plays the most jaunty and upbeat tune I've heard since coming here, and repeats it twice so you, the lonely westerner missing music that sounds upbeat and familiar, can groove for a bit. Then the dancer comes out, does a prelude thing, and then picks visiting guests from the crowd to dance with her. You're supposed to kind of follow her moves, or at least dance something, until she sends you back or shame and embarrassment lead you to shake her hand in defeat. In case you haven't guessed, this is something the villagers do for their entertainment when guests come (although it used to be a way for guys to meet girls). Props go to the little old teacher from Tabanan district, apparently formerly a professional dancer, who looked like he was doing a choreographed part, and actually made the dancer herself laugh. Good fun.

We also (this never really ends) made coconut bowls, traditional medicine, visited a healer, saw a shadow puppet play (something I couldn't really understand because it was in Balinese, which in itself was for the benefit of the local audience as the main characters usually speak in Kawi, high Javanese. But it was fun nonetheless in a slapstick way), and went squirrel hunting with Putu. Putu deserves an introduction here: Ary's son by her first marriage, a nice and shy guy born and raised in Munduk. I'm convinced that if he went to high school in the late 50's, Putu would be the quarterback who shows up on his motorcycle, and everyone would cheer "PUTU! Yeah, you go man! Yay Putu!" Then he'd smile that quiet smile, light a cigarette, and ride off on his bike to more cheers and screams. Anyhow, he goes to school in Denpassar now but doesn't really like the city, which is easy to see after spending a few days in the village, so he returns whenever he can. Squirrels are also a pest to the farmers, so they pay a small bounty for tails. Anyhow, I finally managed to bond with this mysterious man, and he showed up as I started to pack to head back and asked me if I'd like to go hunting. This entailed him hiking a short trail with a gigantic air rifle, spending a lot of time looking up, and shooting a squirrel from some distance on the way home. He let me shoot a coconut.

And then we went back. Even though Bedulu is kind of a sleepy place, the traffic and proximity to the evils of Ubud made it seem so much less pleasant after that five day stint in what's about as real as the real Bali can get. Even though we got the candy-coated version of rural life, it seemed pretty content and idyllic, once you get over back-breaking rice farming and food shortages and poverty. Just sitting in the compound on a lazy afternoon after a mandi in the river, watching the world go by, was about as great as life can get.

Which is of course why I decided to spend the next few days volunteering at the Ubud Writers and Readers festival (or, Expat Appreciation Week), an event that I'll report back on in detail later, once I can form a clear opinion. Chances are it'll be pretty unfavorable.

I'm not entirely sure where adventures are taking me in the next weeks, but I think I'll be out of internet contact probably until next Monday. So in the mean time... well, I've used all my "keep doing your thing" endings up already, so I'll just say until next time. Also, keep me posted on the news, not current affairs. I find it really hard to believe that it's been a month at school and I haven't heard one wild and crazy story or piece of gossip. Come on guys.