Sound(e)scape of Bali

Once every 400 days Bali is quiet and empty.

The island falls silent for Nyepi, the New Year.

For one day there is no group of boys gambling for pennies, no cages of fighting cocks set out in the sun and no-one walking in broken lines behind their gods.

But today was not the New Year and this morning, was like any other in buzzing Ubud.

The air was filled with high staccato voices shouting out trains of short syllables, honking vehicles bargaining for an attempt to overtake and thick clove cigarette smoke curling over people?s faces.

And just as the gamelan orchestra, next to my homestay, started practicing on their two-headed drums and single metallophones, I decided to take a break.

?You have arrived at your destination,? my phone announced. After hours of winding roads, I parked my scooter in what appeared to be somebody?s backyard.

In front of me, a tiny path led down a valley. As my map suggested, this was the way to a secluded waterfall called Blahmnatung.

Blahmantung Waterfall

For three hours I trekked through cassava plantations and jungle. Four times I stopped getting directions, until I heard the water pounding rocks.

When I arrived, it wasn?t the waterfall that caught my attention, but two Balinese men splashing in the water basin. ?You could have parked your scooter up there,? one of them said in broken English as he closed the last button of his shirt.

?It?s way shorter,? – he added, pointing at a path 800 meters from the main road.

?Three hours of hiking for nothing,? I thought to myself.

Still, after a swim in the cold water, I hopped on a motorbike taxi, driving back to where I parked my scooter.
Reaching the place, I stepped on the dirt road. My legs trembled from the exertion of the hike. Darkness had already fallen and smoke from people preparing dinner made its way to my nose. The rider took off.

To my surprise, my scooter was gone.

I stood there. My thoughts racing. After all, I had no idea if I was in the right village and how I was going to get home.

Sensing my panic, people approached me from all sides. Voices lifted me up and carried me away from backyards I shouldn?t have been searching in. Among them, was Doni.

Doni

He was around my age. A small framed guy. His red shirt stood out against the colors of the muddy main street and a friendly gaze had settled in his round brown eyes.

?You wanna come to my family?? Snapping out of my daze, I turned in his direction. ?Come, have something to drink at home,? he added, signaling towards the road.

We walked past compound after compound all hidden behind ornate stone gates. Entering their complex, the whole family came outside to greet me. Doni?s father sat me down at the guest pavilion and served me a glass of arak, alcohol made from coconut.

Sipping on the liquor, I eyed my surroundings curiously.

Like most Balinese houses, their compound was divided into nine living areas, all for a certain purpose, a pavilion for ceremonies, another for daily meals, an open-air kitchen, and a family shrine.

The latter stood out the most to me. The outside walls were covered in a wooden framework. The door, painted in gold and red colors, embedded itself in carvings of blooming flowers, combined with pointed leaves and fern tips.

Invitation to stay

With the help of Google Translate they invited me to stay the night. I accepted with gratitude and knew; I was done for today. Yet when Doni invited me to join them at their village community hall, I simply couldn?t say no.

Outside the hall, it seemed as if people were multiplying, hurried footsteps, animated exchanges, a brief commotion.

Inside, the gamelan orchestra began its practice. I took a seat in the back and listened.

To my surprise, I didn?t feel irritated or overwhelmed by the hum of the gong. I didn?t feel annoyed or tense because of the murmuring drums and single metallophones.

I only felt that in spite of all the things I?d done wrong, in getting myself here, I?d done right.

Written by: Marina Germuth

Offbeat, inspiring, and above all, rich in stories ? these are all attributes of the destinations that Marina is drawn to. As a graduate of the London School of Journalism with a diploma in freelance and travel writing, her work highlights ordinary people doing extraordinary things all over the world. From West Papua to East Africa, she moves beyond surface impressions to connect with people in their own worlds. Therefore, her stories are shaped not only by where she goes, but by the people who let her in.
Marina can be reached via Instagram: marina.belike

For more ITKT travel stories about Indonedia
For more ITKT travel stories about Asia