Ubud, Bali D57: Batuan Village Temple Dance

In Thailand it was always a hassle to plead with our taxi driver to use the meter and not negotiate an astronomical price. So far in Bali, we’ve had zero resistance to using the meter. We check out of the Adhi Jaya and they ask where we’re off to next; they offer to arrange a cab, and then laugh at us when we ask if we could use the meter.

We walk to the road and hail a cab in five seconds. Meter to Ubud? Yep. 

The ride from Kuta to Ubud is a little over an hour. The cab is clean and the driver is nice. We had heard that there would be a 30% surcharge for “out of town” trips, and our driver withheld this until we arrived at our destination, but we were happy enough with him to comply. The fare totaled 320,000RP; we gave him 350,000RP, and cabdrivers tend to suspiciously never have change...

We’re staying at the Puspa Hotel in Ubud for $20USD a night. It has hot water, air conditioning, friendly staff and the breakfast is included. 

It’s about 2PM when we arrive and we’re pretty hungry. We go to “Who’s Who” restaurant down the block to eat Belgian-Indonesian fusion food. Though it’s ranked #3 on TripAdvisor for restaurants in Ubud, we’re greeted with a laminated note from the owner saying he’s back in Belgium for a few weeks, so there is a limited menu to ensure consistency. The penne that had called my name was not an option that day. We settled for pumpkin soup, chicken curry, and the winner, an apple crumble with caramel and vanilla ice-cream.

We have a mere .2 mile walk back to our hotel, but .1 in it starts to pouring a torrential rain. We sit under an awning for about ten minutes before we decide it’s getting worse, not better. The locals whiz by, ponchos tenting their motorbikes. Animals walk by, two by two. Our phones inform us that February was the last month of “rainy season”. Looks like March Moistness to me. The streets start flooding and we book it back to Puspa. By the time we’re back to our hotel we’re soaked to the bone.

There’s a bulletin board in the Puspa dining area that offers a “Puspa Programe Tour”, which is a viewing of the Rejang Dance at Batuan Village Temple every full moon. Today happens to be March 5th, a full moon! Since we won’t be here for the next opportunity, we jump at the chance and pay 125,000RP each ($10) to join. We have no idea what to expect, but exploring the town is definitely out during this storm. I try to google the dance or this village to see what to expect, but there is no information online. Ian arches an eyebrow. I’m hoping we didn’t get duped.

At 7:30PM we’re picked up by Puspa’s driver, Wayan. It’s Ian, myself and a girl from Germany named Maria. Maria is a 22 year old nurse who is volunteering at an animal shelter in Ubud. She said she doesn’t know what she wants to do with her career yet, so she’s taking six months to travel and figure it out. Go girl!

The driver, Wayan (pronounced why-on), is 36 and from a nearby village. He said his name is the most common in Bali, so most people know your first, second, third and fourth names. As a male in Ubud, you have one of four names: Wayan means the first born, then there is Kadek, Nyoman, and Ketut. If you have more than four children you start the order over. Our Wayan is the second Wayan in his family, sharing the name with his older brother.

The ride is about 15 minutes long until we reach the Batuan Village Temple. Wayan asks us to stay in the car while he gets us sarongs to wear. I knew we were going to a temple so I’m wearing full-coverage billowy pants, but coverage isn’t the concern at this ceremony. Everyone needs to be wearing traditional clothing.
We cross the street (away from the temple) so that Wayan can dress us. He tightly pulls a thick sarong around our waists, and then uses a thinner sarong to tie the first one in place. 

We walk in to the temple, which is more of a roofed, raised platform — think a gazebo big enough for a tennis court — than enclosed space. Those who aren’t dancing are sitting cross-legged in the middle of the platform, facing once side of the temple. 

All the men are wearing white outfits with white hats. One man sits down by us and start talking to Maria, telling us what to expect and explaining that we can take pictures. His white shirt has a Harley-Davidson logo by the pocket. Then he introduces himself: he’s Puspa! Up to this point I had no idea that Puspa was a person and not just the name of our hotel. He had recognized Maria and that’s why he sat near us. He explains to us that Ubud is composed of nine different villages, and this is a ceremony that they all take part in. He gets to bring people because he is the leader of the ceremonies. We’re definitely the only outsiders here. 

A woman comes around and gives us holy water to drink. We have to put our left hand under our right and cup the water, then take three little drinks from our hand. We then need to splash the water on our face and grab rice to put on our foreheads and/or necks. (Rice is for good luck.) We basically just copy what we see everyone else doing. I reach for the rice with my left hand (I’m left-handed) and the lady pulls the tray back swiftly. I forget that the left hand is considered dirty here (they use them to wipe their butts). She’s gracious and points to my right hand and lets me grab the rice to wear. 

We’re among the last to get the blessing, and everyone moves to the outskirts of the platform. Puspa excuses himself as he’s needed for the ceremony. The dance begins.

The dance consists of rows of women who move VERY SLOWLY to the beat of the music. They are in semi-crouched positions and dance mainly through their hands. Their fingers bend way backwards and they contort with fluidity to the tunes. They start at a very young age (Wayan said three or four), and practice dance daily for six months every year to get this flexibility. 

While we watch the ceremony, baskets of fruit are passed around and we take some rambutan. Maria and I look around to make sure it's for eating, and not fruit offerings for the spirits or something; I see Ian's already finished his and is looking around for more. Next we’re given rice with palm-sugar-soaked shredded coconut. It was tasty and the presentation was beautiful.

A man comes around with two water bottles full of, uh, ceremonial liquids, I guess (one clear, one cloudy) and a plastic cup. He pours a mix for me and makes a motion to drink it like a shot. He says, “Like tequila!” I look at Maria and Ian, then throw it back. It was only like tequila in that it was terrible. Maria goes next, then Ian. The man smiles and then disappears into the crowd without offering the drinks to others. I mentally say goodbye to my kidneys.

There are many rows of dancing women, and each row creeeeeeps forward to the end of the platform. They move maybe one foot per minute. At the end of a song, once they’ve reached the end of the platform, they kneel, receive rice and coconut with palm sugar, and get dismissed to leave the ceremony. This went on for over an hour, the same song with the same dance on repeat. Ian is humming the song within minutes. Ask him how it goes.

The men have different instruments and their orchestra is called a gamelan. They play gongs, recorders and glockenspiel types. One man sings most of the time, until he lets another man take over while he takes a smoke. 

While the most dolled-up women were in the front rows, elder women in less flashy outfits danced at the end. A few of them tried to stop dancing early, and a man sprang up from the gamelan and yelled at them to finish. The old ladies laughed and continued. Even they were bored.

The village toddlers ran berserker-style through the dancers the whole time. The dancers were focused enough to not give them any attention. It was reminiscent of a wedding or church function where you just let the kids be kids and focus on the adult matters at hand. This explains why you might see little blurs in the pictures.

After an hour and a half or so the ceremony is over, and most of the woman participants have left in full makeup on the backs of motorbikes. Puspa is such a boss that he does a roll call to make sure all the villages were represented in the ceremony. He said they get fined if they don’t show up. He asked us if we had any questions about anything and he fills in the blanks. 

I couldn’t find any information about this dance online because it’s definitely not for tourists. We were very honored to have had the opportunity to attend a real Balinese Hindu ceremony. The experience was beautiful. Of course, we understood nothing.