Ubud, Bali

Ubud is where Balinese culture as we know it began. It is said that back in the 9th century, a priest named Rsi Markandeya came to Bali from India. At the confluence of the sacred Wos rivers, next to modern-day Ubud’s town centre, he meditated. Soon, his disciples followed him, and they built a series of temples in the area, encouraging the local people to adopt the wisdom of the Hindu Vedas as their own. Soon, Hindu teachings spread throughout the island, and, as the locals combined them with their indigenous practices of animism (the belief that animals, plants, and natural features possess a spiritual essence or divinity) and ancestor worship, the unique Balinese religion was born.

The result is that the town is full of temples, and it is the perfect place to watch local rituals and holy processions. As I’m visiting during the famous Galungan festival, I head to Pura Taman Saraswati, Ubud’s Water Palace. This temple is dedicated to Saraswati, goddess of the arts, wisdom, learning, music and poetry. The approach is flanked by huge two lotus ponds, the flowers, emerging as they do from dark, murky waters and then blooming, symbolising the process of enlightenment. The walls and gates are richly decorated with images of Saraswati, Bedawang Nala, the cosmic turtle, and Barong, the panther-like protector of goodness and order.

I hear the sonorous ring of gamelan, the traditional Indonesian classical music. The delicate, shimmering melody is joined by the patter-patter of drums, and the heady scent of incense fills the air. I watch as Balinese families perform the season’s rituals. Everyone is wrapped in gleaming white and gold sarongs (or kain in Balinese), the men wearing stately udeng headcloths. I see the first family make their way up the temple steps. They’ve come in procession from their household shrine to the temple. The women balance towering banten on their heads, tall confections of fruits, flowers, coloured rice cakes and symbolic money. They place them on the temple’s altar as an offering to the gods and to the family’s ancestral spirits, who are said to return to Earth during the festival. 

Leaving the temple in the evening, I take a walk through Ubud. The city is alive and full of people celebrating. The streets are lined with penjor - tall, curved bamboo poles adorned with fruit and woven charms that are placed in front of every Balinese home. Children run and giggle, dressed in miniature versions of the adults’ white and gold sarongs. The air is thick with the smell of grilled satay and fried delicacies, and one by one, coloured lights, strung along the streets, flicker on. 

I watch a huge fruit bat flap across the sky, and realise it's time for dinner, my last meal in Bali. It’s a festival, so many places are serving nasi kuning, or golden rice. Coloured bright yellow with turmeric, the rice is shaped into tall cones in a banana leaf mould before being served. I have mine with rendang, an unctuous, slow-cooked curry, cooked down with coconut milk, lemongrass and galangal, laced with all the spices of the Indonesian islands. And of course, it's accompanied by sambal, the fiery chilli paste of Indonesia, which, as every warung has its own recipe, is eaten every day, yet each time tastes just a little different.

I finish and sit back, taking time to reflect on Bali. This small island is home to a civilisation unique in the world. Its art, architecture, religion, mythology and philosophy are of such richness that even a lifetime of study would only be dipping a toe in its depths. It has been a true pleasure catching a glimpse of this place, exploring its landscape, and hearing its many stories. 

Now, as my journey comes to an end, I leave you with a Balinese prayer that perfectly captures the people of this island’s compassion and generosity of spirit. 

May all beings, at all times, in all places be happy and free.