Balinese Dance

Note: I have intermittent, slow internet access here in Ubud, so I’m not sure when I’ll be able to upload pictures to an album. I’ll make sure to note when I do, though!

• Tuesday, 21 Mar: Lazy morning, sudden rain, then sunshine; called a taxi (taksi here) and went to the Bali Museum; went with a guide who overcharged me and tried hard to get me to buy many things; saw museum and next door temple, Pura Agung Jagatnata; then meandered around until I found Pasar Badung; there a lady first asked if I wanted to buy spices from her aunt, then guided me to a lunch booth, hung out, asked me for a tip; huge market!; wandered back to museum area and caught a ride back to Dwi’s; took a nap, relaxed; out with Dwi and friends for dinner and motoring around town, stopping at McDonald’s and Starbucks.
• Wednesday, 22 Mar: Took taksi to Kuta bombing memorial; walked around Kuta, found a quiet lunch place with grilled calamari; topped up phone credit; went to Kuta Beach and walked north to get to Double 6, recommended by Dwi; ended up far north of that, paid for a chair and umbrella, pedicure with flowers and foot scrub; relaxed and internetted for a few hours; caught a taksi to Dwi’s, then we drove back to Kuta to hang out a cool lounge, Aganata (?), which looks out over the beach; had two martinis; then went for dinner at a satay place Dwi likes; then met her friends for karaoke at Discovery Mall.
• Thursday, 23 Mar: Packed, repacked, then met Wayan, my driver to Ubud, out front of Dwi’s apartment; Wayan was recommended by my uncle; on the way to Ubud, we stopped at a batik center (bought one small thing), a silver shop and a wood carving shop belonging to Wayan’s uncle; in Ubud, settled into accommodations fairly luxurious, but no A/C; wandered around on foot; went to see Kecak dance in the evening after going to cheap dinner place.

“Chacka chacka chacka chacka…”

Over fifty men of varying ages but same costume – checkered sari around the waist, red flower behind one ear – chant in rhythm, producing an a capella style of music. They do this, with some variations and accompanying upper body movements, for forty-five minutes straight. They are seated in concentric circles around a pillar that is lit in various places, flames swinging back and forth with the wind, or perhaps with the breath of the men who chant. At times their voices create an echo effect, at others it sounds like a single voice with a thousand nuances and tones. Inside the innermost circle of men, there is a small space where the dancers come to tell the story of Ramayana, a favorite and central one to the Hindu religion.

This is the Kecak fire dance, a Balinese style dance which confounds, amazes and delights, or at least it does me. The chanting keeps the pace of the story, and heightens the drama or quiets the scene for the dancers, but the circles of men are not just a chorus or an orchestra: they are the ebb and flow of the storytelling. The dancers are two or three women and their arms display more angles than I imagine possible. Their dance consists of flatfooted yet fluid movement inside that innermost circle, passive expressions on their faces for the most part, and movements of the arms that make you wonder how many extra joints they have. In fact, they have been trained since a young age to be able to make extreme angles with fingers, wrist, elbow and shoulders. They’re not contortionists, but it’s nothing I can do with my arms. The dancers portray both male and female characters as far as I can tell, some with their hair bound up and others wearing it down. Their costumes are gorgeous, with torsos tightly wrapped with gold-trimmed cloth, bright blue or red sari’s covering them from the waist down. Elaborate head dress, sparkling in the flames and casting strange shadows, adorn all of them.

In addition to the dancers, there are characters who are heavily costumed, some with masks or with faces posed to look like masks. Some have bells and jingles that they keep ringing with heavy stomps and jumps that somehow seem fluid and blend perfectly with the sound of the chanting circle of men and arms-akimbo dancers. Battles are depicted with characters shaking dried palm leaves over the chanters, who continue their vocal music while at the same time performing upper body movements that would exhaust me to keep up for the length of time they went. Shoulders shaking, arms and fingers undulating, at times laying back and other times swaying side to side, it’s a living, liquid and haunting chorus.

The Ramayana is a story of that perpetual battle between good and evil and there is drama in all the aspects of the show. It is night time and the audience is fairly small. We are outdoors, in the courtyard of a temple. The stone statues and impressive mask features of the surrounding buildings adds to the ambiance. Some of the audience leans forward, some frown, and others just soak it in. A few people glance in confusion at their program, which outlines the story’s parts. Local children, who at the end of the show will rush in to blow out the flames on the central pillar, alternately fidget, stare and eye the audience.

And all the time, the dancers and costumed characters move, stomp and grunt along with the fifty seated men chanting around them.

“Chacka chacka chacka chacka…aaaaah.”

--Z