Crocodile Men With their unique clan scarification running down their backs (and fronts) into their trousers, the crocodile men of the Middle Sepik in Papua New Guinea can often be found inside the spirit house: carving, drumming, telling stories; or just sitting chatting and smoking or chewing betel nut.
What is “culture”?
That was the question for our first assigned essay in “Culture Myth and Symbolism”, an upper-level anthropology course I took at university, many, many years ago. Deceptively simple, the “answer” – if there is one – became increasingly layered and complex the more I delved into tomes written by the notable ‘modern’ anthropologists of the 20th century. As the course outline puts it:
It is one thing to witness the artefacts of culture; quite another thing to understand them. Another essay I researched at the time was about body art and adornment: because clothing, makeup, tattooing, scarification, and even posture, can tell us something about the culture we embody.
Memories of this course – one of my favourites during my university days – came back to me when I was in Papua New Guinea last year. This was especially true in the Middle Sepik region, where initiated men in the Crocodile Clanembody the crocodile: their totem and symbol of strength and power. They believe that humans are the offspring of migrating ancestral crocodiles; their initiation ceremony (for males only!) takes boys and moves them through androgyny and into manhood – albeit with a crocodile spirit.
Men of the crocodile clan are heavily scarified to look like the reptiles they epitomise. Circles of scar tissue surrounding their nipples mimic crocodile eyes; nostrils are carved near the abdomen. Their backs are scarred in the form of the powerful animal’s rear legs and tail.
American anthropologist Nancy Sullivan, who lived and worked in Papua New Guinea for many years, was present during a crocodile-clan initiation ceremony. The young men were taken, under the protection of their mothers’ brothers, to the haus tambaran (spirit house), where hundreds of cuts were incised: symbolically bleeding out their mothers’ postpartum blood to make them ‘men’ of their father’s lineage. Tigaso tree oil and clay were applied to the open wounds. Then the boys lay down by a smoky fire to infect the wounds so that keloid scar tissue was produced. During the whole process, flutes and hour-glass shaped kundu drums played to ‘confuse the women’.
Other sources talk about the two months that the young men are sequestered in the spirit houses, learning their clan genealogies, the significance of every clan song and ceremony, and the origins and spiritual purpose of every image or object in the haus tambaran. (For a much more detailed – and somewhat graphic – account of the whole process, have a look at the fascinating article by ‘tattoo anthropologist’ Lars Krutak.)
I was in the village of Kanganaman in the Middle Sepik with photographer Karl Grobl from Jim Cline Photo Tours, not for an initiation (which only happens every two or more years) but for the much more enjoyable experience of watching a sing-sing – a festival of culture, dance and music by a gathering of tribes, villages or clans (more about that soon).
Clan culture is strong here: crocodiles (pukpuk) are not the only clan spirits or totems. Eagles (taragau), snakes, cassowary (muruk), pigs, birds of paradise, and other animals, can each represent a spirit clan, and each village usually has several clans and sub-clans. The inter-relationship of these totems is complex, and although one man tried to explain his attachments (separately through his mother and his father) to two spirit symbols, I can’t begin to understand how it all works. It is said, however, that the more diverse clans and spirits a village has, the stronger the village will be – especially in protecting against black magic. Sorcery still looms large in the regional psyche.
The people along the Sepik River had almost no contact with Westerners until the 19th century, and the region is still relatively remote and difficult to access (see: Welcome to the Spirit House!). Life here has changed little here for thousands of years. There is no electricity (except by generator for the few hardy tourists) and no running water. What there is is unremitting heat that envelopes one like a wet blanket, and the constant buzz of insects – including hordes of mosquitos, which may or may not be carrying malaria, dengue fever, or Japanese encephalitis.
No wonder the locals almost all chew the ubiquitous betal (areca) nut!
Still, I would do it again. It was still fascinating to meet the crocodile men, to listen to their stories, and to see some of their extraordinary body markings.
Kanganaman Village House The village we stayed in is a modest place. Most of the houses are like this one: simple rooms with bamboo floors, and woven walls and roof, raised up on stilts to protect against river floods.
Kids at a Tree Kanganaman Village is small, but PNG has a young population (more than 33% are under 14 years old), so it is no surprise that there are plenty of children to hang around and watch us every time we go anywhere.
Kids in the Green
Inside the Spirit House The Kanganaman spirit house is lofty and large. Local women (and young men who are not initiated) are not allowed inside, but we are permitted – as long as we take our hats off and don’t touch anything without checking. Many of the objects – including the wicker cone-shaped tumbuan dance costumes on the left, are sacred.
Drummer Inside the haus tambaran – the spirit house – the village elders set up drum rhythms. Garamut (slit drums) like this one, are carved from a tree trunk, and engraved and painted in stages. They are kept in the men’s spirit houses and pounded with poles during special ceremonies.
Crocodile Man’s Shoulder When the men take a break from their drumming, they sit on the bench that runs along one side inside the spirit house.
Crocodile Men The patterns of scarification are all somewhat different – depending on the cutter who has done them and the design within the father’s family. But, they are all impressive!
Smiling Drummer
Smiling Crocodile Man You can just barely see the scarification on this man’s chest.
Crocodile Man’s Back The men are all quite happy to pose briefly for us.
Decorated Crocodile Skull Like all the art and artefacts inside the spirit house, this crocodile skull has significance: we were told very clearly not to touch it. Shells are central to PNG culture, and were once used as currency. So, this skull has monetary worth as well as artistic and spiritual value.
Crocodile Elder
The Eagle, the Fish and the Woman All of the wonderful carvings in the spirit house have a story – some of which their creators gladly explain to us.
Crocodile The crocodile motif shows up in various forms.
Drums, Painted Masks, Story Carvings and Stools Even objects that have inhabited been by spirits get replaced and recycled – so many of the colourful objects in the spirit house can be purchased. The whole Sepik region is very popular with collectors of artefacts.
Cassowary Eyes? Soon it is time for the men of the village we are staying in to apply their face paint for the sing-sing their are hosting.
Face Painting The face painting is a long, delicate process, but because the designs follow a prescribed village pattern, the men can take turns working in the stifling spirit-house heat.
Crocodile Man Dancing The dancers at the sing-sing illustrate that idea of villages having representatives of different clans: …
“Wild Duck” … each village comes with its own ancestral story-dance and their unique face-paint representing their spirit totem.
Crocodile Man in a Shell Pectoral Adornment While each village has a ‘set’ costume, the men add on their own personal touches. This old kina shell pectoral adornment is very valuable and has probably been passed down for generations.
Firelight on the Scars When the dancers from neighbouring villages have all gone home, we gather in the spirit house …
Firelight on the Sacred Carvings … where the light from the fire turns the spirit-infused carvings quite atmospheric!
It truly is a different world and a foreign – but fascinating – culture.
[…] getting their face-paint ready for their dance performance (see: A Black and White View and Crocodile Men). But, Kanganaman has not one, but two spirit houses (see: Welcome to the Spirit House). The […]ReplyCancel
[…] stay in the little village of Kanganaman in the Middle Sepik (see: Welcome to the Spirit House and Crocodile Men), most of us were looking forward to our boutique accommodation in Wewak, with hot showers in the […]ReplyCancel
[…] village nearby. Each village in the Sepik region has several clans and sub-clans (see: Crocodile Men), with complex inter-relationships of the corresponding totems. It is said that the more diverse […]ReplyCancel
Jakslak and his Eagle Jakslak, one of four sons in a family of semi-nomadic Kazakh eagle hunters, bears the scars of hunts gone wrong.
“A fast horse and a soaring eagle are the wings of a nomad.”
–Kazakh proverb
The animals in Western Mongolia are as wild as the landscape: the horses are unruly and the hunting eagles are never fully tame. I suspect that the ethnic Kazakhs who live there prefer it that way.
The Kazakhs are descendants of medieval Turkic and Mongol tribes who formed a unique identity between 1456 and 1465. They were always semi-nomadic wanderers on the steppes, reliant on their livestock: sheep, Bactrian camels and horses; for transportation, clothing and food.
Over the years – and for various reasons (see: At Home with the Kazakhs; Nurguli, Eagle Huntress) – large numbers of Kazakhs crossed the Altai Mountains from Kazakhstan into Bayan-Ölgii Province in the western corner of Mongolia. High in the mountain plateaus that nestle along the borders of China and Russia, the customs and traditions of the 90,000-or-so ethnic Kazakhs that live here have changed little in hundreds of years. Nominally Sunni Muslims, they also pay reverence to the sky, ancestors, fire and supernatural good- and evil-spirits. Although Mongolian is taught at school, it is a second language for most people in the province who speak their own Turkic Kazakh at home. They rely on their clan and their herds, living a pastoral-nomadic lifestyle, complete with their age-old tradition of hunting with eagles.
Training a golden eagle (or, more rarely, another raptor) in the timeless Kazakh traditions is passed down through generations. In the family where I was staying – with Mongolian guides G and Segi of Shaman Tours, photographers Jeffrey Chapman and Winslow Lockhart from Within the Frame, and several other travellers – the patriarch Sarkhad was an award-winning eagle hunter. Two of his four sons had followed in his footsteps, and these three men were guiding Sarkhad’s young granddaughter in the art of eagle hunting (see: Nurguli, Eagle Huntress).
Becoming a burkitshi, a Kazakh eagle hunter, takes strength, endurance, patience, and of course, a love of these beautiful raptors. Commentators who have spent time with these burkitshi remark on the affinity they have with their birds. The hunters find an eagle nest – high in the mountains – and capture a young female bird from under her parents’ watchful eyes. The bird is then hooded, tethered and hand reared: “The first rule in training an eagle to hunt is to treat it with respect and gentleness like it is a baby.” The trainer talks, sings, and croons to the hooded bird to get it used to his or her voice, and to keep it calm and happy. Although the birds are restrained between hunts, they could easily fly away when released, or attack their handlers.
Once the birds are old enough, the hunters – on foot or on specially trained horses – take the eagles high onto a ridge or hill and teach them to come when called and to catch prey and give it to their masters. The key here is repetition. Lots and lots of repetition.
The Kazakhs hunt in winter when the pelts of the furred animals they are seeking – rabbits, marmots, foxes, and even wolves – are lusher. Eagle hunting provides the furs and meat necessary to survive the harsh winters, and animal furs, felts and pelts are an integral part of traditional Kazakh clothing.
The eagles take four to five years to train fully, and are only ever semi-tamed. After about ten years of captivity, they are returned to the wild: the hunter leaves a sheep carcass deep in the mountains, releases the bird and leaves her to fend for herself, find a mate and reproduce.
We were able to tag along as Sarkhad and his two eagle-hunting sons helped 13-year old Nurguli learn how to handle and train her young bird.
It was a learning experience for us as well!
Kazakh Homestead In summer, our Kazakh hosts follow the herds with their portable ger camps; this is their permanent base and winter home: a complex of flat-roofed white-washed mud-brick rooms set behind rocky fences.
Burkitshi – Kazakh Eagle Hunter Called burkitshi in Kazakh, eagle hunters wear traditionally embroidered clothing and fox fur hats.
Razdak and his Eagle Kazakhs usually choose female eagles because they are much larger and therefore able to catch heavier animals. The eagles are hooded to keep them calm until they are released to catch prey.
Razdak and his Eagle During training, eagle hunters hum, sing, and speak to their birds to imprint their voices on them. They develop an affinity with their eagles, and continue to communicate with them, especially when the birds are hooded.
Jakslak and his Eagle The eagle’s hood – tomaga – is removed in preparation for hunting.
Jakslak’s Eagle Those eyes! That beak! These powerful birds have a wingspan of 2.5 meters (8ft) and weigh up to 7 kg (15lbs) when fully grown.
Golden Eagle in Flight Soaring at speeds of around 45–52 kilometres per hour (28–32 mph), and diving after prey at around 240 to 320 kilometres per hour (150 to 200 mph), golden eagles are perhaps the best fliers among all raptors.
Sarkhad and the Incoming Eagle It takes balance, strength and a lot of practice to land a seven-kilo (14 lb) incoming eagle.
The Eagle has Landed! The birds are rewarded immediately when they have performed their tasks.
Razdak and his Horse Mongolian ponies are small and feisty; …
Razdak Catching his Eagle … they are also well trained – allowing their rider to catch the incoming eagle.
Razdak and his Eagle The praise and reward is immediate, and then the bird is hooded again.
Jakslak Waiting for his Eagle Lots of repetition is the key to good training, and the brothers take turns calling their birds …
Jakslak and his Eagle … and catching them on the fly.
Sarkhad on Horseback Patriarch of the family, Sarkhad wears the traditional long, richly embroidered chapan overcoat …
Sarkhad Horseback … and malakhai – a very warm winter hat with ear-flaps made out of fox fur.
Horse and Eagle Moving Another training exercise involves dragging a fox carcass behind the cantering pony for the eagle to catch. (ISO100 70mm f/22 1/30sec)
Eagle and Fox Again, the bird will be rewarded with fresh meat once she releases the fox. It is said that some birds can bring down prey with no damage to the precious fur.
Sarkhad and his Eagle Sarkhad is indeed master of his eagle and his domain.
Taking the Eagles Uphill The next day we head out with the hunters again, as they climb the hills with their eagles – and with a trussed fox that one of the more experienced eagles has just captured.
Kazakh Family The family poses briefly on the rocky hillside before going back to training.
Rugged Ground The vegetation is sparse on the rugged slopes.
Hunters on the Hill It is a starkly beautiful landscape, with an unforgiving climate, …
Grandfather and Granddaughter on the Hill … and it gives rise to tough people with some harsh customs.
The Fox The terrified fox is muzzled and set loose so that the youngest eagle can practice hunting.
As I said – some harsh customs.
It used to be that the annual Ölgii Eagle Festival included live prey, but tourists found it too distressing, so only pelts are used in competition. There is nothing “romantic” about the traditional lives of the Kazakh nomads!
But, it is clear how well they understand their environment, and how much they respect and value the magnificent birds of prey that they have persuaded to help them clothe and feed their families.
Lion Pack Three young males were part of the second group of lions we saw on our day full of birds and beasts as we drove around Etosha National Park in Northern Namibia.
“We’re goin’ on a lion hunt,
“We’re going to catch a big one –
“I’m not scared.
“What a beautiful day!”
OK – it’s true: the popular children’s chant is about a bear hunt, but I was in a jeep, bumping across dusty gravel tracks in NorthernNamibia, and we were in search of lions. The refrain from the children’s song kept running through my head. I felt like a kid, a kid in a candy shop: the animals are just everywhere you turn in Etosha National Park!
I was travelling with photographer Ben McRae, a group of photography enthusiasts, and local guide guide Morne Griffiths. We had been living in tents for three nights at Namutoni Camp, next to the King Nehale Waterhole. Each night, I’d listened to the lions roaring to each other as I lay in the dark. But we hadn’t seen any on our first forays into the park (e.g.: Birds and Beasts on the Veld).
That morning, however, we got lucky. We came across a group of three adolescent males and spent time watching them out of the pop-top in our jeep (see: Camouflage and Zebra Crossings). We returned to camp for lunch, and set off again in the early afternoon, in search of more.
Truthfully, I was supremely happy with all the other animals we came across (and saw at the waterhole itself – eg: A Day at the Waterhole and Elephant Waltz).
Lions would just be a bonus!
Elephant at the Waterhole In my mind, these giants are the true rulers of the veld.
Zebras at the Waterhole
An Untidiness of Wildebeests Although the correct collective is an “implausibility of gnu” or a“confusion of wildebeest”, “untidiness” seems to suit them just as well.
“I’m a Gnu” Wildebeest are improbable creatures; I cannot see them without breaking into the song written by the British duo Flanders & Swann: “I’m a g-gnu, spelled g-n-u.”
Two Kudus Kudus – a species of antelope – gather near the waterholes.
Giraffe on the Road The animals in the park own the roads.
Giraffe in the Thorn Trees I love how the curve of the giraffe’s neck is an extension of its spine, as it looks around.
White Rhinoceros – Ceratotherium Simum The largest of the five rhino species – white rhino – are no longer endangered, but are still considered threatened.
White Rhinoceros – Ceratotherium Simum I was thrilled when we came across one on our drive in search of lions.
Fort Namutoni Originally built as a German police post in 1896, Fort Namutoni …
Door Handle … is the gateway to our campsite as we return for a late lunch. (iPhone)
Grey Go-Away-Bird – Corythaixoides Concolor Called the “go-away-bird” for their alarm call: “Kuh-wê!”, grey louries welcomed us to the fort.
Kori Bustard – Ardeotis Kori
Driver Our driver is smiling: …
Lazy Lions … he has found a “coalition” of five male lions lazing under a tree.
Siesta It’s late afternoon: the young males clearly have nothing to do but lie in their little patch of shade.
Giraffe Walking It is anthropomorphism, but I love the feeling of ownership that I imagine emanating from the various animals as they walk around their territory.
Helmeted Guineafowl – Numida Meleagris
Giraffes I love watching the giraffes as they take turns keeping watch over the waterhole, and bending awkwardly to drink.
Lions and Watchers Where there are lions, there will be safari vehicles, watching and following.
Lion Pack The young princes lounge around the waterhole without a care in the world.
Is that a Yawn or a Roar? It is all quiet today, but their flanks show the marks of fights past.
Sunset In the early evening, the world around us goes quiet as the sun drops over the veld.
Night falls quickly over the dusty plains. The sun turned red as I contemplated a day replete with animals: the princely lions that we had been in search of and the others in their domain.
We had one more more morning in the park before heading back to the city …
Con Brio – With Energy Con Brio is a seven-piece soul, psych-rock and R&B band from the San Francisco Bay Area. Charismatic and endlessly-energetic front-man Ziek McCarter grew up in Houston dreaming of being a performer. In 2011, his father – a guitar player and an army vet – was killed by law enforcement. Ziek made the conscious decision to stay positive and to make music that lifts people up.
If you want a sense of a country’s diversity, you need only listen to its music.
I was trying to think of ways of organising the myriad of pictures I took at this year’s Bluesfest Byron Bay 2018 – a five-day festival of international blue-, roots-, and any-kind-of-music; one category I thought of using was “World Music”. I probably still will, but, if the performers I plan to group this way are world music, what are the rest? Non-world?
What is American music?
It is so easy for us to think of our own culture – including musical traditions – as the norm. One of the beauties of living continents away from North America is being able to see it – especially the United States – from a distance. It is easier to get some perspective on the overwhelming cultural influence that the US has on other English-speaking countries.
But, as anyone who has visited the United States and seen first-hand the enormous regional differences knows: the country always was a patchwork rather than a melting pot.
This was certainly true of the very different versions of “American” music that I enjoyed at this year’s Bluesfest.
Drum Kit – Lukas Nelson & Promise of the Real There is something magical about musical equipment on an otherwise empty stage: that anticipatory excitement builds as we wait for the performers to enter.
Lukas Nelson & Promise of the Real I was mesmerised when I first saw/heard Lukas Nelson and his band Promise of the Real (POTR) in 2016 (see: Back to the Roots). Son of American country icon Willie Nelson, Lukas is billed as a “cowboy hippy surf rocker” musician.
Lukas Nelson & Promise of the Real What he and his band deliver is a high-quality, high-energy rockin’ good time.
Lukas Nelson joins Michael Franti and the Kids One of the many beauties of festivals is the collaboration that happens: later in the week, we were treated to Lukas Nelson again, when he joined Michael Franti and countless festival-going children on stage for a final number. (02April2018)
Warren Haynes and Gov’t Mule More impeccable musical credentials – this time from a different generation and the other side of the country: Gov’t Mule is the southern rock jam band formed as a side project of The Allman Brothers Band by guitarist Warren Haynes (pictured) and bassist Allen Woody.
Alynda Segarra and Hurray for the Riff Raff Raised on doo-wop and Motown in the Bronx by her aunt, Alynda Segarra formed the folk-blues band Hurray for the Riff Raff in New Orleans in 2007.
Alynda Segarra This is a very different America: Alynda is of Puerto Rican descent, and although her mother was once Deputy Mayor of New York City, Segarra’s political ‘voice’ is through her songs.
Alynda Segarra She draws inspiration from Mexican-American cult favorite Rodriguez, and tells stories rooted in life on the streets of contemporary urban America.
Jason Isbell and The 400 Unit Jason Isbell’s alternative-country Southern-rock music pays tribute to his northern-Alabama roots.
Jason Isbell Winner of four Grammy Awards,Jason Isbell has lived in Nashville since 2011; his most recent eponymous album is The Nashville Sound.
Jason Isbell and The 400 Unit One of the melancholy tracks off that album: “If We Were Vampires”, was a little too real and reduced me to tears. This shot is from their second set on the Saturday (31March2018).
Joe Louis Walker San Francisco-born Joe Louis Walker is a master of blues guitar and blues history.
Joe Louis Walker An inductee to the Blues Hall of Fame and a four-time Blues Music Award winner, JLW is know for his virtuoso electric blues guitar.
The California Honeydrops One of my favourite finds from Bluesfest 2017 (Sound clip at: Classic Blues to Funky Beats) was the big, bold, and brassy California Honeydrops. Band leader and front man Lech Wierzynski was born in Warsaw, Poland, but started playing blues and jazz as a teenager in Washington D.C. before relocating to Oakland California.
Mojo Tent : The New Power Generation Part of the joy of attending Bluesfest is the atmosphere : …
Full Moon : Mojo Tent … although the crowds spill out of the tents, everyone is enveloped in the music and the atmosphere is always friendly.
Leon Bridges on the Big Screen : Crossroads Most days, the rain held off, and there were as many festival-goers on the grassy lawns enjoying the music as there were in the tents.
Citizen Cope Alternative rocker Clarence Greenwood, under the recording name of Citizen Cope, blends hip-hop with folk, soul and blues.
Con Brio We were blown away by Ziek McCarter and Con Brio when we saw them at Bluesfest 2016 (see: They Sing Blues all over the World). They have not lost an ounce of energy in the intervening years!
Brendan Liu on Horn, Ziek McCarter, and Patrick Monaco Glynn on Keyboard “Con Brio” or “With Spirit” became the seven-piece band’s philosophy: do it like you mean it or don’t do it at all.
Ziek McCarter – Con Brio When the layers come off, you know Ziek is ready to do a few back-flips across the stage. “With energy” indeed!
Lech Wierzynski and Ziek McCarter Another surprise: Lech Wierzynski from California Honeydrops (together with some of his horn section) joined Con Brio on stage. He and Ziek McCarter absolutely killed it on a few numbers towards the end of the set. (31March2018)
Con Brio Con Brio had three spots over the weekend; from what I saw, they brought the same level of energy to all of them. (02April2018)
Nigerian novelist Chimamanda Adichie warns of the dangers of hearing only a single story about another person or country; certainly the breadth of performers from the United States that we enjoyed at this year’s Bluesfest treated us to a number of very different stories about the American experience.
Bathing at Pura Tirta Empul The temples of Bali are both ancient and living; at the Hindu water temple of Tirta Empul, Balinese bathe in the spring waters that have been funnelled through waterspouts since 962 A.D.
Many years ago, my husband and I went to Bali for our honeymoon. On our first day there, we were separated from our money.
To say that we were “robbed” puts it much too harshly: we were attracted by friendly, smiling faces into a little blue van that purported to be going our way. I’d read about the blue taxis in my Lonely Planet, and the garrulous chatter of the men in the van distracted me from the fact that this blue vehicle didn’t have the requisite “Bali Taxi” written on it. When I was startled by the noise of our disposable camera falling to the floor, the men were also startled, and all of a sudden, they weren’t going our way after all. They hurriedly dropped us off at a motorcycle-taxi shelter and disappeared.
It was only when we went to pay the motorcycle drivers at the top of a long hill that we discovered that my husband’s wallet was empty. He was not well pleased – it was one of the few times I ever saw him lose his temper, but it was day-one of our marriage, so I did wonder what I had let myself in for!
Fortunately, we had divvied up the money that morning before setting out for the day. Half our cash was in my wallet back in our room, and he had a few dollars in his pocket with which to mollify the motorcycle drivers. The temple we had arrived at had no prescribed fee, so we set off to wander around.
Another young Balinese man seemed to have attached himself to us: he offered to show us the short-cut to the water-temple that I wanted to visit next. As he had witnessed our reaction to having no money, he couldn’t be looking for a tip, so I persuaded my husband that it was ok.
What felt like an eternity later (probably about fifteen minutes), we were bathed in wet, hot, air and surrounded by dense jungle on a path I could not make out. When our ‘guide’ shouted out to people I couldn’t see through the dense vegetation, I panicked and thought our number was up. We were going to be kidnaped, or murdered, and it was all my fault!! Never have I felt so frightened and so helpless.
Of course, a moment – or a lifetime – later, the jungle opened up, and we were looking down over the most wonderful fresh-spring stone-baths. Our guide probably wondered why we looked so very relieved as he showed us where to put our things. Warm water never felt so good!
The theft and the fright could not prevent us from appreciating what a rich and beautiful cultural experience Bali is. Last year, we returned to celebrate our anniversary.
I wanted to visit the same temples we had seen those years ago, and negotiated a trip with a guide we had met on the side of the road (Balinese are most persuasive!). We spent the day with him, a car, and a driver.
Join us at two uniquely Balinese sites.
Family at the Entry to Pura Tirta Empul The springs at Tirta Empul Temple are said to have magical powers, and are therefore important to the Balinese.
In the Baths Bathers dress for modesty, and wear clothing or sarongs in the spring waters.
Bathing Fun As is the case in many Southeast Asian temples, ritual blends seamlessly with fun and frolic.
Taking Turns In the inner yard, people line up to bathe under each of the spouts, working from left to right across the pond. Many faithful have containers to take the healing waters home with them.
Ritual Baths Visitors pay a camera fee; many watch and photograph from outside the pools.
Offerings There are offerings of flowers and incense to the Gods – particularly Vishnu – everywhere.
Bathing
Tirta Empul Baths These might have been the same baths we visited many years before, but it all looked so different!
Guardian at the Entry There is beautiful stone work everywhere. The whole complex was restored in the 1960s, but with the patina of moss on everything, it is hard to tell what is old and what isn’t.
Priest in a Pavillion Balinese Hindu priests light incense and ring bells as they recite prayers.
Cutting Fruit Fresh fruit is cut for offerings.
Fish Pond Up on the hill overlooking the temple complex is Istana Negara, an unspectacular single-story palace built by Soekarno, the first President of Indonesia.
Fish Patterns
Markets Naturally, where people gather, there will be markets!
People on the Steps Just a kilometre down-river from Pura Tirta Empul is the entry to Gunung Kawi.
Woman Crocheting The people lining the pathway are either selling things or making things for sale.
Rice Terraces The walk down to the river is steep, and runs through typical verdant Balinese rice terraces.
Gunung Kawi Royal Tombs Across the river, we come to the amazing Gunung Kawi: …
Gunung Kawi … ten 7-metre-high (23 ft) candi (shrines) carved into the stone cliff along the riverbank.
Bale Pelik at Gunung Kawi Carved in the 11th century, the tombs are believed to be memorials in honour of King Anak Wungsu of the Udayana dynasty and his favourite queens.
Water Fountain
Terraces What goes down must come up again… There are more than 100 steps down to the river – and the same number coming back up. Checking out the beautiful terraces gave us a good excuse to take a breather as we climbed back up to the parking lot.
I had hoped to find the same temples we had visited on our honeymoon, but everything looked different. Surely monuments that had existed for centuries could not have changed so much!
- Performing the Ganga Aarti from Dasaswamedh Ghat, Varanasi
- Buddha Head from Shwedagon Pagoda, Myanmar
- Harry Clarke Window from Dingle, Ireland
- Novice Monk Shwe Yan Pyay Monastery, Myanmar
Packets of 10 for $AU50.
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[…] getting their face-paint ready for their dance performance (see: A Black and White View and Crocodile Men). But, Kanganaman has not one, but two spirit houses (see: Welcome to the Spirit House). The […]
[…] stay in the little village of Kanganaman in the Middle Sepik (see: Welcome to the Spirit House and Crocodile Men), most of us were looking forward to our boutique accommodation in Wewak, with hot showers in the […]
[…] village nearby. Each village in the Sepik region has several clans and sub-clans (see: Crocodile Men), with complex inter-relationships of the corresponding totems. It is said that the more diverse […]