Of Monkeys and Princesses

We are in Ubud, Bali. Ubud is the arts capital of the island, with more painters, sculptors, textile artists, musicians and dancers than I could shake the whole of the Schwartzwald at. It’s lovely, nestled in the hills, surrounded by rice paddies – and it even cools off at night. In short, I love it. A few highlights:

The Princess House
Before I came up here, I checked out a few web sites that purported to have the lowdown on pleasant budget accommodation here in Ubud. While it is true that luxury can be bought here for a fraction of the price you’d pay in, say, the Bahamas or even Thailand, budget digs are just as touch-and-go as they are anywhere else. There’s cheap places, but in a lot of them you get what you pay for, if you know what I mean. Anyway, I found one site that was poorly designed enough and featured so few places that I had to believe it was for real. One of the operations looked really nice – no swimming pool, but all the comforts of home, in a family compound, Balinese-style. I decided to check it out. I was not disappointed.

My bungalow (to which I affectionately refer as the Princess House) is built in traditional Balinese architectural style. Among other things, this means that most of the house is outdoors, with only the bedroom inside, to give maximum enjoyment of the garden that surrounds it. This garden, by the way, is chock full of tropical flowering and fruit trees, exotic birds with strange calls that sound like talking, and a walkway of which every square is inlaid with stones depicting animals and flowers. But back to the house. My veranda is roughly twice the size of the interior. Floored with gleaming pink granite, furnished with a low table and cushions on one side and colonial-style tea table and chairs on the other, it could easily host a gathering of 20. The low table, by the way, is perpetually full of fruit, tea, coffee and a thermos of hot water – one of the perks of Hai Homestay. The ceiling is supported by eight (2 rows of 4, one on each level – yes, there are multiple levels to my veranda. Sick, isn’t it?) ornamentally hand-carved teak columns based in marble. The ceiling itself is intricately woven bamboo interspersed with teak beams and hand-carved medallions. A richly carved double door leads inside. There, an enormous 4poster canopy bed with full mosquito net/draperies all around takes pride of place. There’s also a dresser and a wardrobe, but who the hell cares about anything else when you’ve got a bed like that?!? Anyway, out the back door is the bathroom and shower. These rooms are floored with smooth, loose stones of all colors and beautifully furnished with waist-high orchids and other plants. The walls dividing the rooms are stone, with carved faces and figures interspersed.

For all this, I pay roughly $7.50 US. You may commence the hatred now.

Monkeys Don’t Flinch
The legend of Monkey Forest says that at some point in the distant past, a part of the holy forest dropped out of heaven, with a battallion of the gods’ warrior monkey army inside it. Accordingly, temples were built in this sanctuary and the monkeys are revered and well cared for. This is where I spent my afternoon yesterday.

First off, the monkeys are Balinese long-tailed macaques. There are roughly 150 of them living in the forest, and one of the females is pregnant and will soon give birth to more. When I arrived in the central clearing, one of the staff was entering it from a different direction, carrying an enormous bundle of leaves over his shoulder. All the monkeys clustered around him, chattering. Lunchtime! I went over to watch, and he asked me if I wanted to feed them too. He introduced himself as Cris, handed me a bunch of leaves and I began distributing them. The pregnant female looked at me gravely before accepting my first one, gracefully and politely. The male leader sat in front of Cris, picking the choicest morsels out of the enormous bundle. None of the others dared to go near him. Ironically, he was one of the most polite of them all. The smaller, younger animals (clearly terrified of the boss and perhaps of me as well) would snatch and run, but he sat quietly on his hind paws, fixing me with a wise gaze, and accepted my proffered leaves slowly and carefully. I could have sworn he even nodded thanks.

After feeding the beasts, it was time to explore the forest. As I set off own a path marked “Holy Spring Temple”, it began to rain. The canopy, though, is so thick that I only caught the odd drop here and there. The stairway was long and led down toward the river – I could hear it rushing before and below me. The steps are carefully carved and edged to prevent slips…

Across the water and through an ancient banyan tree so gnarled and intricate that I can’t tell whether I’m passing through branches or trunk, then down a second staircase with sea serpent balustrades all the more realistic for their covering of bright green moss. Before me, opposite the base of the stairs, sits a pukel-man-Buddha figure. I bow to him and descend the last step. To my right Ganesha and his concubines pour an endless bath in a basin worthy of the gods. In the center, underwater, sits a carving so ancient I can’t make out what it is. Beyond the bath, a small complex of altars is fiercely guarded by woman/ogres. The gate is closed. I do not enter. Off to my right, half hidden by overgrown foliage, there is another set of stairs, descending along the vertical river bank. I am high above the water here – maybe 50 meters – and the bank is reinforced by a stone wall. I follow the steps downward. Past a small altar on my left, the stairs narrow even more, still hugging the bank. As I turn the final corner, getting close to water level, I see two stone columns overgrown with moss, on the other side of the river. It is not until I reach the exact opposite point that I can see the alter set between and behind them. It bears the swastika, symbol of the and chaos of an ever-changing world, symbol of the power and beauty and contradiction of divinity.

Back at the top of the complex, I pass by the serpents again, to explore the other side. I wonder which side they’re meant to protect – the temple or the forest. A path heading away from Ganesha’s bath leads to another staircase descending along the riverbank. This one, much shorter, leads to a partial enclosure guarded by a pair of Komodo dragons (stone) perched on top. Under them are twin springs feeding down into a shower, overlooking the rushing river. One bath for the gods, I thought, and one for the humans.

There is a magic, a secret life, in the temples of this island that I did not experience in Thailand or Indochina. It is not unlike the feeling one gets in an ancient cathedral in Europe – it’s the power of belief, faith, trust and love. It’s the power of the divine in people coming together and focusing. This place was alive with magic and spirit, and it spoke to me. And I felt blessed.