Wanting to escape the terrors of the Revenge of the Christmas Cake in Japan (the loopy logic being that since Christmas was Christ's birthday, in ergo to celebrate, one needs a birthday cake, in ergo, Christmas Cake), I desperately needed a way out. The reprieve came in the form of an air ticket to Bali. After some investigation about any significant Balinese happenings from Osaka, I inadvertently learnt that December 28, 1996 was the date of the royal Balinese cremation at the Puri Agung, Ubud. I know that the idea of flying 3000 miles to witness a funeral may not sound like a great idea for Christmas vacation but the when I delved into the literature explaining about the customs and traditions about these Balinese funerals, I was enchanted and the decision to go was easily made.

A Balinese cremation is much like that of a Hindu cremation but many changes have been made. Balinese Hinduism has managed to evolve the Cremation ceremony into one of the most colorful and interesting anthropological events to witness. Hindus have been cremating the remains of their dead at Benares or along the banks of the mighty Ganges river for ages. The Balinese cremation is called the Ngaben and it is the ritual performed to send the dead through the transition to his next life. Accompanied by my traveling companion, Junko, we made our way to Bali. But before witnessing the Royal Ngaben, we decided to visit the ruins of the Prambanan Plain and Borobudor in Central Java. Landing in Bali, late in the evening, we stayed at a hotel close to the airport so that we could catch the 6:20 a.m. flight to Yogyakarta.

Hindu Ruins in Prambanan Central Java

We clambered right out the domestic Garuda and walked on the tarmac of the Adisucipto Airport of Yogyakarta. After buying a fixed fare taxi ticket, we took an Airport taxi and headed straight for the ruins from the Airport. The Prambanan Plain was a collection of Javanese Hindu temples that were built in the 8th to 9th Centuries A.D. The setting was quietly spectacular with the massive grey temple ruins flanked by a couple of active volcanoes belching smoke. It made for a pleasant three hour survey around the sites. Entering the near-deserted Historical Park early in a Sunday morning was eminently advisable, since it is one of Java's premiere tourist attractions.

Like most of the other Hindu monuments, the temple complex was designed to resemble Mount Meru, the dwelling place of the Hindu Gods. In reality, the Hindus regarded the Himalayas as the abode of the Gods, much like the Greeks in their reckoning of Mount Olympus. The edifices emanated a powerful and numinous atmosphere. It was key to deeper religious understanding and mysteries.

The temples were decorated with bas reliefs which were works of art and beauty, providing satisfaction and spiritual guidance to the illiterate inhabitants through the ages and even some entertainment to the viewer. The rich pictorial detail of mythical Hindu figures like Kala, Rangda, Nagas, Vishnu, Brahma, Ganesh were all symbolic of the Hindu parthenon of gods. These temples were built by Javanese kings who at the time of building these temples were influenced by Hinduism and Buddhism; who used temple building as signs of their largesse or good acts that will help them attain nirvana, whichever was in vogue at that present time. The other notable Hindu-temple builders of South East Asia, the Khmer Angkor God-kings, actually imported some of the Javanese artisans who built the temples in Prambanan to Cambodia to build the big cheese, Angkor Wat. Although, there are some similarities, the Javanese and Angkor Kings had very different stylistic interpretations and treatment of Hindu mythology in their respective monuments. The entry to the entire park is covered by one entrance fee ticket, a princely sum of 5000 rupiah or US$2.00.

Specifically, the temple ruins not to be missed are Candi Loro Jonggrang and Candi Sewu meaning Thousand Temples. Unfortunately, the author of the name was overgenerous in his estimate - as the exact number of shrines that surrounded the central temple was actually 220 and not 1000. Candi Plaosan is a little far from the main Prambanan complex but its isolation and picture-perfect location amidst quiet and serene rice and sugar cane fields is worth the walk there.

There are some other temples on the main highway to Yogyakarta and one that is especially recommended is Candi Sambisari as it was discovered by a farmer in 1966. This temple lies about 8 meters below the surface level and through the years it was protected from looters and the elements by protective layers of volcanic ash from the nearby active volcano, Mt. Merapi. From Prambanan it was a 40 minute bus ride which we managed to flag with much ease as the road leading to Yogyakarta. Yogyakarta (pronounced as jog-ja) is usually used as a stepping stone on the way to witness the raison d'etre of visiting Central Java, Borobudor. Of course, we used Yogyakarta as a useful pit stop to do some shopping for sarongs, silverware and art pieces.

Borobudor

Those less deceived should forgo the "See Borobudor at Dawn" trips touted by nearly every tour operator in Yogyakarta. The rationale is that firstly, the clueless that were snared into these trips have to get up at 4:00 a.m. to catch the minibus to Borobudor. Then, they have to contend with around 80 other sleepy and grumpy tourists who have paid for the same privilege and wait until 7:00 a.m. to clamber onto the monument. A better alternative is to either spend an evening in the small Borobudor village and stay at the Lotus Guesthouse (for the budget backpacker), which has a roadside view of the ruins or stay at the Hotel Manohara (our option because of the Hotel's offer of unlimited access to the ruins).

We took the public bus at a more godly hour, before lunchtime, from Yogyakarta. The bus ride costed a sensible sum of 1500 rupiahs for the one & half hour ride to Borobudor. Dropping off the Borobudor bus-stop, we took a becak (a bicycle-powered rickshaw) to get to the Manohara which was within the Borobudor temple national park. The issue is not just the unlimited access to Borobudor but having the ruins in the backyard is exactly the way to go. At twilight and dusk; with the elements and the sounds of the jungle, is enough to satisfy even the most deceived of the tourist kind.

Borobudor at dawn was on a totally different plane. We started early in the morning at 5:15 a.m. wanting to be the first on the monument but we were beaten to the punch by a group of Sanskrit- chanting Italian Buddhists. These pilgrims were on religious retreat and you could imagine our surprise at encountering a Tibetan monk with a gaggle of Sanskrit-chanting foreigners hogging the front entrance of Borobudor at 5:30 a.m.! But fortunately, they did the pilgrim route at the temple complex.

So this meant that they had to walk through all the 10 levels of terraces of the monument praying as they go by the stone bas reliefs of the temple. The temple was a bas relief textbook of Buddhist doctrines that recounted the life story of Buddha, his teachings with reliefs of saints, deities, mythic heavenly creatures, parables and stories of the Royal Javanese kings long past. The entire pilgrimage route was about 4 km in distance. So while the pilgrims were circling the monument in an anti-clockwise direction, we took the short-cut and walked straight up to the top and watched the sunrise with the swirling morning mist sliding from the dense green rainforest that surrounded the monument.

The sight to behold was the row after row of headless stone Buddhas serenely sitting at the terraces, all in all there were 400 of them, serenely giving a smiling welcome to pilgrims for nearly 1100 years. At the upper three levels of Borobudor, there were 72 stone latticed dagobs (miniature stupas) that silently swathed dhyani Buddhas. Naturally, as according to local superstitions, I had to reach into one of the lattices & try to touch the Buddha's ankle or navel in order to get good luck. I hit pay dirt with the ankle but the Buddha's navel was unreachable.

Before long, Borobudor was swamped with scurrying schoolchildren who were on an excursion rooting out foreigners who could speak English. They were armed with a cassette recorder & asked innocuous questions about where were you from etc., after being interrogated by one pair of schoolgirls; I pretended that I was Japanese & couldn't speak a word of English. We were left alone to appreciate the ruins & also patiently wait to take photos without getting someone's hand or scalp or foot into the frame.

On weekends it was estimated that about 10,000 sightseers would swarm the park grounds and visit Borobudor. It was a Monday but it sure felt like one of those weekends. Fleeing Borobudor to fend for itself at the mercy of the locust-like tourists, we left Java and braved another entry into the tourist mother-earth, Bali. Upon our second arrival at the Ngurah Rai Airport, Bali's international airport, I had to resist the charms of the outstretched slender hands of the female moneychanger, frantically beckoning the fresh-of-the-plane traveler to her booth. This was a harbinger of worse things to come.

Back in Bali - the Mother of All Tourist Traps

Stepping out from the Airport terminal, into the warm December tropical night, I happily ignored all exhortations from the swarm of taxi drivers that descended upon us, faster than a worker bee to a pot of honey. Those less deceived should buy a taxi ticket from the Airport taxi service office just outside the terminal. This fixed fare ticket is at least 50% cheaper than any of the quoted fares from the itinerant taxi-drivers who are hawking their services at the Airport terminal entrance.

The Japanese tour group presence was so ubiquitous in Bali that even our domestic flight from Bali to Yogyakarta was announced in Bahasa Indonesian, English and Japanese. Of course, during Christmas or for any time of the year, for that matter, beer-swilling Aussie tourists also swamp Bali's Southern beaches, the Aussie males hanging out with local sweet honies and the more matronly types have the local boy toys for companionship. The macabre sight of them sunbathing in the nude on Kuta's beaches are not for the faint-hearted.

We made our way to the Kuta/Legian drag of Bali for a quick & ready meal. Kuta/Legian ranks way up there with Mexico's Tijuana, Tokyo's Disneyland & Thailand's Chiang Mai as the all-time mecca of crass, kitschy and in-your-face tourism. It was crawling with vendors, peddlers, hawkers, colporteurs, masseurs, charter-drivers of every sort. Every step you take, you will leave one in your wake. But we had our quick meal of mee goreng (fried noodles) while ignoring about 15 requests to buy a tennis cap/sarong/batik postcard. Before long, we were on way to Ubud, the soul of Balinese culture.

Ubud - Bali's Soul

Ubud is the undeniable haven for cultural mavens. Although Ubud is also heavily geared for the tourist market providing all the services (necessary and unnecessary) for travelers, the locals are Ubud do not hound you until the ends of the Earth. If Kuta was the body of Bali, then Ubud is Bali's priceless soul. Ubud is also centrally located in Bali without the crass tourism of Sanur or Kuta. It is quite easy to commute around Bali by a rental vehicle and a Suzuki jeep could be hired for about 40,000 rupiahs a day. The main roads are well-posted and maps are readily available. Moreover, having your own transportation liberates you from the clutches of the local transport mafia that delight in scalping hapless foreigners.

Ubud's calendar was chockful of cultural goodies to appreciate. There were daily cultural dances, colorful temple ceremonies and excursions to nearby temples to keep the traveller busy. Ubud was the hotbed for an up-front appreciation and insight into Balinese culture. The jewel of which is the Balinese funeral cremation.

Balinese Funerals 101

Death is a rite of passage, the soul is freed from Earth, and may commence its great journey before being reborn into a future generation. Seen more as a celebration than a time of mourning, a cremation was a social event where families can gain prestige by displaying extravagance in fulfilling a final, sacred duty. The celebration of death reaches a climax, generally about 42 days after death, when the body may be cremated at the village's Setra (cremation site).

Usually the whole village gets into the act of helping out, in the spirit of "gotong royong" (mutual help & co-operation) that involves everyone in the village to undertake a task. Preparations were already into a big way with the entire village working for the funeral of 87 year old Tjokorda (Prince) Ngurah Sudartha. The entire village of Ubud was involved in this ceremony since it involved the titular regional monarchy of Ubdu. The four Banjars (parishes) of Ubud worked together with schools, women's groups, traditional music troupes in preparations to ensure that the deceased deserved a grand funeral that befitted him. The logistics are quite staggering. The villagers had to build several elaborate bamboo wooden structures like the bull-shaped sarcophagus which will carry the deceased to the other world.

There will also be the construction of the tower like structures called the Bade hold the body while it is taken to the Setra. The Bade represents the Balinese version of the cosmos, the underworld, earth & heaven- while the multiple roofs are replicas of the levels of heaven. The many-tiered roofs also indicated the social rank of the person, the more tiered roofs there are. In the instance of the currently deceased Tjokorda, he had a 9-tiered roof Bade.

The Tjokorda died in October 1996 but tradition and religion dictated that his funeral had to wait. In the interim before the Ngaben, his body was placed at the Bale Delod, as if he were sleeping, and the family will continue to treat him as if he were still alive yet sleeping. It has been said that no tears are shed at the death of a loved one, for the Balinese believe that the deceased is only gone temporarily and he will reincarnate into the family.

In the old days, the deceased was either pickled with a cocktail of local preservatives or buried temporarily and dug up later, washed and ritually purified to be cremated but now with the advent of modern science of technology, a modern day injection of some formaldehyde-like agent did the trick of ensuring that he didn't decompose away in the sweltering tropical heat before his big day with the fire. The Temple Priest consults the Dewasa to determine the proper day for the ceremony. On the day of the ceremony, the body of the deceased would be placed inside a coffin which is then placed inside in the form of a buffalo (called Lembu) or called Bade made of paper and light wood. The Bade will be carried to the village Setra in a procession.

Central to the Ngaben was the Naga which was the serpent creature that figures prominently in all of the Hindu mythology and folklore. In the context of the Ngaben, the Naga serves as a bridge between the earth & the afterlife. The Naga was also burnt together with the Bade & Bade in one huge bonfire. The Lembu, Bade and Naga had to be constructed from scratch and the villagers used an array of building materials like rattan, bamboo, coconut husks, tinsel, textile, velvet, plywood, coconut leaves, colorful crepe paper, streamers and paper mache. The hide of the Lembu and Naga was made of a regal black velvet and the color yellow was generously displayed all over the structures since the Tjokorda was royalty and yellow was the symbolic color for royalty.

Throughout the preparations, we stayed at Oka Kartini's, a longtime Ubud establishment with swimming pool, laundry service & impeccable rooms for the grand sum of US$20.00 per night. To add icing to the cake, the hotel's stone perimeter fence provided a great vantage point to the cremation as the hotel was located opposite the Setra. This may have some disadvantages if during the cremation if the wind were to take a nasty direction.

There was one funeral at Seminyak in November 1996 and an ill-blowing wind blew a piece of the burning pyre onto one of the universal coconut leaf thatched roofs of the village. Half the village went up in flames and fortunately there was only property damage because everyone in the village was at the funeral ceremony. Anyway, it was too late to find alternative accomadation because the hotels in Ubud brimming in capacity as there as a crush of incoming foreign and local tourists wanting to see a royal Ngaben. The last one in Ubud was in the late 1960s, that glorious occasion was to mark the passing on of the presently deceased's father.

Out of the Tourist Trap & Into the Pyre

The two evenings before the Ngaben, Junko and I immersed ourselves in the many rituals and performances that were conducted at the Royal Courtyard of the Palace. Adding to the festive atmosphere, during the day & night, the palace would be the venue of special events like processions, gamelan performances, traditional warrior dances (warriors in traditional headdresses with spears to boot), Ramayana dramas, wayang kulit performances, barong dances etc. This general merriment is part the funeral ritual where the Balinese rejoice that one of their own was no longer bound by the tether & toils of human life but was now one with the gods and waiting to reincarnate back to the family.

On the day of the Ngaben itself, the funeral procession was a gloriously raucous affair with a crowd of nearly 5,000 people and camera-clicking tourists were welcomed & encouraged to join in the chaos. Precariously perched on the stone wall of the hotel, I saw the strapping 600 men chanting and carrying the Lembu, the Bade & the Naga. Earlier, the coffin bearing the dead Tjokorda was loaded via a 10-meter high bamboo ladder from his Palace unto the Bade & the three structures are respectively carried to the Setra.

Along the way, there is the clamorous Gamelan (a hypnotic brass percussion instrument) orchestra that will be frantically playing away & raising the tempo of the procession. The 600 men carrying the Bade had to sway & shake the Bade creating noise, movement, whirling, tilting the Bade - creating general bedlam. The reason being to to confuse the soul, lest it try to return to its earthly home, although another explanation was that it was to confuse the evil spirits (foreign tourists?) lurking in the area that may do harm to the spirit to the deceased.

According to some, this is where the tourists' presence was very welcome. As it was suggested that the sight of sweaty, confused & awed white folk would definitely confuse even the most mean spirited demon. Although, since Ubud has become so over touristed, I would have thought that any demon worth its salt in devilment would have already grown accustomed to the presence of the white/yellow/brown tourists.

Even so, there were a couple of strings attached for the tourists to be able to witness this spectacle. The tourists had to be respectfully dressed, so they had to wear a sarong & temple sash. This was also required before entry into any Balinese temple. Not unexpectedly, visitors to temples were rented such accessories when visiting the temple. We had already bought ours for one fifth the Balinese price.

Before the funeral ceremony, conveniently, there was an endless procession of strolling sarong vendors to make sure that the tourist does not only confuse the demons but also enhances the confusion by wearing a sarong wrongly! Accompanying the sarong sellers were the film scalpers, drink sellers, snack vendors, although I did not see anyone selling popcorn and hot dogs though. It was indeed a celebration & even the locals got into the act by buying up soup noodles sold from push-carts strategically located at the intersection just beyond the cremation spot. I didn't see any of the locals wearing sarongs though.

The Bade carrying the Tjokorda finally lumbered towards to the Setra with great ceremony.There was an ocean of humanity that accompanied the Bade. The Bade-bearers were chanting and lumbering down the road in a curious stop-start, halting lurching motion, like in a drunken stupor. The tumult were intoixicated by the energy and ceremony of the occasion. There was clutch of men mid-way atop the Bade clinging on to the coffin containing the Tjokorda and also trying to maintain their balance atop 600 shouting and swaying Bade-bearers.

Once the Bade is stopped, there was a loud cheer of a job well-done, obviusly pleased that the coffin didn't fall off the Bade or the Bade not crushing any hapless tourist. A local scaled the 15- meter high Bade and released a pigeon and the Tjokorda's body was carefully carried from the Bade to the Lembu with great ceremony. The back of the lembu was removed & the shrouded corpse was placed inside the back of the bull-shaped sarcophagus. The Naga was placed next to the Lembu & before long the climax of Ngaben was well under way. The fire-engines were all ready as they did not want to have a repeat of Seminyak. All the same, the burning of the Bade had to use fire originating from a holy source. The deceased is sent to his afterlife, to be reincarnated in the future.

Back at the blazing pyre, it was clear that the fire did not really finish the job & while most of the bull-shaped sarcophagus would have been consumed by the flames, the body of the dead Tjokorda lay suspended over the coconut husk kindling that was used. Metal wires were used as the rib cage of the belly of the bull-shaped sarcophagus & the Tjokorda's body was placed in this wire made rib cage of the Lembu. The fire had adequate burnt the belly of the wooden sarcophagus but there was the Tjokorda, like Saturday night's pot roast basted over a spit, suspended in the wire rib-cage of the Lembu.

This was the signal for the funeral attendants who proceeded take some long bamboo poles and started to strike the charred corpse and after some gentle pummeling the corpse broke into several pieces and fell amongst the glowing embers. The remains were still burning in the embers when the attendants came with the bamboo poles again and began to pound the remains into ashes. Once consumed by the fire, the ashes are collected into coconut shells to be thrown into the sea or a stream. After the entire ceremony, the ashes thrown into the swirling Ayung River.

The spectacle was over & it was time for the photo-developers. On my way there, I saw the preparations for another funeral where a wizened artisan was carving the head of the Lembu and women were chatting away cutting up tinsel and cloth for the Bade.

North Balinese Temples

The next morning, we went up to North Bali to check out some of the most ornate designed temples that I have seen. There were three types of temples in a Balinese village, the Pura Puseh, the temple of origin dedicated to the founders of the village, Pura Desa, for the spirits to protect the villagers in their daily life & the Pura Dalem, the temple of the dead. The temples of the dead were always the best decorated ones with the Disneyesque carved demons, deities, gods & other beings. The reason for doing so was that these images were to remind the living that death could either be very very bad or good. Also it was necessary to place hideous looking images to scare evil spirits away.

The Pura Dalem (Temple of the Dead) at Kubutambuhan housed the famed plinth of the Dutch on a bicycle with flower petal wheels. It is one example of the marriage of modernism and traditional Balinese temple architecture and design. Unfortunately, we arrived at the temple in the late afternoon and the local urchin mafia had taken over the temple. The main entrance was locked and the temple was apparently closed. But for a fee, a pint-sized urchin, lurking around the temple entrance could open a side-entrance with his key and allow the visitor access to the temple. Naturally, I refused much to his chagrin, despite his offers to reduce his entrance fee to the temple; I politely refused and proceeded to return to the car.

On our way back to the Suzuki, I saw that one of them was innocuously playing with a little rock & I just eyeballed the waif. After we drove off, I heard a soft clunk on the roof of our Suzuki jeep. Sadly, this scam was also used by many of the local urchins at some of the other temple sights in Bali and even at the most important Mother Temple, Bersakih. Sadly, poverty and tourists who pay up to this insidious form of extortion encourage this sort of behavior.

Disappointed at Kubutambahan, we went to the Pura Dalem at Sangsit where we happily paid up to the legitimate temple keeper and we spent a marvelous afternoon gazing and appreciating the exquisite sandstone-sculptured temple. The panels are noted for their garishly comic demons and amazing snake stone reliefs. The setting sun made the pink sandstone more lustrous and glorious and there was not another tourist or tourist vendor in sight.

The plentiful sandstone in North Bali was much softer for carving which explained the fact that the Northern Balinese temples were more ornate and the designs more spectacular. The next morning, we dutifully paid our entrance fee to the authentic temple keeper of Kubutambuhan and also paid a visit to the Pura Dalem at Jajaragah. The volcanic black sands of Bali's Northern beaches and the gentle rolling provided a more glorious backdrop for those spectacular crimson Equatorial sunsets which was a fitting finale to our 1996 Christmas vacation.

Bali indeed may be paradise on earth, as the tour posters tout, but take a wrong step the paradise can quickly turn into an ugly tourist torture. Hunting the true treasures of Bali beyond the cheap booze and tacky tourist package requires some patience and luck and it can be found right under the veneer of rapacious tourism.