Sideman Symphony
Trip Start
Jul 24, 2008
1
22
Trip End
Ongoing
Seminyak, Bali, Indonesia
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Well I am currently sitting in a small part of Bali called Sidemen... nope not 'sidemen' heathens... it is pronounced 'Cedarmun' honestly buleh! It is quite far up in the mountains of East Bali and I am in a relatively remote house just outside the village, with a backdrop of the monstrously, looming, volcano 'Agung' in centre stage. Spreading out below this domineering spectacle is a rich blanket of tropical forest and rice paddy terraces. They run right up to within a foot of the terrace I am on, gazing out. The landscape is dotted with small, natively thatched structures, ranging from little balay's for the rest and convenience of the paddy workers to full size homes, (although red tile roof's do start to creep in at this point of population 'density').
Despite being able to see all around me for a good 50 - 100 meters and in some directions what must be 5 miles or so as the crow flies... it's across a valley so God alone knows how far on foot! Despite these uninterrupted vistas I can see but two or three people, labouring in the paddies or on the edge of the forest. They have started work only in the last few minutes disrupting, (if such gentle and methodical work can be called 'disrupting') the natural theatre that was taking place before me. It is 7.00am. The stately and over proud Ibis stalking their way through the terraces looking for all the world as if they simply fancied a morning stroll before tiffin. Elongated, white bodies are toped with an orange / brown crest that caps their heads and makes them visually unmistakable.
They were not the first to beat their retreat however. One of the main stars, a bright, irridescent blue, Kingfisher, the size of a rook or crow, had been darting through the morning breeze to clip a morsel from flooded fields. Stealing the show for just a moment before retreating to his tower. He took flight a long time past, hiding from the awakening of man or the strengthening sunlight, I will never know which, but though he is overpowered for now, I sense his secret victory, his survival despite the forces arrayed against him. There is wisdom in retreat, when the power against you is the power you must also depend on.
Close behind were the Giant Land Snails. Resolute marchers, climbing the trunks all around, pushing forward, inching forward, creeping forward, so slow and yet so definite. Beautiful shells, thrown like new age pots, slightly skewed but with a perfection you know had little to do with chance. I love their pace of life, they'll get there, might not be fast and it might not be fancy, but along the way the view, well the view can only get better. Who knows how they get down each night? I picture an intricately folded and fragile parachute, a membrane of such colour and vibrance that they dare not show it during the day. Down they drift in extasy the days of hoisting and climbing worthwhile for those few seconds of guilty pleasure. Careful refolding and packing away ready to toil again. They know what's coming and they fortify themselves now in readiness. Hunker down, battern hatches, close off all gaps and spaces and prepare to weather the full day. Not all will survive the challenge but without the toil, without the fight, why would they want to?
A band of sparrows has come and gone. As they approached, noisily and indelicately, a tension crept in to the scene before me. Other birds hasten away from where they are but sedately almost as if from distaste rather than fear. The potential marshals and generals of dance, engage in squabbling and infights instead. Looming across the paddies like hooligan children from around the corner or down the shops, they almost seem to taunt and laugh, but with hollowness. They are without fixed position or purpose in this place, at this time. It is unsettling, jarring to the other members of Sideman society. You can almost see the members thinking, rauctious and troublesome fools, but not dangerous, not really, not to us, not... They leave once they see that there is no feeding to be had, no courting to be had, no minor members to be bullied out of home or property. I feel relief when they leave, relief that the dance could begin again, that life could begin again, safe again now.
Swifts and Swallows will be last to leave, bravely chasing down the last few fire-breathing flies that are too lacking in caution or speed, as they scoop up the flotsam and jetsam of the aerial world. Now, as the sun rises and beats upon the Earth to show it's strength, like the modern playground bullies or heathen warlords of old, a new set of players take the stage. Beasts of burden and their men arrive and begin their dance. Up and back, Up and back. Up and back. Up and back. The rhythm is hypnotic and strangely seductive. So much power being applied with so much precision. Around the edges of the stage are the strollers, minor players who tread their tightropes of earth so adeptly. They seem to need to stop and examine below their feet at random moments. What do they find that fascinates so? Perhaps there is gold hidden in the waters that they take so much care, that makes them study so intently, a swiftly bended knee, a sift through the firmament, and just as swiftly it's over, displays of circus skills continue. A ceaseless search for???
On the edges is also where to look for the plant tamers, a strange act, patiently training the trees and creepers where they may grow and where they may not. The forest, alas, is too like a naughty puppy, repentant under duress, yielding to admonishment and pissing all over the settee as soon as man has gone.
The sun steps up it's war-chant and the very elements obey, clouds begin to form obscuring the heights and mighty Agung is bested, pushed aside. Visibility reduces and there is a sense, from all around, as if from the trees and grasses themselves, of hunkering down, taking that deep breath, beginning the big push toward Malam, towards the safety that comes when even a Warlord must rest and let the natives dance their dance.
Only the fire-breathers continue unabated, freed now from restraint as predation has vanished. Like their brethren in mythology seemingly unaffected by the unrelenting heat, performing aerial acrobatics, they dance. Now as singlets, now together, in a frenzy of wings and irridesance, now singlets again, the gaudiest ballet visible under the sun.
Weird one this week I know, but a passing muse fell asleep in mind flight and crash landed on me, this passage is quite possibly missing from some reputable authors work and could, I suppose, be viewed as a kind of intellectual theft... but as I don't know them and can't return it, I figured I'd just keep it. You know like when you find a tenner on the floor and there's no-one around. Apologies to said rightful owner of this text, it's probably not as good or as honed as you could have made it but it's the best I could do... God it's not like it's actually in your book and I've messed it up. Anyway I'm not getting into it now, I'm in the middle of a conversation with some friends actually.
Inabit like,
Ixxx
P.S. All writings here are entirely my own work and any issues, inaccuracies, crapiness or problems are my own and in no way pass-onable to any deity or messenger thereof. Although any successes are of course down to said deity or messenger almost entirely and for their patronage I am most grateful.
