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Tuesday 2 September 2008

the pyramid of Borobudur


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118m a side for the greatest Buddhist monument in the world. 4 staircases crack its walls and lead the hesitant visitors towards the way of wisdom and spirituality. At each floor, a pathway snakes around the building. More we climb, more these paths shorten. The way to the bliss gets closer when I arrive at the first top level. Stone bells drilled with hexagonal spyholes let us see the sitting-and-praying Buddha statues inside. The body is shut in, but the thought and spiritual strength seem to carry out through the openings of the wrapping.
This monument shows the high Buddhist activity which livens up the island of Java, a few centuries ago. Then, Islam spread out attracting most of the inhabitants and the influence of the Borobudur temple crumbled away little by little, passing from the status of praying and devotion place to the one of huge architectural remains registered on the World Heritage list.
It nevertheless remains this large, impressive and massive pyramid for which the use of a puffy, black volcanic stone turns out to be uncommon. The dark stones let only carry out the essential thing. The illuminations become embedded in the foot of the pathways and the often-beheaded Buddhas statues have pride of place on the low wall. They point at the outside, acting like magnets for the faithful. And for a couple of hours I change into one of these faithful people.

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before heading back to Yogyakarta, « the soul » of the Java island, our van makes a detour to the Merapi volcano, subject of a devastating eruption a few years ago, then we stop at the Hindu-deities-dedicated Prambanan temples for a short time. Last Indonesian meeting before I fly off to Malaysia.

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Saturday 16 August 2008

Rice fields, temples and coconut palms


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We leave our gilded life at the seaside to look at a traditional Balinese performance «the Barong's dance ». A show that depicts the struggle between good and evil, Barong against Rangda. A jumble of sequined costumes, mythical monsters and persuasive actors surrounded by ancestral believes ; all of that spellbound by a light music. At the end of the day, we get to the built-on-the-cliff Tanah Lot temple. A sunset we usually see on the postcards of the souvenir shops. The sky wraps up with glowing hues and the temple stands out like shadow puppet. The cameras patter while the night closes the sight. On the way back, a large bat rests beside a souvenir stall when another tourist comes to observe the weird animal. Our eyes meet ; deep, light-coloured eyes that look familiar to me. My attention suddenly and exclusively focuses on this unknown person. Shaven head, American accent, surfer-looking. I get it. My mind becomes clearer. Less than one meter away, only separated by a strange animal and completely relaxed, he's Kelly Slater, the living legend of the modern surfing and 8-time world champion. My friend Jo will go to shake his hand and await confirmation. The surfing world cup took place in Bali, 15 days before, hence his presence. 2 days after starting the surfing, we meet the greatest star of this sport. Unforgettable! The destiny perhaps...

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full of feelings, we head for Ubud, in the center of Bali. We're going to track down the bats in case of the surfing legend appears again.
Beside its paradisiac beaches, Bali is the home of a luxuriant vegetation. The laid back town of Ubud is a good land base to go and meet it. Scattered banana trees stand out in the paddy fields where an ingenious irrigation system keeps each plot of land under a shimmering sheet of water. Coconut palms border the path and give an exotic shade to the scenery.

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In the middle of the village, we visit the monkeys of the eponymous forest. Sometimes playful, sometimes mischievous, sometimes aggressive, they mark out their territory in this forest. As soon as we get in, it's swarming with these small beings as agile standing as on all four. They come to pick up a banana in the hand of a tourist before climbing a tree to shelter the meagre amassed haul.

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The activities and sites to see are numerous around Ubud, we link a set of temples and religious buildings. Abandoned or still heavily pious, all these places are first-hand account of Balinese architecture, style and way of life. A peculiar Indonesian island since on top of being the most touristy, it's the only one predominantly Hindu.
We pass from a temple to another whose tortuous name have been crossing-out in my memory by too much visual, resounding and spiritual information my senses received. The architecture of those buildings will nevertheless remain engraved in our minds and memory cards as a souvenir or a happy route in the middle of Bali.

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Our round of the temples ends upon a mythical mountain, venerated by the Balinese, the mount Batur. Because the religious aura and fervour don't die when the gates of the temples close.

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Sunday 30 September 2007

Buddhist wisdom near Dharamsala

It's hard to sleep on the winding and bumpy roads of the Himachal Pradesh. We finally pull in at 5 o'clock in the morning at MacLeodGanj. We go for finishing our night in a faraway guesthouse, lost at the end of a dusty alleyway.
Not far from Dharamsala, MacLeodGanj is the haven of many Tibetans whose dalai lama, the most well-known among them. The tibetan exodus started in 1950 while the Chinese invaded their homeland. A museum reminds the struggle of fundamentally pacifist people and brutally repressed by the Chinese army. The catastrophic result sends a chill down our spine. The systematic destruction of the monasteries and temples reached the frightening number of 90%. More than one million of Tibetans passed away and several ones fled despite the harsh conditions of the Himalaya crossing. A pacifist solution seems hard to find so that Tibet gets its independence back. And the Chinese keeps on carrying out the "sinization" sending millions of Chinese to live in Tibet, to such an extent that, from now on, Tibetan are minority in their homeland.
MacleodGanj is a haven, a welcoming land for this thousands of Tibetans in exile. Refugees wishing more than all going back to their occupied country. We stop in front of the humble dalai lama's dwelling. Followers and onlookers huddle together to see him, shake his hands or take part in a collective meditation session.

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We won't have time to meet him and leave the place hopping on a morning bus to Amritsar, capital city of a remote but symbolic religion, the Sikhism. At the India scale, a few hours from Dharamsala, religious capitals meet in the tolerance and the mutual respect.

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