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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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Saturday 13 October 2007

Hindu fervour by the Ganges river

The Ganges takes the shape of a crescent. One bank abandoned to the nature, one bank dedicated to the religious fervour.
Varanasi, bathed by the sacred river of the Hinduism and its followers' fervour.
Enjoying a sunrise over the holy city from a small boat drifting on the waters, and you'll surely feel this sensation that overloads your senses, this religious tradition which pierces you to the sound of the morning prayers and at the pace of the ancestral rites several generations of Hindu people perpetuate coming to purify and revitalize themselves into the river.
The bank is a string of ghats, stone stairways arise in the parallel alleyways of the river and vanish below into the holy waters. 5h30, in the coolness of the dawn, we go down a few steps and sit down in a wooden boat. The gondolier pushes off the bank and we start sailing on the waters reflecting the glow of the dawn. A cathedral silent in this Hindu open-air temple. The sun rises beyond the pristine bank and lights the polychrome façades of the opposite bank. We "swim" in this scenery up to be intoxicating. Our digital cameras immortalize these moments of life. Thousands of pilgrims give to each one of these moments a unique and unforgetable feature. An ochre and saffron postcard.

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Tuesday 2 October 2007

The pilgrimage of the Sikhs to the golden temple

Amritsar is for the Sikhs what Mecca is for the Muslims, a holy city. Once in their life, the Sikhs have to carry out a pilgrimage to the golden temple.
Chorus of honks, tangle of bicycles, rickshaws and horse-towed carts welcome us. First images of a milling, life-seething town. A forgotten atmosphere since we went off to Himachal Pradesh in exile. The Indian truth resurfaces again. In the streets, thick beards on smiling faces topped by firmly swaddled turbans. The Sikhs, a bewildering religion.

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On the way to the golden temple, we stop in front of cages full of chicks. Further to genetic modifications, they wear colours oddly different from the common yellow. Actually, the invigorating dyes aren't only for the Hindu women's saris...

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We draw near the enclosure of the temple whose one of the gilded cupolas drift above the drab and filthy street. Other white-angel-like domes break away from the muddled alleyways we step on. We take our shoes off, don a scarf on the head and get into the holy area. A mesmerizing music surrounds the holy place and hundreds of followers tread around the artificial rectangular lake. Some of them purify themselves into its waters while others line up to visit the golden temple.
This quite recent religion is definitely baffling but offers us an architectural jewel, a temple covered with glistening golden leaves when richly coloured pilgrims with turquoise, pink and orange shades soak in this musical and religious aura.

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