Ten Days in Ubud.

It is that time again. Galungan is next week and everyone in Bali will be looking forward to the holiday but at the same time worried about getting the money for the spending that such celebrations always entail.

I am not in Ubud at the moment but after so many years of memories the images are there still.

Some impressions from past Galungans:

The bamboo arches lying in the street as excited people work on decorating them. Children and men. The threading of decorations along them and the spirit of competition of neighbour with neighbour. Then at the last minute before raising, the piece de resistance arrives from inside where the skilled hands usually of the grandmother of the house have made the family pride and joy, the coconut leaves fashioned as a version of Dewi Sri, the goddess of the rice fields.

The frantic last minute anxiety in the air as everyone fears they have forgotten to purchase something that will be impossible to buy at the last minute. (Does that sound like Christmas Eve in the West?)

Waking on the day preceding Galungan in the darkness of predawn to the sounds of desperately squealing pigs. Knowing that it would be better to rise late and miss the bleeding of the carcases and wait until the perfume of grilling sate arrives.

Going out on Galungan and seeing everyone thronging the streets and the temples wearing breathtakingly beautiful traditional dress. All the children unmistakeably newly purchased clothes, all their mothers and aunts in sheer laces and the men in silk brocades and handwoven sarongs.

Enough to make your heart sing!! And it lasts for ten days. Till the gods go home once again to their heavenly abodes.