A dangerous professional choice.
by Mike
Two immense trees tower over parts of the landscape in southeast Bali. In the evening, when it’s cool and beautiful, the trees are visible against the orange sky like temples on the horizon. They can be seen across emerald rice paddies where farmers work late into the evening; they’re visible to the farmers’ kids socializing on the street; they’re visible to duck herders, using long sticks and whooping noises to herd their frantic flock past the kids. All this happens on the road as it bends between rice paddies to the ocean. We set course for the trees. (read more)
The first tree – the one that seems the tallest – is in a small fenced area that might be used for farming, it’s hard to tell. This tree is fuller than the other, it looks solid from afar. The road then drops down a hill, at the foot of which the second tree stands. It is much higher than the first, considering the hill. The tree is decorated with a piece of checkered fabric wrapped around its smooth, white trunk, as is the fashion for large trees. The sarong seems to be worn as it would on a man: waist level, for modesty. The tree is strong and proud. It is dizzying from beneath.
Another 50 feet down the road is a volleyball court made of packed dirt. When we drove by there was a small crowd of men watching a match between two pretty impressive teams. The crowd was more interested in the two of us, though, as we parked the scooter to do a little scouting. Other than Azure, there were no women anywhere beneath the trees tonight – just men and boys. We tried to exchange some words with the men but my volleyball vocabulary isn’t very thorough. So we just watched.
Past the court, to the ocean, the sand dunes rise. We followed a couple boys up the dunes and when they reached the ridge they threw off their shirts and sprinted down the steep slope. We crested the hill to a beautiful sight – sunset on an almost-empty coastline with the ocean spraying onto the black beach. The boys who ran down the beach went to join a sand fight consuming 20 boys. They crashed in and out of the waves, throwing sand at each other, jumping on one another. They were 20 brown bodies on black sand playing in the waves. The high beach giving them privacy with the ocean. Often, traveling, I can imagine I’m witnessing something from another time, but hardly any imagination was necessary tonight.
Tags: bali, beach, black sand, ducks, kids, trees, volleyball
Published on December 15, 2009
at 9:39 pm.
9 comments
Do you suppose that the herders have any idea that their feathered friends will be going to the Rose Bowl in January?
Seriously, what becomes of the ducks?
I herded ducks with long sticks when I was 9 or 10. I hope to see a photo of the tree in the sarong
No, there was no look of smug superiority on the faces of the duck herders :)
We actually saw a guy wearing a clean, green Oregon shirt here the other day. It was totally strange to see among the sarongs and dirty backpacker shirts.
Hey Mom – I just took photos of the trees today and will upload them soon.
I didn’t know you herded ducks! Azure would like to hear more about this.
Oh, and I’m pretty sure the ducks are eaten.
Did you find out what the spiritual meaning was of the checkered fabric wrapped around the trunk?
I forgot to say I also loved your phrase…”temples on the horizon”. I’ll have to tell Todd that one. Also Happy New Year to you both in your land of new experiences, Thinking about both of you……
Don’t know about the checkered sarongs yet, but we’re about to meet with an Indonesian friend and I’ll ask him for you!