Beep, beep,
honk, honk. Or is it Honk…beep…honk? It is a secret code.
Mopeds,
taxi’s, car s and trucks ceaselessly chatting, via this mysterious sequencing
of horn blowing. Hey! I’m coming up the inside…watch out for me, I’m turning in
front of you…excuse me could you please go faster…slow down, move over, don’t
cross in front of me….and on it goes!
I am so
intrigued by all this beeping. I carefully watch the face of our driver. In
Australia, beeping while driving usually involves fingers thrust upwards and
cursing. However, here in Bali, our driver is expressionless, hand hovering
over horn, deciphering this secret code, weaving effortlessly through, what to
me, is dangerous, heart stopping, traffic mayhem. I wear out the imaginary
brake at my foot, although truly there is no need for worry. On motorbikes at
five years of age, sometimes younger, the Balinese learn the secret code and
how to navigate the narrow streets, sidewalk shops, stray dogs and other vehicles,
very early on. To them, driving in these conditions is second nature. Road
rules do not seem to apply, at least not any that I could understand. I
relax…this is not my country, not my rules. Let it go, I tell myself.
We are
travelling North. Away from Legian, Kuta and the drunken tourists…I hope. I
still yearn for the Bali of my dreams. Did I imagine her? Perhaps I have been tricked.
Have I been naïve? However ever so slowly the scene before me changes. A little
less traffic, less beeping. Scattered between the concrete shops, I spot the
occasional rice field. Shops turn into homes.
Inwardly I
laugh at myself. I have been naïve.
I’m not ashamed to say so. Life is about learning and I am being schooled! Big
time. In my naivety I imagined the Balinese home to be all thatched rooves and
Bamboo. Seriously. This is not the case. The homes are built strong, and square
and are constructed from concrete. Corrugated iron for the roof and whatever is
on hand for windows and doors. A mismatch of wooden shutters, fabric and glass
adorn the square openings. Recycling and re-purposing at its best! Cool
concrete floors are left uncovered. It appears that floor sweeping here is a
cherished form of meditation. I witness rhythmic sweeping in almost every home.
Sweeping is always accompanied with soft
singing and looks so peaceful. (I am already considering buying a straw broom.)
Small family shrines, prayer flags, dogs, chickens and smiling faces complete
the façade. They are beautiful, practical and will withstand any weather the
gods may throw at them. I am humbled. They have so little…and yet so much more
than we westerners do.
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