Kecak dance with me

by Daria Istoc (United Kingdom (Great Britain))

I didn't expect to find Indonesia

It must have been leaving behind the famous “London weather” for high temperatures, staying up in the air for 16 hours, or maybe going to the other end of the world. 9 flights booked in a month. Lunch in London, dinner in Vienna, sunset above the Black Sea or maybe feeling like flying at the same level as the moon. I ended up spending Friday night in Abu Dhabi and landing in a completely different culture the next day. It was the thought of all the different coffees, spices, people and landscapes I was about to digest that made me put on my headphones, close my eyes and embrace whatever was coming at me. It was landing in the Island of Gods, or as it is known my most people, Bali. I have dropped my phone in water in the second day, which meant I would not have access to the world back home for a few weeks, which made it all better. I was asked if I am interested in the cultural side of Bali, which has always been one of my main interests: running away from the touristy things and diving straight into a place’s culture. They told me that on the last day in the south of the island, I will be taken to see an ancient dance, a spiritual moment people share every day. “Wait here” my tour guide told me, while he went to get me a ticket for the show. I was in Uluwatu, as translated “Land’s End Rock”. I entered the venue, greeted by monkeys jumping everywhere. It was a sacred Balinese Hindu temple, were a large crowd of people gathered from all over the world. The main condition for the ritual to begin was for the sun to start setting down. I have been to the biggest theaters of the world’s main capitals, but never in a sitting as beautiful as this. It was an ancient theater, over viewing the sea. I was lost in the sunsets saturated shades of pink, as the sun was slowly setting off and the locals started playing old Indonesian instruments. “The dance you are about to witness will not be accompanied by any music, like other dances, but by a choir of 70 men.” said the presenter with a cracked English and a bad choice of words “70 hairy naked men” Oh God..What did I sign up for? He lit an old fire support. From the distance, you could hear some bizarre sounds that went like “tcha tcha tcha tcha tcha”, very fast. The sounds got closer as 70 shirtless men showed up. The incantation sounded like nothing I have ever heard before. As they entered the temple and gathered around the fire, I started feeling it: the importance of the moment and being able to witness something like this. The sun got lower and lower into the sea, as the four scenes of the ritual rolled in front of my eyes. They say that one of the dancers is possessed by spirits and communicates with the Gods or the ancestors who have been purified. He is a medium to connect, through which Gods can share their words. This ritual needs to be performed each day to keep the spiritual balance of the place. As the light got dimmer and their voices louder, other characters started to join: men and women in highly decorated costumes, replicating the story of the Ramayana. The main characters represented Rama, a prince and his wife, Sita. They got separated as Sita gets kidnapped by Rahwana, a despotic king who got fascinated by her beauty, but the two find their way back to each other. A few weeks later I was back in the airport, feeling like Sita: about to be taken away from something I love. Months later, I am back in London’s underground, watching crowds of people with empty looks. I close my eyes and I can still hear the 70 men singing tcha tccha thcha; the beauty of the sun entering the sea, the smell of fire, the dancers moves, and details of their costumes are still lying in front of my eyes.