The sky cracked. It sounded like the ceiling of the universe was about to come tumbling down. The windows shook and if I hadn't seen the lightening, I would have assumed there was a nearby explosion.
Moments like these make it clear why the Greeks believed Zeus was the king of the gods.
Thunder rolled like nothing I've ever heard before – and I've seen a few Indonesian electrical storms. The humidity had been rising all afternoon and by the time we had dinner, the compound was a steam bath.
As I laid on the sofa on our porch working, sweat dripping from my forehead, I remembered how low hanging storm clouds tortured the people of Singapore, cranking up the humidity to the point where you could get on your knees and beg for the release of rain. The clouds gladly complied and Singapore – which sits just one degree north of the equator – was graced with a torrential downpour unlike anything I'd ever seen. For about an hour – after which the cycle might end, or just as easily begin again.
Emily couldn't take the humidity and wisely went inside to air conditioned quarters. I'm not one to give up the yard so easily. In Bali, I prefer not to spend much time inside and in our gorgeous compound – there's no reason. My old house had an open-air downstairs and living room and I was used being essentially outside even when inside. I now spend most of my time at home on the porch or on the bale belang – the dining gazebo.
I was having Singapore flashbacks. I was ready to beg the clouds to burst. I was ready to go light some incense and bring it to the family temple in the back of the compound if that would have done the trick. But it was obvious the storm was going to start any minute.
It began with a rumble, then a roll, then rolls that sounded like a fleet of semi's rolling by….and then the crack that broke the universe. Emily jumped.
The rain started like someone had opened every fire hydrant on Earth. The relief was instant as the air turned cool and refreshing.
Emily came out, we sat cuddled together quietly on the sofa – doing the exact thing one should do in such a situation: watching and listening.
All of Bali's best entertainment takes place outside. And this was the show of shows. For almost a half hour the sky was filled with noise and light in a way I've only ever seen from Bali.
Once the rains stopped, the lightening continued through the night, dancing and illuminating the sky.
The morning was as gentle and sunny as any Balinese morning. This time of year – the turn of the rainy season to dry – you never know exactly how it's going to be. But sunny days with rainy nights are fairly typical. We went out for the day into a warm, sun-filled Bali.
In Ubud, you can always see the weather coming. Look up to the volcanoes to the north. Whatever's there is what Ubud will have in about an hour. Clouds in Bali move quickly. At about 1pm, Mt. Batur had a large, dark cloud.
By 2pm, Ubud had a large, dark cloud – clearly the offspring of the previous night's storm. Emily and I were working at Lotus Lane – a pretty, traditional themed restaurant in the middle of Ubud lined – as the name implies – with ponds of lotus.
When the lightening started and the faucet in the sky opened up, we found it peaceful and beautiful. Emily took photos. It had that charm of a Balinese tropical rain – the kind that lasts an hour or less and then moves on.
It wasn't apparent at first that this cloud had some rage to take out. Perhaps it was sent by a Rangda, a Balinese witch – or a Jeron, an evil demon. Despite its pleasant first impression, the cloud turned suddenly angry and blew a fierce gale. It was so uncharacteristically hard that the traditional woven reed, thatched roof of the restaurant began to leak. The water was coming through the natural spaces between in the weaving.
It quickly became a game of "save the computers" as the ship sprung leaks. We moved tables when the water from the pond began splashing up like we were sitting in the first few rows of Shamu Stadium. We moved to a dry table that became a wet table only a minute later. We began to run from table to table.
Emily became panicked. It seemed like the Titanic was sinking. She was Leonardo Di Caprio and her laptop was Kate Winslet. It was about then that I discovered a table under a support beam. Half of it was staying dry – so we sat down there just as the power cut out.
We were stuck waiting out the storm under the support beam of a very nice restaurant that was in that moment, kinda' falling apart.
Outside, it looked as if we were in a hurricane. Water was fiercely blowing everywhere.
As I said, clouds in Bali move quickly. Either this one's time had passed, or a Barong – the mythical dog-lion creature who protects the Balinese against evil spirits – came and broke the spell. Angry baby cloud moved on to take its rage out on Denpasar to the south and within ten minutes electricity returned and the people of Ubud came out like munchkins.
We decided to be two of those munchkins. We thanked our hosts who were busy cleaning up and trying to make things right in time for the dinner crowd and set off to run a few errands and get home before the likely evening rains.
As the sun reappeared, Bali was again magnificent – refreshed from the rain.
In the evening, the lightening returned with some very light rains. But mostly, it was the usual evening light show. The Barong had saved the day and there were no more spells to be cast.
The lightening, the warmth, the show, the very expected dose of the unexpected. The occasional hour of fury followed by the reestablishment of peace. It's all part of the mystic wonder of Bali. It's like a cosmic dance that represents life itself taking place outside the door.
As in life, sometimes all you can do is take your seat, watch the storm and understand that it's part of the fabric of it all – part of what adds to the texture and beauty. Other times, you aren't safe and dry and you have to figure it out.
When you're busy trying to save your laptop and find some dry shelter – especially when you thought you were in dry shelter to begin with – it's difficult to remember this. The water always leaks through the reeds at some point and you can wonder what use a roof is when it can't always hold water.
In my experience, there's always a Barong that comes along eventually – even in the worst of storms. And always in Bali.
Sent from my iPad
