There was one white duck among them. As I rode along my favorite narrow, windy road into town – the one that goes through small villages and even more gorgeous rice fields than the average, I noticed the flock – all Balinese brown except the one. Although I find ducks to often look a little confused, the white duck looked a little more confused than the others.
I didn't have any time for an in-depth observation or sociological interview with the ducks, but it appeared the Balinese brown ducks were fine with their white friend who joined them in the business of field cleaning.
One of my very favorite aspects of Balinese culture is the ducks in the fields. After the Balinese harvest rice fields, they use ducks to clean out the loose stalks, bugs and lost rice grain. Because they're ducks, they never figure out that their happy little jobs is just preparation for their final role as bebek betutu – Balinese smoked duck.
So it was that when I observed the unknowingly condemned working their field today, I thought how much that flock represents life in Bali.
Of all the places we've been – and all the places I have ever been aside from home – only Bali has people coming from the other side of the world wanting a piece of what the much poorer locals have. There are a lot of white people here somewhat confusedly chasing the tails of a brown flock.
"Man, the Balinese – they've got it down!" Jacob said last night as we explored the two beautiful private bungalows behind the Gaya gallery and restaurant where we had dinner.
Gaya is a building one could only find in Bali. The giant, two story stone and wood building houses a large, beautiful, contemporary art gallery downstairs and an incredibly beautiful, elegant but relaxed restaurant upstairs with an amazing view of a river glen below. The menu's elegant description of the meals includes the world gustatory several times – and deservedly so.
The art, furnishings, landscape, view and design of the Gaya bungalows exemplified everything right with the Balinese approach to esthetics. Nothing was too expensive. It wasn't the American and European tendency to create a sense of awe through extravagance and grandeur. It was artistic style – pure and simple – employing the many beautiful local materials including stone and teak.
In that moment, Jacob wanted – as so many westerners have including me – a piece of the magic of Bali.
Bali is a beautiful island. Its gentle air with wafts of enchanting fragrances are captivating. But it's still just a beautiful tropical island. It's magic is in its unusual and very talented people. While so many island and tropical cultures in general are content to live off the land and take it easy, the Balinese have a strangely industrious aspect to them.
For more than a thousand years, they have built giant, ornate temples complete with immaculate landscaping. Balinese homes are large compounds with several buildings and ornate, large family temples in the center. Often, behind shabby looking stores and businesses lie incredibly detailed, beautiful family compounds. They don't care how their little restaurant, laundry or grocery store looks – it's the family compound that matters.
They pursue every form of art under the sun including dance, music, wood carving, stone carving, painting, ceramics, and fabric art.
After a week in Bali and more than one day sightseeing with a driver, Emily's mom, Susan asked the driver, "Is there anyone in Bali who's not an artist?"
"No, everyone's an artist. I'm an artist too. I paint."
It seems almost gimmicky to a skeptic. But a few weeks ago, Emily and I saw first hand how true that is. Before the Nyepi, the Balinese New Year every village made their ogoh-ogohs – giant paper mache demons – to parade and burn in a ritual ceremony. We watched as in a week to 10 days, every village erected at least two and sometimes up to six, 20 to 30 foot tall ogoh-ogohs.
And they were each and everyone splendid works of art. In every single village. We watched as groups of villagers worked on them and in the villages with several ogoh-ogohs under construction, they had teams assigned to each detailed and vivid demon. There's no famous ogoh-ogoh artist or maker who they contract to do them. People – especially teenage boys – just volunteer to be on the ogoh-ogoh committee. From concept to execution, they take about two weeks.
Indeed, they all are artists.
Just as interestingly, the Balinese don't seem to adopt the Western emphasis on material wealth and achievement. Again, I haven't done extensive sociological interviews, but in my years here and my many encounters, interchanges and observations, I have come to conclude that there are a lot of happy Balinese who are very happy with what they have.
There is no shame in working a rice field. There is no shame in being a waitress or a bell hop – in fact, they are often regarded as good jobs. There doesn't seem to be a jealously for the large houses expats have here. I'm not sure they see them as better than their family compounds. I haven't met many young Balinese who would even think of moving out of the family compound and buying their own home. It would break the traditions and togetherness. Ours is not a lifestyle that is necessarily desirable to them.
That's not to say Balinese don't like nice cell phones, televisions and cars. Financially successful Balinese have iPhones. There are a few Mercedes and BMWs floating around the island. I'd be shocked if the owner of our compound doesn't have some very big flat-screen TVs on his walls.
The difference is that it doesn't seem to be the goal. Having the car and the TV isn't necessarily living "the dream". It's just enjoying luxuries. In places like India, China, Nepal and even Taiwan, I met people who want my life. They want to be American. They want my opportunities and access to a better life and lifestyle. They want to get to the promised land.
Often, they want to befriend me to see if there's some way I can help them. In Nepal, it was rare to meet a Nepali who didn't ask if there was some way we could get them a visa to America.
I have never met a Balinese who asked me for anything more than my agreement to buy their goods or services. No one has ever heard I'm American and said something like "Oh, very rich country" like most of the Indians did, or "I have always wanted to go to America!" like Nepalis and many Thais. I have never heard, "Can you help me get a job in America?" or "How can I get to America?" like the friends and family of my Filipino nurse recruits did in Singapore.
As anyone who has ever dated knows, there's something very attractive about self-confidence and an absence of neediness. Mix that with Balinese passion and knack for art and the beauty of the island – at least the north and central parts – and it's practically a love potion for foreign visitors. So many end up wanting a piece of such an attractive way of life.
When white ducks want in on the rice field, the brown ducks don't seem surprised. They're also not extremely interested either.
Sometimes, when I look at Balinese villages and their complete lack of interest – positive or negative – in foreigners, I can see why it must have been difficult for the Dutch to colonize Bali. I can imagine the first Dutch explorers landing, asking to see the King of Singaraja, being brought to him, only to have his first words be,
"Hello. Where do you come from? Where is that? Okay, we have a ceremony now. So maybe you can put on a sarong here and wait for a few minutes while we go to the temple. Later, you can join us for rice, sate and vegetables. Okay? Thank you."
The Balinese a
re neither in favor nor against change and development. They are strangely aware of the world, but somewhat uninterested in it, as it doesn't offer them much that they don't have aside from money from visitors and exporters. Today I saw a window sticker on a car that said "Steve Mc Queen". I guess he offers them something.
Aside from admiring old action stars and iPhones, the Balinese seem to continue to live Balinese lives rooted in Balinese culture – even when they make good money and even when they have new luxuries and conveniences. They integrate the bounties of modernity with a life they love.
At least for now – and I hope forever.
As for the white ducks, I'm not sure what happens to them. They always remain a little outside the flock, but included in the field. I guess in the end it doesn't matter. White ducks probably taste just as good either crispy or slow roasted.
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