There's so much more to Bali than what tourists see. Photo / Getty Images
There's so much more to Bali than what tourists see. Photo / Getty Images
Beyond the Kuta sunsets and temples of Ubud, there’s an unseen side to Bali that remains hidden to tourists. And it’s fascinating.
Bali. Why would you do it to yourself? The rubbish! The irritating street hawkers! The drunk tourists strewn across Kuta beach!
There's a kernel of truth in these objections, of course, but just as Surfers Paradise isn't representative of Australia, southern beachside precincts like Kuta don't reflect the broader island of Bali.
I've spent the past three years living with my young family in a rice-growing area in central Bali and can vouch for the fact that the popular "Island of the Gods" is a lot more than half-price beers and bargain shopping.
It's a complex and mystical culture, steeped in centuries-old traditions that many tourists fail to appreciate (especially if they're facedown on a banana lounge).
Fiona Higgins and her family participating in a traditional Balinese ceremony.
The Bali that tourists rarely see is divided by locals into sekala (the seen) and niskala (the unseen). This notion itself can feel rather foreign to Westerners who, often unconsciously, tend to elevate sekala - the observable stuff - over the realm of niskala, the covert or occult.
Yet it is the latter which delivers some of the most intriguing aspects of Balinese culture.
NYEPI
Also known as the Day of Silence, this is possibly the most appealing public holiday on the planet.
The entire island shuts down for 24 hours: television and radio stations go off air, the airport is closed and, next year, some are suggesting the internet will be downed. (What? Yes!)
No one ventures outside, nor speaks in tones louder than a whisper. (Believe me, keeping three rambunctious kiddies quiet during Nyepi - without the distraction of DVDs - is quite a feat.)
The use of electricity and lighting is forbidden, as is physical activity, sex and cooking. Everyone adheres to these conditions, because the Balinese believe that evil spirits are flying high above the island, intent on inflicting malevolent damage.
By hiding in motionless silence for 24 hours, the Balinese effectively dupe the evil spirits into thinking that their island is uninhabited - thus prompting the spirits to stay away for another year.
If you visit Bali during Nyepi, you may find yourself mildly inconvenienced - with limited access to room service (OMG!). But you'll also notice the crystalline quality of the air - the absence of polluting traffic has a discernible impact, even in just 24 hours - and a comfortable mood of quiet introspection.
Even the Balinese street dogs fall silent at Nyepi, with no vehicles to stir them up. As a community-wide method of structured contemplation and a pause from the frenetic pace of modern life, perhaps the whole world should embrace Nyepi?
PENGERUPUKAN OR OGOH-OGOH NIGHT
This is the night before Nyepi and the Balinese equivalent of New Year's Eve. Locals spend months beforehand preparing colossal ogoh-ogoh monsters made of papier-mache, wood and clay.
Bali's Ogoh Ogoh monsters - part of Balinese New Year celebrations. Photo / Getty Images
These disconcerting-looking creatures are paraded through the streets (manoeuvring around power lines) before sunset, then displayed in a community space such as an oval. After sundown, priests conduct a ritual cleansing ceremony - driving all human fears, regrets and sins of the past year into the ogoh-ogoh - before setting them alight.
It's an incredible spectacle, accompanied by a carnival atmosphere of fireworks and drumming.
But perhaps most compelling is what happens beforehand, when the Balinese seek each other out to apologise for their wrongdoings, intentional and unintentional, over the past year.
Villagers shake hands and formally apologise, acknowledging their mutual fallibility and the imperfection of the world around them.
It's a touching and highly practical way to wipe the slate clean, and a stark contrast to the Western tradition of the New Year's resolution - which is rarely about acceptance of one's own humanity, but rather a renewal of commitment to often unattainable standards of individual perfection. There's a lot we can learn from the Balinese alternative.
NGABEN: DEATH IS A PART OF LIFE
Integral to the Balinese understanding of sekala and niskala is an acknowledgment of death as a fundamental part of life. International tourists that happen upon Balinese cremation ceremonies (ngaben) often find it confronting to see a corpse burning openly, and a seemingly cheerful gathering of the deceased's family (of all ages, including the very young) standing nearby.
A mass cremation in Bali, where mythical dragons and buffalo are burnt along with corpses. Photo / Getty Images
This apparent cheeriness is prompted by the Balinese belief that the deceased is only temporarily absent - as if sleeping - and will reincarnate shortly or be freed from the rebirthing cycle.
Unlike the Western inclination to distance ourselves from death, Balinese family members are heavily involved in attending the deceased, including washing and dressing the corpse.
Bodies aren't stored at funeral homes, either; they remain in the family compound for days before burial. And after cremation, the ashes of the deceased stay at home, too, venerated in the ancestral temple within the family compound.
After the conclusion of ngaben rites, the family avidly watches for signs that the deceased has been reincarnated back into the youngest generation, and celebrates when this is confirmed by a priest.
So the next time you visit Bali, consider embracing the unseen at Nyepi, at the ogoh-ogoh parade at pengerupukan, or at a ngaben ceremony.
It's a far cry from the shopping, sand and surf of the south. You'll probably find yourself outside your comfort zone, and perhaps even (re) considering your life from an utterly different perspective: That's the gift of niskala.
• Fiona Higgins draws on her Bali experience for her latest novel Fearless, available now.
