Back                                                     A Temple in the woods
Shortly after I arrived at the Puri Rica Inn one of the guys who worked as a grounds keeper and general handy man asked me if I wanted to go to an ancient temple outside of the village his family lived in. He told me that very few tourists ever went to this temple. It wasn't one of the famous temples of Bali, just a really old temple that hadn't been used for over a century.
I agreed, I mean who wouldn't. So early the next morning I jumped on the back of Made's Honda and away we went. Sribatu was a small village about 20 miles north of Ubud. Made couldn't wait to get there, (He wanted to show off his new American brother, as he called me.) so the ride was an exciting one. He wove in and out of traffic as if the cars and trucks weren't moving, a couple of times I would have sworn I felt my leg brush a car going in the other direction. A half hour later I was standing on shaky legs in front of his family compound.
Made's siblings were fantastic. (As were all the people I met while in Bali.) He had four sisters and three brothers. His mother (He only had one.) was extremely hospitable, offering to cook us breakfast while making coffee. (We declined as we had already eaten.)  They all spoke English fairly well and were pleased when I spoke to them in Indonesian, even though I could only use a few phrases.
We sat for awhile as we got to know each other and I had to answer all kinds of questions about America. It seems every where I went, while in Indonesia, people wanted to know everything I could tell them about the United States, especially New York City. (They couldn't fathom a city that large.) We talked of some of the places I'd been and things I'd seen and they told me of their life. Made's mother brought out a family photo album and placing it on the table showed me some of the photos it held. "This is Made's grandfather, my father. He died two years ago." The album didn't hold many photos maybe a couple of dozen but she was proud of it and her family.
We finished our coffee and Made led me outside to the family temple. (All or at least most Balinese have a private temple on their property.) It had a place for each of the Hindu deities plus a seat for any ancestor who had passed away but wanted to visit the family. Offerings in the form of flowers and incense were placed in the temple with reverence several times a day. The photo below was taken in that temple yard. I took a couple of rolls of film and had them developed for her album. I'm sure that those photos will be treasured, probably long after I leave this earth.
Made (2nd man from the right) and some of his family
Behind Made's mother, (The women in green with a red sarong.) is a seat for Brama.
Made's father wasn't home. He had left early to check on his pigs and tend his rice paddies. So Made told me that before we went to the temple we would stop and see his father. I wasn't in a hurry, I had planned to make a day of it and agreed. After about an hour I said goodbye to my new friends and we left to find Made's father.
We found him in a grass hut on the edge of a large rice paddy. He was playing a bamboo flute and singing to himself. Pigs were digging for roots in a small wooded area behind the hut. When Nyoman saw us he came right out with his hand extended and a huge smile on his face. We exchanged greetings and he led us back into his small hut. In one corner there was a large bamboo xylophone. I ask him if he would play for us and we sat for awhile, while Made's father filled the air with the quiet sweet sounds of bamboo being struck with rubber tipped drum sticks.
Everything was perfect. A slight breeze was blowing across the rice paddies, bringing the sounds of song birds which melted into the music of the xylophone. The clouds were high and white and rays of sunlight pierced through the trees, creating light and shadow that seemed to dance to the music that was Bali. Every once in awhile Nyoman would grab the end of a bunch of strings that went out into the rice paddy and give them jerk and a  tinkling sound would come from the paddy. The strings had bells made from used cans and the noise they made would scare the birds that had come for a dinner of rice. After about an hour we said goodbye to Nyoman, left the peaceful retreat and headed to the temple.
When we reached the trail to the temple, and parked the Honda, I was sorry we didn't have a trail bike. The trail led steeply down hill into a deep ravine. On the way down we passed two teenaged girls heading up. Both girls had large buckets of water balanced on their heads and one was also carrying a smaller bucket in her hand. (See Photo) The girls smiled as we passed them and afterwards, I heard them laughing. It wouldn't be long till I found out what the laugh was all about.
It was a steep climb up the hill from the temple, especially with large buckets of water on your head.	This weathered statue seems to be a statue of the Barong.	You can see by the way the statues have eroded that they are very old.
Just after we passed the girls the trail turned sharply to the right and dropped steeply down. Made led me down the trail for about three hundred yards to an old stone wall that held a few stone statues and the ruins of the temple. I took some photos of the statues and what was left of the temple. There were monkeys in the trees lower down in the ravine and laughter coming from around a bend lower on the trail. The laughter was the musical laughter of young girls. I was having a ball taking photos of the river that had cut the gorge, the wild flowers, the statues and the temple but I kept wondering what the girls were laughing at..
We left the temple and wandered farther down the trail toward where the laughter was coming from. As we turned a bend in the trail, I saw why the girls were laughing. They were in a pool at the bottom of a waterfall, splashing each other and pushing each other under the falls. They were bathing. A couple of them had small sarongs around their waists, most of them were naked but all of them were cute. They laughed even harder when I turned my head away. (I didn't want to embarrass them.) Wood nymphs was the only thing I could think of. Fairies splashing in a crystal waterfall. I remember thinking to myself. "Angels have black hair."
We meandered on for awhile then turned and started back up the trail. This time as I passed the girls I said "Selamat Sore." (Good afternoon) and they answered the same way. They weren't embarrassed, I was. They just smiled and went on playing and I wished I was a teenager again. Made and I continued on up the trail which seemed much steeper going up then I remembered it having been when going down.
By the time we reached the Honda my legs ached and my heart was pumping hard. As I thought of the girls we saw carrying the water up that hill, I once again wished I was a teenager. We got on the Honda and with the roar of the engine breaking the quiet of the afternoon rode away from the ancient temple and the garden of the fairies.
Later back in the pool at the Puri Ruca I thought of that little waterfalls and the innocents of the children of Bali. Bali is truly an island of nymphs and I mean that in the most respectful way. The people of Bali understand, better then most of the people of the world, that our bodies are a gift from God and we shouldn't be ashamed of anything that God has given us. Go to Bali if you ever have a chance and you'll see why it is known throughout the world as the "Isle of the Gods."