Cremation day

Sunday's cremations in Ubud - there were five separate villages involved that we were aware of - were probably years in the planning. The Balinese calendar had decreed this to be a particularly auspicious day to send loved ones on their next journey, so what we witnessed would have been happening all over the island.

We walked a short way to the next village of Lungsiakan where 43 families were involved. At one stage we were standing next to an English girl who was asking a lot of questions of a European expat. Her interest and expensive camera made us wonder if she later filed this report for The Daily Mail. Hope the headline wasn't her choice; it's a crude summation of this significant final rite of passage. The number of bodies quoted in the article is correct for the next village, Kedewatan, but it's only a short distance away and she may well have been at both.

We have attended cremations in the past, most recently the spectacular royal event at the Palace. This one, however, was much more intimate, particularly being in the compound with the families before the procession to the cremation ground. Many spectators were unaware that sarong and sash were required dress if they wanted to enter the compound. Several sellers were on hand to make a small profit from their lack of cultural knowledge, and the visitors have also learned something.

We noticed people wearing numbers to identify the mourning parties, quite a few priests and many children. No towers - this was a ceremony for ordinary people. The bulls were relatively small, and some were winged and red.

It must cost a relative fortune to fulfil this essential rite, so often families must wait years before they can pay. We heard of one situation that took 36 years before a cremation could be held.

We are still learning. We don't know why children or young people travel with the bull*, for example, and can only guess at the symbolic releasing of chickens at the cremation ground. We will ask, of course, but haven't yet done so.

The cremation ground, behind the famous Naughty Nuri's warung, was packed and had a festival air with balloon and food sellers. We knew that proceedings would go on for the rest of the day and well into the night, so took our leave. Just as well, as Eddie succumbed to heat stroke shortly after and has spent the last couple of days feeling distinctly unwell.

Last night we watched a borrowed DVD of films made in Bali in the 1930s and 40s. Several had no commentary and the silent-movie text contained Dutch-influenced spelling of names such as Poutou (Putu) and Gousti (Gusti). A cremation however, looked exactly the same (except for the bare breasts) as we had witnessed just a few days before, so despite all the changes, tradition continues. Not a plastic bag in sight in those days though, and it wasn't hard to imagine how exotic Bali must have seemed to those long-ago audiences.

The journey is not quite over. In a few days there will be another procession to take the ashes down to the river where they will flow to the sea. Only then will the spirit be free to return to the next incarnation - as the newest child in the family.

* We have since learned that the youngest child in the family travels with the bull.