Project Runaway

When I worked at the Foothills Hospital in Calgary, I used to take my evening break in a quiet area where there were several comfy chairs and the only traffic was the rare person going into the chapel nearby. As I sat there and read an older lady from housekeeping would clean the area. She would polish the stainless steel drinking fountain until it shone. She would rearrange the chairs, straighten the magazines, dust the tables, and wipe down the railing by the gymnasium window. She was thorough and efficient and hummed as she worked. I would watch her while trying to appear that I was not. When she was around I felt relaxed. But it was more than that, I would get goosebumps and a shiver of pleasure down my spine. I do not know why this affected me in such a way. It seems almost like there is a spiritualness to watching someone perform these humble tasks when there is pride and grace attached to it.

I remember that cleaning lady as I sit by the pool at our rented bungalow in Ubud, Bali. I am watching Jerni while trying to appear that I am not. Jerni is part of the extended family that owns this bungalow as their livelihood. She is walking gracefully around the property with a tray that contains a bowl of water, several small palm-leaf trays with offerings of rice and flowers, and a stack of burning incense sticks. As I surreptitiously watch she places the trays by the family temple, and by the statues of the gods and demons scattered around the yard. She places trays by the stairs to the house and the pool, in the gazebo, outside the front gate. Each time she sprinkles some water and makes a motion with her hand in the air. Just like watching the cleaning lady all those years ago, watching Jerni as she blesses their home fills me with peace and a shivery joy.

Me, not watching you

Everywhere we go in Ubud the tiny hand made trays with their offerings and incense are found. At the start of a path, near a rice paddy, in the doorway of the supermarket, everywhere you see Bali women going about this daily task. They place offerings to the demons on the ground and to the gods on higher ground. Their Hindu beliefs permeate every aspect of their culture here.

When I had booked the bungalow I had wrote that it seemed like a good place to rest our road weary heads. The house is at the end of a narrow path that runs along an irrigation canal. It is built in Bali style with a thatch roof and an open concept with many windows and glass doors to open and let the breeze flow through. From the upstairs balcony you can see the rice paddy. The bungalow comes complete with a large Bali family. Besides quiet Jerni, there is Made, who cooks delicious traditional Bali meals like smoked duck and banana pancakes. Wayan, her brother, who helps with the maintenance and is an incredible artist. And Jess, who drives us around and teaches us about Bali culture. Last, but not least, is Jacky, an adorable puppy who has stolen our hearts and keeps us highly entertained.

I think it is easy to fall under Ubud’s spell with it’s art, culture, people, lush jungle ravines and rivers, and terraces of electric green rice paddies. The Balinese love to ask, “Where are you going?”, or “Where are you coming from?”, and you soon realize that their inquisitiveness is another part of their culture. There is no ‘angle’ to their questions , it is their way of starting a conversation, of starting a friendship. So, where are we going? Right now, no farther than poolside with my cold Bintang beer, quietly watching the daily pattern of Bali.