Showing posts with label countryside. Show all posts
Showing posts with label countryside. Show all posts

Bali: Cats, dogs, chickens etc

Cats + Dogs


As I said in my previous post about the greenery in this part of the world, Bali appears to have water in abundance. And where there is water, there is life. And where there is life, there are usually humans. And where there are humans, there are dogs. And so forth.

Checking out the drain, momentarily distracted from chasing chickens
I had always been worried about my first encounters with dogs in Bali, because I remember learning in school that Balinese Hindus believed that dogs were reincarnations of people who were bad in their past lives, and so they didn't look after them very well. A related tradition is the way Balinese file down their canine teeth, because those teeth symbolise animal nature, and filing them represents the shedding of the six human evils (desire, greed, anger, intoxication,confusion, jealousy). I had heard stories of abused, rabid dogs wandering the streets with open wounds and even (wait for it) maggots crawling about.

Guarding the temple
So you can imagine how relieved I have been thus far in my travels to Bali by not having all my childhood nightmares of neglected animals come to fruition. I must point out though that I have already seen some pretty badly treated, skinny, flighty, unhappy horses stabled in a western hotel, and pet monkeys and large birds in small cages, so I'm a fair way from suggesting that Bali is in the clear as far as animal rights go. But I was happy to see that most of the dogs in our village appeared to have collars, and homes, and owners. (Note: There is a charity called the Bali Animal Welfare Association, that I'm going to find out more about because in particular, I'd like to talk to someone about those horses. They take donations and try to educate locals to improve animal welfare, and reduce the number of strays.)

Although they were skinny, the cats also looked a hell of a lot happier than the mangey, fleabitten, stumpy tailed strays I saw running rampant in Malaysia a few years ago. I think you have to be a bit skinny to survive in that heat actually. If my cat was in Bali she would die of heat exhaustion and heart failure. She's just too fat for that climate. (Yes, I had to add 'for that climate'.)


Dogs chillin'
Anyway, animals in Bali are tough. They're scavengers. Survivors. They hang about in motley little gangs on street corners like lost kids and you wonder whether, if they could muster the energy and then if they could work out some way to dispose of the spoils, they would pick your pockets.


Cat that implanted itself underneath the dining counter at a little warung in Sukawati. He had obviously been practicing those big beady Oliver Twist eyes. 

None of the dogs were particularly vicious, with humans anyway, particularly tourists. They might tail you along the footpath for a bit, barking loudly. Or, perched awkwardly on a step, lunging haphazardly at their ear with their skinny back leg trying to relieve an itch, they might shoot you a dodgy sideways glance. Perhaps they suspect that tourism is a main reason that there is any food in the dog bowl.

Boy do they have attitude though, and a sense of entitlement. And I dont know if it was the heat, but these animals just drop themselves wherever they please for a nap. Nevermind noise, traffic, customers.

See for yourself:
Cute cat looking pretty pleased with herself on a restaurant chair
Dog. Middle of main street. Sleeping.

Creepycrawlies


So I know my theory surrounding the abundances in Bali stemming solely from water is tenuous and based on a scientific-like hunch (that is a real thing, trust me I am an ex lawyer, sort of). But water does seem to have an influence on making living things in Bali grow BIGGER.

Check out these larger than normal animals. And I didn't even get a good photo of the bees, but trust me, they were GINORMOUS, sort of like large christmas beetles, but big and hairy. And mostly black, which I thought was a weird wardrobe choice in the heat. Nice one God. Or whatever.

Anyway:

Largeish frog, and its NOT a Cane Toad...check out that springy 'grass on steroids'. Huge!

This is a massive butterfly coccoon. It may not look it but its a few inches long and almost an inch wide. Their winged rainbow raptors make our butterflies look like little five cent tissue paper fairies. Whatever they are. Pfft.

This is a cricket. Or a grass hopper. More like grass TERMINATOR. It was quite large too but it scared me with its big hard lime coloured madonna muscle fitness legs so I couldn't get a picture of it next to anything meaningful. Sorry.

Birds

Ok. Now onto birds. Birds are amazing. Partly because they can fly, yes. But also because they have feathers. Have you ever thought how much more sophisticated feathers are to our pathetic little human hair follicles? Indeed. Feathers are (a) sophisticated, pretty and sometimes colourful (b) symmetrical (c) lightweight, aerodynamic, and water resistent (I think...).

No wonder they can fly! Whoever is monitoring the entry gates to the sky obviously just ushers them through based on how rad feathers are, I'm sure of it. Otherwise there's no way Pelicans would get up there. Too heavy. Also explains why emu's can't fly. Their feathers can be kinda fluffy and a bit mangey. Not really proper feathers.

Way off topic. I'm talking Bali. I'm talking birds.

Most birds I saw were either free roaming farm chickens with attitude (providing eggs, or wakeup calls, depending on their gender) or really amazing beautiful birds...kept in cages, which was a bit sad. But I was assured by the people who manage the Antonio Blanco art museum (which had an extensive collection of birds kept in cages at night), that many of the birds were old, and used to fly free, but things in Ubud have become too dangerous - lots of traffic, pollution, rubbish in the waterways, junk food they will eat. I kind of understand. I can't imagine those big magestic birds lasting too long around here. Gee. We humans are really ruining a lot of things. Still, it felt pretty amazing having those birds perch on my arm. They are HEAVY! (See, water, big-ness).

Rooster in the ricefields. With cool spotty pantaloon legs!
Me. Dork. At Antonio Blanco museum. With 3 large birds eyeing off my beads. And tourist frangipanns put in my hair while my arms were otherwise engaged to go with my tourist shorts and general look of tourist exhaustion. 
Still eyeing off the beads
A caged pair of big red buddies - latin name. They looked healthy, but bored. Really bored.

So that's it for animals. There weren't many birds in the sky. Maybe its too polluted. Maybe its too hot to fly during the day. We did hear heaps of birds at dawn and dusk, swallow type things, and saw them shooting around treetops near rice paddies, probably jetting in and out of the paddies to eat bugs. There were heaps of ducks in the rice fields too, but you could hear them more than see them. I avoided the monkey forest this time because their humanness kind of freaked me out last time, particularly the babies - their little ET fingers - aaah! And thankfully I didn't see any elephants, because I've heard nothing but bad stories about that. But then I guess you really need to see these things for yourself. I really shouldn't preempt such things.

Note: If you would like to check out this thread of Bali posts from the beginning, click here.

Extra note: Please be advised that much of the content in this post which purports to have scientific or evidentiary backing, doesn't really. Particularly the bits about feathers. I did biology, but that was a long time ago.

Bali: Pretty things I saw - or - An ode to H2O


One of the resounding reasons that Bali seems to have such an impact on me every time is because its so GREEN. There must be some scientific evidence that proves green does good things to the brain.

Coming from a town in central Victoria that was plagued by a 15 year drought, a community that has been more than a little traumatised by bushfire, and a State that built a desalination factory so that we could convert the ocean into water, Bali is by comparison a water fantasy land. As a hot spot for tourism in a fast developing country, Bali has some serious environmental challenges ahead. I read an article the other day that kind of cemented my fears on this front (read it here, but maybe get a cup of tea and a biscuit before you do because its a bit sad). Nevertheless, the generous, heavy, thundering rain, the fat, juicy, springy green plants, the large frogs leaping about in 'grass-on-steroids', groups of guys fishing socially in the local river, the kids splashing around with their families in the waterways, the hundreds of rice paddies filled from the intricate irrigation networks, even the really large showerhead in the bathroom - were all reminders (good or otherwise) of water in quantities I am just not used to.



So, rather than just being about pretty things, this post is also kind of my visual ode to H2O. How beautiful it makes the planet. How essential it is. How much I miss it sometimes. How we should probably be a bit more careful about it.

Enjoy some virtual hydrotherapy:

The lush garden at Villa Ibu. No watering required.  
Natural hot springs welling up from the ground at the holy water temple  
Beautiful view of the rice fields, with offerings nestled in a small tree
Jatiluwih - the spectacular UNESCO listed rice fields 
Veggie patches and greenhouses along the rice paddy walk
Tegenungan waterfall 
Waterlilies are everywhere

More rice fields, with rain clouds on the horizon
The majestic Gunung & Danau Batur (Batur Mountain & Lake)  
Note: If you'd like to read from the beginning of the Bali thread, click here.

Newstead Live 2013 - On the fringe of beautiful chaos

The flags are finally up and flying, adorning the long main streets of our pretty little town. Over the next 24 hours, music lovers will roll in from far and wide, setting up cosy camp under whatever shade they can muster to fend off the dry summer heat. 

From the verandah, the sounds are of a town putting on the final touches while the visitors assemble their temporary homes. The crunching of gravel under tyres and thumping of car doors, the aluminium clanking of tent poles accompanied by melodic camping chatter, the booming ‘test one, two’ over the PA, guys yelling to one another about equipment, the hammering of pegs. There’s a distinct festival buzz in the air.

A handful of tents are eagerly pinned along the wide rim of the football oval. Others, mostly performers, are clustered together in neighbourly rows in the horse paddocks by the lane. A few visitors seeking solitude might already have ventured further afield, across the banks of the barely trickling Loddon River, and pitched under the whispering gums of the racecourse.

Rent-a-loos and garbage bins magically materialize - tucked discreetly among the magnificent elm trees that line the nature strip. The arrival of food vans is announced by an urgent and vocal hunt for power outlets.


Over the last seven years, the locals have grown to love this time of year, when the vibrant central Victorian township truly comes to life. As Australia Day weekend swings around, the Newstead Live music festival explodes with a colourful crew of wordsmiths, singers, artists, dancers and players, and the result is captivating.

As it gets into full swing, poetry readings lull us awake each morning from the Troubadour stage - a spatter of slow enthusiastic claps assuring us that a few early risers have made it. The mysterious jangling of Morris dancers (mum’s favourite cultural spectacle) tickles the air down the main street, drawing you in like a siren’s call. There is colour everywhere – banners, capes, top hats, flags, signs pointing this way and that. I spot three oak trees proudly dressed in colourful crochet. The craft bombers have been at their stealthy nightworks again.

Market stalls fill the primary school grounds in a wide circle, offering authentic Thai food, face-painting, lovely vintage cakes and jams by the equally lovely and vintage ladies of the historical society, the sausage sizzle, lucky dip, and the notoriously contentious meat raffle. A kid dressed in complete pirate costume hurls past me, swinging her full sized plastic sword and ‘aaarhging’ enthusiastically. I wonder whether I’ll spot any evidence that cow poo lotto – the fundraising genius of farming towns – made it this year?

As temperatures soar, the adoreably entrepreneurial kids from the blue weatherboard house set up shop. With wide gappy grins, a wobbly fold-out table and cardboard signs reading ‘HoMemADe LEmOnaED oNly 50c’, they’re sold out by midday. Dogs bark at the violins as they chase circles around one another. Kids chase the dogs. Parents keep one watchful eye on the kids as they flip through the program.

Rival impromptu bands materialise on opposite street corners of the pub and the cafĂ©. Musicians perch on hay bales wrapped in dusty twine, or tattered instrument cases. Clutching a ukulele, I ask if anyone knows what the tune is. “C…F…G” a double bass player mouths widely at me, while the guy on the bright yellow plastic trombone (a ‘p-bone’ he later clarifies) gives me an encouraging eyebrow nudge to join in. The sound and tempo morphs along with the mood of the day and late into the night, as a parade of harps, guitars, harmonicas, fiddles and accordions join the fray.

After three solid days of performances and workshops at each of the festival's eight venues, everyone is exhausted. The festival might be small but it packs a lot of punch. Having never committed to a genre, each year is sufficiently different from the last to leave you wondering, and there are always surprises. It can also be a bit hit-and-miss, but it's alwaysgreat to see local and fledgling acts on the program too.

The sun beats down on us as we wedge our things into the boot, wave goodbye to the parents, and kick up a cloud of dust in their driveway on the way out. Settling into the journey, I smile at the irony of our need to return to the city for a rest. By the looks on everyone’s happy but weary faces on the way out of town, the festival has worked its magic. I imagine that after all the tents are packed away, trucks are loaded and flags rolled up, little Newstead will happily return to its normal slumber, until next year. 

My top 3 picks for 2013:


1. Half an hour of the intensely poetic music of young Werribee lad Jack Gramski (‘like Bob Dylan, but he can sing’), who I predict will be cramming venues as his intense but charming steam-punk brand of folk develops. Oh and here's a video I took of 'The Jack Gramski theme song'.


2. A blues guitar workshop in my mum’s art studio by humble master Nick Charles who quashed the reputation of the capo as a musicians tool of shame and demystified what he called the ‘black forest’ of the upper fretboard, making the jump from ukulele to guitar seem not so scary after all.


3. Stumbling on the incredibly versatile, melodic and personal tunes and tales of Tassie girl Monique Brumby, who is a total charm.