STEP OUT OF YOUR WORLD AND INTO BIJOUX, WHERE EVERYTHING HAS A STORY

The Dogs of Bali

The dogs of Bali are infamous among travelers. All spawned by the same two primal dog-parents, their lean, compact bodies trot through the streets, coiled tails bouncing jauntily just above their rumps. The handsome ones are quite funny. They are perky, independent, self-contained. But most are mangy, quarrelsome, full of sores and scars, their tails not jaunty at all, but crooked and broken. They sulk and scowl, full of disease and distress and they fight in viscous, quarrelsome packs in the middle of the street. The Balinese believe that evil spirits inhabit dogs. Looking at them, it's easy to concur. They eat the rice from offerings left out to appease the bad spirits, and seem content to co-exist at the edge of Balinese society.

I was warned to watch out for the dogs of Bali. Many are rabid, the majority are diseased, and they will attack, especially when roaming in packs. After spending one noisy night in Kuta Beach upon arriving in Bali, we hired a bemo to take us to Ubud. We looked at every homestay in Ubud and Campuan. Wandering into Suci, we met Ketut, who managed this homestay for his uncle. Located just off Bemo's Corner, the local transport hangout, but it looked a little downtrodden, and was pretty noisy, so he suggested his own homestay, just a short walk up the road. He took off on his motorscooter and we trudged up the hill. It wasn't a steep hill, but it wasn't flat and in the tropical heat, I was drenched and disheveled by the time I arrived at Ketut's Place, the family compound. Inside we were shown a beautiful bungalow, very cool, very clean and incredibly beautiful. It was right in the middle of a cluster of small buildings that make up a traditional Balinese home. The family sat around on small pillows or woven mats in a small raised pavilion called a bale. The only rooms with doors and window coverings were sleeping chambers and the bungalows that Ketut rented out to travelers.

Our bungalow was near the back of the compound next to the bathhouse. The smooth cool tile floor was spotless and the beds were covered with clean sheets and an extra heavy large sarong for use as a blanket. Lying on the bed and looking up, the ceiling rose up to a thatched roof carefully bound together to create a beautiful pattern. The bathroom was tiled in brilliant turquoise. It even had a western-style toilet, sans seat.

Ketut was a gracious and enlightened host. Having attended "hotel school" in Java, he was determined to make a success of his growing business. Once or twice weekly he hosted a traditional Balinese feast attended by tourists from down at Sanur and the wealthy resorts near Denpassar. The long table in the bale across from our bungalow was transformed with bamboo and palm leaf hangings, strings of flowers. The feast consisted of Balinese food which was not the usual fare available to travelers in local restaurants. Ketut and his family spent all day in preparation. Dressed in his finest temple wear, Ketut led guests on a tour of his compound explaining how family homes were laid out according to Hindu religious principles and gave a short overview of traditional customs.

Upon our arrival, a compact, medium-sized dog had followed us up the hill from Suci. He never made a noise, seemed oblivious to the other dogs along the road, and preceded us into Ketut's Place, lying proprietarily at the foot of the dinner bale, which also served as the front desk and office. He seemed like a regular western style dog, one who had a regular owner. He was clean, well fed and had a good disposition. "Does this dog belong to you?" I asked. Ketut answered, "He was gift from a Dutch woman guest. She paid 10,000 rupees for this dog, had him fixed and gave him to me!" Ketut expressed this with some wonder and a rather dismissive attitude that implied an incredible waste of money. The dog was a cicing, the slightly derogatory name used for dogs in Balinese. The guests loved him. He sat at the entrance to the compound, guarding the gate, barking loudly at passersby.

I tried in vain to understand the place that dogs had in Balinese society. They were not treated badly, but were not exactly welcomed either. Nearly every family compound had at least one dog that came and went and lay across the threshold like a guardian. They trotted in and out at will, never bothering the members of their family and skirting strangers in wide circles. Each morning I tracked the progress of my husband's dawn excursions up the road by the chorus of dogs. One after the other they chimed in as he passed the entrances to the compounds on either side of Jalan Sweta. In the middle of the night I awakened to massive snarling fights out in the lane. After a few days I began to hear the evil spirits walking through the village. The road outside the compound was obviously a dangerous and perilous place at night. I came to understand that the dogs were the only intermediaries between me and the evil spirits walking abroad.

Chi chi, Ketut's dog, adopted us. He would wander off, going back and forth, up and down the street between Suci and Ketut's Place. At night he settled noisily against the doors to our bungalow. Throughout the night I heard him adjusting his position, rattling the doors as he shifted around, thumping as he scratched his fleas. And each day he followed us down to Bemos corner, where he disappeared for the afternoon. I looked for him at night, and accepted him as my protector. Sitting on my porch having tea in the afternoon, Chi chi lay at my feet, often right on them.

When I was away from Ketut's, wandering around town, I thought I could see Chi chi trotting back and forth. If I sat in an outdoor café, or on the side of the street, I was sure it was Chi chi sitting in front of me, patiently waiting for me to move on, throw him a treat, offer a pet. But I was never sure. The dogs looked alike and though Chi chi was a well-kept dog, he wasn't the only good looking dog. I often wondered if I called to him, would he understand? I had no illusions that Ketut and his family spoke to the dog in English. Was this dog multi-lingual?

Ketut made our stay easy and pleasant. He arranged a car to take us to sites we wanted to see, to take us to dance performances and to take us to carvers and silversmiths. Toward the end of our visit, we developed more than a passing friendship and Ketut drove us himself. On our visit to the village where the gongs were made, Ketut even borrowed money from us to buy some ornate antique brass hanging lamps to hang in his home. He took us to a restaurant frequented only by Balinese that served roast pork and arranged for vegetarian food for my daughter and her husband. He took us to a roadside wayrung and ordered for us in Balinese. He dropped us off on the top of a ridge to participate in a cremation ceremony and then miraculously appeared to pick us up right in the midst of crowds and crowds of people, complaining about the distance between the cremation grounds and the village temple. And on the way home as we sat exhausted in the little van, one of our fellow companions warned him about driving over the tail of a dog who had made his bed in the middle of the road. Ketut never blinked an eye or slowed down, but simply ran over the dog's tail exclaiming, "Next life!"

Chi chi continued to delight us, to lay by our door, to allow us to rub him and scratch him, and stood as silent guardian until we tearfully entered the bemo to take us to the airport. Ketut bid us farewell, "My friend, I think we will not see each other until we are both old men" as he mimed an old bent man walking with a cane. We have sent many travelers to stay with Ketut and they have all had wonderful experiences and they all remember the dog. Our last returnee informed us that Chi chi was no longer with Ketut, that he had been run over. As much as I miss Bali, I think I will miss that dog more.