Bali Moon :

The thing I love most about Bali is that everything is connected to the spirits. Every morning, Balinese women place sweet-smelling offerings at doorways to greet friendly spirits. Offerings are prepared with sprinkles of rice, burning incense, flower petals, and jasmine. Even nasty demons are treated with concoctions of blossoms and delicious things to eat. All villages, including those no larger than a crossroads, are adorned with elaborate shrines and temples. Above dangerous curves on the roads and at busy intersections sit sacred shrines to watch over passersby. In the countryside, stone-carved deities hide in the bushes to ward off evil demons. One is always protected by the spirits in Bali.

NAUGHTY MONKEYS
Not only are the Balinese intimately connected to the spirit world; they're in touch with the animal world too. One morning I walked out of the artists' village of Ubud, past the Monkey Forest Road and into the Monkey Forest. In front of me walked an older man, a European tourist carrying a camera. Without warning, a monkey swooped down out of a banyan tree, ran over to the man, made off with his camera, and clambered back up the tree. The man stopped and shook his fist at the animal, as if that would mean anything to the monkey. Just then an old woman came along, singing to herself. Dressed in the traditional batik sarong of her village, she was carrying an armload of bananas.

"Bananas, you want to buy? Feed the monkey," she said to the old man. She didn't offer to sell bananas to me.
 "No, thank you. I want my camera back."
 "Buy bananas. Feed monkey bananas. Monkey give you camera back."

She was right. When the man bought bananas from the woman and offered one to the monkey in the tree, the monkey jumped down, dropped the camera at the man's feet as it grabbed the banana, and tore back up the tree to eat it. Brilliant. I wondered how many people a day the old woman and monkey tricked in the same way.

THE MOON LOVERS
The Balinese are also lovers of the moon. Late one afternoon I was walking down a country road outside a village. The moon was to be full that evening and I wanted to be out in the open country when the moon rose, to watch it rise over a rice paddy. I came across a young Balinese man sitting on the steps outside a shop. He flashed a smile far too beautiful to ignore.

"Hello, what are you doing?" I asked him, surprised at my forwardness.

"Waiting for the moon to rise."

"So am I."

"Come watch with me. It won't come up until the sun goes down."

I joined him on the steps. He was wearing cut-off shorts, a white T-shirt, and bare feet. His hair fell naturally into one eye and he kept tossing his head back to flick it out of his way. His forearms were muscular and darkly tanned. When I asked his name, he answered, “Nyoman Bagus.”

His name intrigued me. The Balinese have only four first names, regardless of their gender. The first child is Wayan, the second child is Made, the third child is Nyoman and the fourth is Ketut. If a mother has a fifth and sixth child, she starts all over again, calling the children Wayan, Made, and so on. So Nyoman Bagus was the third child (or else the seventh) but his last name, Bagus, I had learned meant "good." A Balinese woman I met explained that that the Balinese say "bagus" with varying emphasis, depending on how "good" something actually is. If someone were to ask you how you are feeling and you're just OK, you would say "bagus," flatly. If you happened to be exceptionally happy that day, you would say "bagus!" with great emphasis, practically shouting the word.

Nyoman Bagus was an artist, a painter. This explained his well-developed forearms. Inside his dark and cluttered shop, I saw massive canvases of jungles and dark forests filled with mythological beasts, freakish ghouls and demons, winged maidens, sleeping princes, and golden mountain people. Other paintings were of bizarre hairy animals entwined with powerful goddesses, ocean birds, and sorcerers. One painting was of the moon. I got lost inside Nyoman Bagus's paintings. Only when he suggested we go for a ride on his motorbike to watch the moonrise did I find my way back to earth, telling him I’d love to go.

Nyoman Bagus put on some shoes. They were leather sandals and would not be considered safe, or even legal, to wear on a motorbike where I come from. I watched him swing his leg over ....