Fitting In

There I was, stuck in a traffic jam miles from the largest temple in Bali. Half of the bus wanted to turn around and leave, the other half wanted to wait out the traffic jam. Our guide said we had two hours before we left, so if we wanted to hike up the road, maybe we could get a glimpse of the temple. C'ya! I was out the door, joining in the trek to the Temple Besakih. It seems the day that I had chosen to go was a combination of Good Friday, the day after a full moon, and during a festival celebrated once every 10 years. This month-long festival brought out hundred of thousands of Balinese, trekking to this temple for prayer and offering, with my arrival day the peak of the festival. So there I was, in the middle of a pilgrimage, trying to blend in. It felt great hiking with beautifully dressed natives, becoming a part of something larger than the tourist touring I was used to. I felt I was becoming bonded with the people until a guy on a motorcycle rode beside me and yelled out "transport!" Transport was a word I heard at least 100 times a day when I was walking anywhere in Bali. If someone isn't selling you something; they're offering transport, which means "Hey I'll drive you, anywhere for small fee." This is probably the easiest way to make money, that's why everybody does it. Even if they don't have a car or bike, they just get a friend to drive you, then take a cut of the cash. The guy wasn't offering transport to anyone else, no one would have paid his outrageous fee. But what is two bucks if I get to the heart of this massive gathering during my allotted two hours? So, I gathered up my ceremonial skirt I was wearing, straddled the bike, and off we went, weaving in between traffic-jammed cars and Hindu people heading for the Mother Temple Besakih.