Journal 19, Wednesday, May 19th, Bongon Jawa Village

After the ceremony last night, more of Iketuts extended family gradually filled the home we were staying in, shy, well-behaved kids watching us, adults sitting on the floor.  


Someone cooked us up a tasty meal in a closet of a windowless room (the kitchen), completely bare except for the two burners on one little table.  We were served up rice, spicy noodles, and a few very, tasty, spicy dishes with onion and peppers and one with a green curry.  We sat on the floor on the red-rug eating while they all watched.  No one else ate.  Finally Iketut did, after we begged.  This is the kind of uncomfortable seat-of-honor stuff I just can't handle!  

Something about this reminded me of Ned Nederlander (Martin Short) in The Three Amigos.  No one understood a word we were saying but all were politely listening as if they did.  


Iketut probably understood one-third or less of what I said, and the same for me of him.   I mentioned "Morgan plays guitar", and one of the brothers ran down the street only to return with a guitar that had "fuck you" roughly carved into it.  No one seemed to notice (or know what this meant) though Iketuts wife sounded it out very loudly and clearly a few times practicing her English which was ironically beautiful, then she would do it again because we laughed.  Poor kid, Morgan was terribly uncomfortable while tuning the guitar as everyone watched with expectation.  Watching her tune it was making ME uncomfortable.


The strings and metal parts were dark-orange and dusty with rust.  It was just a moment later when her face turned a brilliant red as the top string broke with a loud BOING!  She was SO embarrassed and we felt terrible about it.  I gave the guy a little money to buy some new strings (probably an hours drive to get them, if they can find them) for whoever’s guitar this was, feeling like we broke it forever.  Finally he took the money and ran off.  Returning soon he proudly handed off the guitar again to lucky Morgan.  He had carefully repaired the broken string with tape!!

In the end we slept terribly.  The so-called "vacant" house (...of his brother who lived in Java) silently filled up with sleepers, including the grandfather and some children who were coughing all night long.  Then the village stray dogs started!!!  Barking one after another!  The entire VILLAGE of dogs barked...maybe TWO villages of dogs...barking for hours!!  Just when they would quiet down another 'bark' would happen and all to start again, picking up steam.   Morgan laughed hysterically about it as we lay in bed together in the dark.  It was amazing.  Eventually I was imagining ...if only I had a gun etc.. me an otherwise dog lover!  I seriously don't know how anyone could learn to sleep through it!  We decided we think it happens every night around here.  There is this joke between her and I.  EVERY place we stay has something uncomfortable about it.  Mosquitoes buzzing and biting, roosters (a million of them) "cockadodle dooing" at 4:30 am, people awake at the crack of dawn sweeping, sweeping, whiney puppy tied up outside our room, shower doesn't work, misc. glowing-eyed creatures in our room...you get the idea.  Then, as these are discovered, she always says "let's not stay HERE again"!  And I agree.  It's part of the fun of the adventure!  Though sleepy eyed some days we are.

With sad little photo-taking goodbyes and visiting Ketut first, out in the rice field she was working in. 


After our uncomfortable, enough-already, too gracious breakfast, we rode off feeling freedom again, on loyal spicy-bike.  


The grandfather having become so attached to us he invited us to come back next week so he could perform a very special "magic" shadow-puppet show and the village women will do a very special village dance.  Just for us.