Well there we were popping out of the hot vehicle after Iketut drove on past the tourist parking lots to stop in his own private grassy area. Old ones included we all had a short, lovely walk along a path on the cliffs edge and descended several slippery, mossy, old stone steps (that I would not want MY grandmother on) all the way down to the sparkling black volcano-sand beach.
The women carried large mysterious baskets on their heads of who knows what, all walking nimbly in flip-flops yet dressed beautifully in lace and color. The small beach curved nicely around the private cove where the tide had pulled-back to expose a coral reef and it was deserted except for us. Now this was my kind of temple!
Soon enough however, Morgan and I were feeling unsure of our place in this while the women gathered and carefully assembled offerings of bright colorful flowers with rice on banana leaves setting them around the beach in specific places which they appeared to be agreeing and disagreeing on.
With each offering, a stick of sweet, smoking incense was nudged into the sand behind it.
The old grandfather who was in charge of the ceremony as he was the head of the village and priest of their local temple had been eyeing us suspiciously since we had arrived (we have seen this look before while riding though Bali). We decided to sit out of the way in the sand and observe quietly, unsure of what to do.
The children were hushed when they ran about excitedly on the edge of the water as any child must do in this setting. The old man went out on the exposed reef and began to say prayers and chant in the ancient Sanskrit passed on to him by his father.
This ceremony was specific for Iketut, thirty-five year old, father of two whom, while inviting us, told me of how he had been having bad dreams lately and needed to do this cleansing ceremony. The ceremony must include his immediate family, so his wife and him began by getting partially undressed (lucky them on this hot afternoon) in a cave behind the rocks and carefully moved out to the side-water scooping up the water and throwing it over themselves to wash (again) in preparation.
I wanted to take photos of everything but the mood was relatively serious and lightly-somber, and it didn't fit to do. Their two boys (Wayan 9 and Made 7, -number 1 and 2) were brought to bathe in the side-pool as well. When all were purified again, and cleaned with sea-water, they went out on the reef together to the grandfather, Iketut, bowing seriously before him first while the grandfather chanted over him.
After many words grandfather gathered water into a coconut shell dipper from the pool of warm holy spring water bubbling up in the reef which is fresh water that comes up into this salt-water environment from a spring. This special 'holy' water can only be accessed on a rare new moon when the tide is pulled back at it’s very lowest to expose the reef and spring. The ancient one poured it over Iketuts head and body several times and eventually his wife and children received it as well, splashing it to cover as much of themselves with this water as possible.
The extended family then came out onto the reef to also take the water and Morgan and I decided we might be expected to as well, feeling very unsure and intrusive we discreetly ventured out on the reef far off to the side. One of the brothers (who seemed to be assisting the old man) beckoned us to come over and so we too were doused from the coconut dipper with this spring water, which we could now see bubbling up from under the oceans reef. The water felt really, REALLY good (I was SO HOT with my forty layers). But no lightning struck or miracles occurred though we did feel refreshed, included and general mood seemed to lighten immensely. The old man now looked our way with softer eyes.
Apparently this was just the first half. Everyone gathered in a circle of sorts facing the black-rock cliffs, kneeling in the damp, black sand. The sun was beginning to set behind us while an older, unusually heavy-set women who was busting out of her corset (great Aunt?) said many balinese words in ceremony while someone began passing around little flower bouquets. Everyone held these between their palms over their heads all saying something together.
When I opened my eyes, they were finishing up by breaking the flowers open and throwing the petals to the ground (whoops, mine was behind my ear). I looked over at Morgan who seemed as clueless as I was. The kind Uncle, trying to help us again, by giving eye-signals when he could gave up and with a wee smile focused forward.
The ceremony went on with the heavy, older woman, taking turns, saying a prayer over each person and sprinkling the holy water from the spring four times onto each of us, four more sprinkles in open palms (which is sipped-up between each sprinkle) and then rice in the hand which each person then presses between the eyes and over the temples then finally by eating what is left of the rice in the hand.
The fascinating ceremony was completed as a basket of fruit and roast duck was passed around to eat of.
I figured it was a bit like communion, only on a beautiful beach with the gorgeous pinks and oranges of the sun setting behind me. Everyone looked so relaxed now. New smiles came out when the women saw the drying rice on our foreheads and temples too. Even the serious, priestly grandfather gave us a shy little smile.
Climbing high out of this beach cove, the old, nimble ones faster than me, we walked on the path to Tanah Lot, the actual temple, which is where the tourists were. I knew now this part of it was only for Morgan and I. The sky and ocean so striking along the cliffs edge, they happily allowed me to photograph them. Tourists looked curiously at Morgan and I, and it was then I remembered the rice drying and our colorful ceremonial costume.
Some of the tourists also wanted to photograph this lovely family, mostly the ancient, beautiful couple who gracefully obliged. On our walk back, past the entrance to the cove, an old gate and warning sign had been erected. The tide was already closing in on the source of this most interesting evening.
Interesting that many of the males of the village, keep at least one good cock for fighting. We didn't like to think about it.
Deciding to stop for a look at the famous Water Palace we were met in the deserted parking area by a mostly-toothless, cute older man who pulled from deep in his pockets and unwrapped with great care two antique silver US coins from the 1800's telling us in bad English how these were his great grandfathers coins, and now he must sell these special coins for 140,000rp (about $16). We'll.... what do I do? I asked the boy crowd who had gathered to promote his sale and they showed me how authentic they were because 'they clink' when you brush them together (so yes they are at least ...metal). Well I began to negotiate when he suddenly put them away and said he would ONLY take the full amount! WOW! That was weird for a Balinese. So much that I was convinced they must be authentic. So I parted with my cash and off we went to pay the entrance fee to the water palace.... 
Morgan and I had such a good laugh in the garden about it! Then, a nice reflexology treatment for me. 
