Initially, I was shocked and disheartened by the congested paved roads (where previously farmers tended their rice crops) an overabundance of shops, restaurants and tourist buses. I would find, however, that underneath, most of the spiritual and cultural aspects of the Bali-Hindu way of life have survived. The Balinese still offer flowers, holy water, and rice to the gods and spirits at temples and shrines, in their homes, and in front of their businesses every morning.

When I arrived in Bali in 1978, I was sorry not to have seen it earlier. Kuta, the main tourist area, was already crowded and chaotic. When I traveled inland though, I was transported to a way of life that seemed to have changed little over the centuries.

In fact the first foreigners to discover Bali came in the late twenties and early thirties and were mostly scholars, the rich and famous, adventurers and artists. It was not until the sixties that an airport was built and the big wave of tourism started. Each wave has created more tourist areas, which strangely protects the Balinese in less-visited villages from those who do not respect Bali¹s traditions and spiritual practices.

During my extended stay in the seventies I lived with two families, one in Batuan (where Margaret Meade and Gregory Bateson did their fieldwork in the thirties) and the other in Ubud. Members of both families were renowned dancers, singers, and musicians deeply connected with centuries of tradition. With great kindness they made me feel like one of their own, and gently showed me how to dress and participate in their family and community rituals. On my return the years slipped away, and I was fortunate to find the same families still offering the same warm hospitality.

I had left Ubud in January 1979, just before the cremation of the prince of Ubud, Tjorkorda Gde Agung Sukawati. It was highly publicized as the last cremation ceremony of such spectacular proportion, and many international journalists and film crews recorded it. When I arrived in Ubud in December 1998, I was amazed to find preparations for a similar ceremony. In fact it was for Anak Agung Niang Rai Mengwi, the third wife of the late prince. I had a tremendous sense of carrying on where I left off, and was reminded of the magic of Bali.

Magic is often a word brandished around and one I am reluctant to use flippantly. However it is almost impossible to write about Bali without mentioning it. The Balinese, who are deeply spiritual, have many supernatural practices in their festivals, trance dances and rituals. Their everyday lives are imbued with their beliefs and although they are affected by mass tourism, the Balinese have learnt to distance outsiders from its core by creating shorter versions of some of their trance dances and ritual, which often lack the power of the real thing.

On Bali babies and old people are revered as they are considered closest to the gods. Death is to be celebrated, making cremation a joyous and spectacular occasion. The Balinese believe that in death, the soul is liberated from all worldly attachments to await reincarnation. Cremation is considered the most sacred family duty, and no expense is spared for the best send-off possible. Those who cannot afford a cremation bury the dead until they can pay for it; or sometimes a few families will band together so they only have to pay one priest to officiate.

I was fortunate to be in Ubud to watch the preparation for the cremation of the princess, just as I had for her late husband. For weeks the extended family and members of the surrounding villages participated in rituals, dance and music performances, as well as building the animal sarcophagus and the tower that on the day of the cremation transports the body to the grounds.

The Balinese found it necessary to print a program detailing what outsiders could participate in and what they should wear. The event was so big that it was impossible to keep away those clad in shorts or mini-dresses, who were completely oblivious to the disrespectfulness of their behaviour.

Early on the morning of the cremation, busloads of people arrived from other villages. From mid-morning hundreds of spectators began to congregate at the palace, for the procession to the cremation grounds scheduled to start around noon.

Tourists and others not directly connected with the family were asked to move farther up the street, which was already swarming with people. Shortly after midday the procession started. A firetruck led the way, playfully hosing the gamelan groups and dancers as they marched to the grounds, where they were to perform during the cremation. Brightly clad women carried offerings in silver bowls on their heads.

A group of shoutingand singing men carried the black bull sarcophagus and its rider. Followingthe sarcophagus came the gigantic tower representing the cosmos, in which the body traveled. Both were swung wildly and tilted precariously, so the deceased woman¹s soul would become confused and not attempt to find its way home. Last in the procession was a very small girl, the youngest member of the family, carried on a palanquin. Men had spent several hours preparing the pyre that awaited at the cremation grounds.

As soon as the bull and tower arrived, the celebration began in earnest. A group of older men did the baris gede, a warrior dance. While they performed a few men scampered up the ramp to the tower to get the white cloth covered body. Once it had been secured in the sarcophagus, the priest and helpers performed many rituals including the breaking of clay pots, after which they doused the body with oil and set it alight.

Throughout the rituals, gamelan music was played and people laughed and drank. When the tower was set alight and fell, the crowd emitted loud cheers of exaltation, even though the heat was overpowering and ashes were flying everywhere. It takes the blaze about seven hours to consume a body, and the family and many guests stay at the grounds socializing until the fire burns out. Once this is done, the family collects the ashes and takes them to the ocean.

As Balinese royalty are almost extinct, these extravagant cremations will die out. Even smaller cremations are spectacular, however, and many tour operators make money taking people to them. Balinese family life is particularly endearing. When I reconnected with the Masih family of Ubud, I was invited to help the women make palm leaf decorations for Galungan, the most important festival of the year. When I arrived they were working and simultaneously watching Xena: The Warrior Princess on T.V. This was somewhat of a shock, as at the time of my last visit television had not arrived in Ubud. Then I had taken great joy in observing Ibu ( mother) Masih give dance lessons to both adults and small girls. I would watch Ibu¹s fourteen-year-old daughter Suadini work around the house, do her homework, and then replace her school uniform with the ornate costume of the dance. I was greatly relieved when, at the end of the show, they turned off the television and everyone resumed chatting and working together. Several would be needed to prepare the decorations and offerings for the ten-day festival.

I found upon my return, that Ibu had started the first women¹s gamelan orchestra in nearby Peliatan, where she and Suadini perform once a week. Suadini runs a guest house, Masih Bungalows, where I had the pleasure of watching her thirteen-year-old daughter Ina, noting the difference between the two at the same age. This diminutive girl drives a motorbike and does her homework on a computer! But she also performs the traditional tasks of putting out the daily offerings in the household temple and courtyard and, like her mother and grandmother, performing as a dancer.

Another great pleasure was watching the interaction between Ibu and Ayundha, Suadini¹s nine-month-old baby. In Bali, infants are treated like gods. Indeed, until they lose their baby teeth, the little ones are said to enjoy the protection of heaven. Much attention is given them, and many ritual are performed for their sake. One in particular takes place when the baby is six months, at which prayers are performed by the priest for it to be strong, healthy and live a long and useful life. Ibu would arrive early every morning to bathe and massage Ayundha. She sang and danced as she carried her granddaughter around, and although the baby could not yet walk, she could dance with her hands and her upper body. When I left Ibu was teaching her to play a child size xylophone, which I had given her as a gift.

When I visited the Jimat family in Batuan, I was invited to attend several dance dramas in which Made Jimat and his 77 year-old mother were performing. Among them was the traditional Calonarang, which portrays through dance and trance the Balinese mythic and religious worldview: that good cannot exist without evil, just as evil cannot exist without good.

This eternal theme takes the form of a battle between the Barong and Rangda. The Barong, a shaggy lion that often seems more like a large lovable dog, is animated by two male dancers. Rangda is a matted-haired hag with wild bulging eyes and pendulous breasts. Huge tusks and a meter-long tongue protrude from her gaping mouth. Barong and Rangda fight and generally followers of the Barong rush to stab Rangda with their krises (swords). She inevitably bewitches them,and her entranced victims turn their krises on themselves. In one performance I witnessed on the temple grounds in Batuan, three Rangdas performed all in trance.

The Barong, the Rangda and all masks used are considered sacred and are blessed and sprinkled with holy water. Even dressing for the performance is ritualistic with friends often in attendance. The Calonarang is traditionally performed on temple grounds and even T.V. can¹t keep the whole village from turning up, from ancient ones to babes in arms. It resembles a busy country fair, with hawkers selling food and drink, toys, and trinkets.

Although the villagers have seen the drama countless times, they seldom fail to attend, for they are never sure who will go into trance and what spontaneous action will occur. The story may be difficult for an outsider to follow, but the audience¹s genuine fear and the performers¹ energy exhibit the powerful otherworldliness typical of Bali.

Today part of the island are completely in touch with the modern world. When I arrived in Ubud I found a rather sophisticated internet cafe, where I e-mailed someone on the island where I live. After drinking a cappuccino, I found that I had already received a reply. This was magic of a different kind, which twenty years ago would have been unbelievable. The telephone only came into general use in Ubud in 1990.

Hopefully the Balinese will keep their divine sense of balance. I wonder what the next twenty years has in store.

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