Hungry for ‘authentic’ Balinesian experiences, I started my day asking my guide to take me where the tourists won’t go.  After explaining that there are many delightful places to visit here in Bali, he finally conceded to my seemingly strange request.  I climbed aboard the scooter and was quickly whisked into oncoming traffic. Amazingly, I have adjusted quickly to quelling the sympathetic nervous response that would otherwise automatically flood my system when my eyes lock headlights with a truck that it nearly close enough to touch. Now I simply relax into the comfort of knowing the expertise of these drivers in this environment.

I’ve seen a family of five all comfortably positioned on a single scooter navigating the busy streets wearing anything from shorts and flip-flops, to formal ceremonial dress.  It seems there are few, if any, traffic laws, and yet the scooters, cars, and trucks seem to dance a somewhat smooth jitterbug with each other as they pass by, always near but never touching.

When I travel I try to observe without my personal or cultural biases. Recognizing that it is an impossible task, I can at least slow my natural responses, judgments, and comparisons to my own life and experiences long enough to breathe in a new perspective. Today I wanted to see ‘a day in the life’ of a Balinese local…My mother’s words of caution rang poignant and clear, “Be careful what you wish for you just might get it.”

My curiosity was piqued as I saw the huge number of locals congregated together as we were passing by, and I urged my guide to stop.  As he pulled the scooter over, he followed my gaze and said in simple English, “It’s illegal”. I didn’t really register the meaning of what he had said, as I had already started making my way towards the group.  He quickly said something in his native language to the men standing in front of the dirt stairs that lead to a flat area, with open sided and a makeshift roof.  The people the guide spoke to nodded, and I was welcomed by the local people meandering the outskirts of the event into the mass of yelling and pushing that seemed quite out of the ordinary for such a quiet and courteous people. I forced myself through the crowd with a traditional American confidence and determination that is usually considered arrogant and rude by most people of other countries. Luckily, the Balinese are a forgiving people, AND they were all completely preoccupied with the happenings within the center ring.

Unable to see anything, even with my towering 5’9 height advantage, I raised my iPhone camera above the crowd and tilted it all into view. Suddenly, as I witnessed large roosters leaping and clawing at each others already bloodied bodies, I became shockingly aware of the reality of what I had stumbled in on. Assaulted by the smell of mud, and sweat, and the stale dry pungent collection of foul, I had a moment, originating in the pit of my stomach, that questioned if I should be there at all.

I instinctively dropped my arm down to the dismay of the group of 5 or 6 Balinese that had gathered behind me and began forcibly gesturing at my phone and the sky. Without thinking, I raised the screen up again like the plasma TV at the sports bar showing the big game. The cocks were separated and then again thrown down as they fiercely threw their claws at each other. I quickly realized that it was not their claws, but the razors tied to them that was actually doing all the damage.  The sights and sounds were reminiscent the chaos of the stock market floor with people yelling and gesturing and holding out bits of paper, which in this case were different denominations of rupee.

I lowered my arm again and glanced at the unhappy viewers behind me that continued to look longingly at my little bit of magical technology.  The voices quieted and I turned back, only to realize that there was still nothing visible except the endless sea of Balinese men. I turned to my guide questioning the change in energy and volume and he said, “He’s dead. They need to get new cocks for the next fight.” I nodded, turned, and made my way back to the street. Puzzled as I passed a police officer at the bottom of the stairs.

I didn’t say anything as we pulled away and found our way on a small side road snaking up the green countryside. It was only moments away, and yet the sweet sounds of a warm breeze through the trees, the smell of rich green countryside, and the peace of the serene picturesque rural landscape filled my senses.

He pulled to the side so I could walk and take pictures, and I took the opportunity to pick his brain about what we had just witnessed.  As he talked of his people and their practices I realized that my generic, “I’m spiritual, not religious” go-to response to questions of my beliefs seemed pale when set against the rich palette of true and passionate religious customs of the Balinese people.  Much of the culture here is intertwined with their Hindu spiritual beliefs. This was important for me to keep in mind when I had one hand dialing PETA, and the other scratching my head trying to determine if this was some kind of precious religious ritual or just a glimpse of organized crime that spanned across all international lines.

In this case, I would have to say, it was leaning more to the latter. What was interesting to discover, though, is that there is actually a deep religious history to what is now easily dismissed only as a corrupt and deviant affront to civilized legality. “Cock fights were traditionally a blood sacrifice in a special ceremony,” he began to explain.

“To the Gods.” I said more as a statement than a question, but I had nothing but questions when he responded, “No, a sacrifice for the Devils.”

I continued to learn the very basics of Bali and Hinduism. Each village has three temples for the Tri Sakti; one for Puseh (the Vishnu God—the Protector), one for Bale Agung (the Brama God—the Creator), and one for Dalem (the Shiva God—the Destroyer). They believe strongly in a great balance. Brama created the Earth, Vishnu protects it, and “when there are more bad people, with no respect then Shiva will come to destroy us so that Brama can begin again.”  He continued to explain the necessity of balance and how offering are made of flowers and gifts to the Gods, but the devils are equally important to provide balance, and offerings to the Devils are blood.

He explained that the cock fight had once been a part of a sacred ceremony offering the blood that pours into the ground. It has since been made illegal in all of Bali because of the “big crime organized”, but he says that they are still held in the village by ‘special permit’ when money needs to be raised for a temple. Money is paid to the police and the “mafia” to allow the fight and “for protection”.

It is very much a part of the culture as you see tall baskets holding various roosters on virtually every roadside. The men will throw them into the water for them to struggle and grow strong, and when they are caged they will taunt them with another rooster pressing it to the side of the wicker and then pulling it away. They have the fights very frequently, always in a different place.

As we continued on we came across another offering and ceremony. He politely stopped knowing I would want to observe and snap a photo. ‘It is a blood offering’ he said. There was a fire burning and two men holding a wiggling, squealing pig down. One man pressed the heel of his hand against the pigs head and stabbed the knife into it’s neck. Then cutting across the silky red blood poured out and the animals intense struggle only became intermittent twitching. They pressed and kneaded it’s body and throat, and positioned it facing down as to have gravity help to collect every drop that darkened into a deeper crimson in the afternoon heat. My guide spoke to them in a language as foreign to me as this culture. After their interaction he said that they were making offerings preparing for a very sacred ceremony happening later in the week, the pusaka tak-ragawai…”a rite of passage”.

The rest of the day was spent quietly touring the surrounding villages and farms processing all I had seen and learned.  We sat and overlooked all of Candidasa and the breathtaking coast.

It was a day for embracing and breathing in the fascinating culture and the unique magic of the space, and again I was touched by the privilege to be here.