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This, then, was the programme we were waiting to see as we were waiting to see as we sat in the Peliatan courtyard, watching a small boy slowly climbing over an elaborately carved split-gate, placing a lighted candle in every niche. In the foreground, flanked by banners and ceremonial umbrellas, squatted the gamelan orchestra, their instruments gleaming in the glow of kerosene lamps.

The two drummers exchange nods, the hammers are supended in mid-air, then suddenly crash down in unison - to send a shower of crystal notes shimmering and quivering through the velvety night air.

The dancers come - unreal characters; incredibly beautiful costumes - their bodies rigidly controlled, faces masklike, eyes enlarged; their long sensitive fingers curved backwards and fluttering delicately as butterfly. wings stirred by a summer breeze.

The tempo of the music changes. Dance after dance unfolds until, at last, the little metal hammers give a final crash, followed by a tinkling ripple.

The musicians put aside their instruments, scramble up from their mats, collect the various babies clustered behind the orchestra and stroll casually through the gate heading for home.

Another performance of the Peliatan Legong has come to an end.

The Elephant Day Festival

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"I've had it," announced a fellow guest, flopping on a stool at the Campuhan bar and ordering beram barong.

"Steps, and then more steps - and what for? A ha-dful nf dusty old pavilions and a few crumbling statues. See one Balinese temple and you've seen them all."

This, of course, is like saying "See one human and you've seen the lot". Actually, there is something very-human about Balinese temples. For instance, every temple in Bali has its own birthday once a year, and for this occasion it is actually "dressed" in its party clothes - its merus and bales festooned with lengths of freshly laundered white cloth - while in one pavilion a gamelan orchestra plays tinkling melodies. Moreover, night and day, through flooded

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rice paddies, down dusty roads, from every kampong, stream the villagers bearing gifts.

True, it is easy_to make mistakes about temples. Let me tell you of my first visit to one.

1 arrived in Bali just alt. the beginning of a most important festival. On all sides 1 was urged: "You must visit Mother Temple during the Elephant Day Festival."

Intrigued with the name of the Festival, I hired a car and set off. Actually, I would have preferred a motorbike, but the guide took one look at me and advised "At your age - better take car."

So, here 1 was, lolling back in the taxi, listening to gamelan music on the casette and watching mile after mile oil utterly unreal scenery roll past. Until we arrived at Besakih, and there stood Mother Temple, framed against a background of mists and cloud, mul muls flying. ceremonial umbrellas unfurled, her steps and

This, then, was the programme we were waiting to see as we

sat in the Peliatan courtyard, watching a small boy slowly climbing over an elaborately carved split-gate, placing a lighted candle in every niche. In the foreground, flanked by banners and ceremonial umbrellas, squatted the gamelan orchestra, their instruments gleaming in the glow of kerosene lamps.

The two drummers exchange nods, the hammers are supended in mid-air, then suddenly crash down in unison - to send a shower of crystal notes shimmering and quivering through the velvety night air.

The dancers come - unreal characters; incredibly beautiful costumes - their bodies rigidly controlled, faces masklike, eyes enlarged; their long sensitive fingers curved backwards and fluttering delicately as butterfly. wings stirred by a summer breeze.

The tempo of the music changes. Dance after dance unfolds until, at last, the little metal hammers give a final crash, followed by a tinkling ripple.

The musicians put aside their instruments, scramble up from their mats, collect the various babies clustered behind the orchestra and stroll casually through the gate heading for home.

Another performance of the Peliatan Legong has come to an

end.

the Elephant Day Festival

"I've had it," announced a fellow guest, flopping on a stool at the Campuhan bar and ordering beram barong.

"Steps, and then more steps - and what for? A ha-dful nf dusty old pavilions and a few crumbling statues. See one Balinese temple and you've seen them all."

This, of course, is like saying "See one human and you've seen the lot". Actually, there is something very-human about Balinese temples. For instance, every temple in Bali has its own birthday once a year, and for this occasion it is actually "dressed" in its party clothes - its merus and bales festooned with lengths of freshly laundered white cloth - while in one pavilion a gamelan orchestra plays tinkling melodies. Moreover, night and day, through flooded

rice paddies, down dusty roads, from every kampong, stream the villagers bearing gifts.

True, it is easy_to make mistakes about temples. Let me tell you of my first visit to one.

I arrived in Bali just alt. the beginning of a most important festival. On all sides I was urged: "You must visit Mother Temple during the Elephant Day Festival."

Intrigued with the name of the Festival, I hired a car and set off. Actually, I would have preferred a motorbike, but the guide took one look at me and advised "At your age - better take car."

So, here I was, lolling back in the taxi, listening to gamelan music on the casette and watching mile after mile oil utterly unreal scenery roll past. Until we arrived at Besakih, and there stood Mother Temple, framed against a background of mists and cloud, mul muls flying. ceremonial umbrellas unfurled, her steps and