KUTA, Indonesia — The resort island of Bali fell quiet over the weekend as the authorities shut down its airport and seaports, and switched off all radio and television transmissions. Its streets, normally jammed with tourists, were deserted as security guards patrolled the island, ensuring that locals and foreigners alike stayed indoors, and even exhorting them to turn off their lights.
The authorities closed down Bali not to stamp down on political unrest, but to mark the annual Day of Silence, a Balinese Hindu holiday called Nyepi that ushers in the New Year. For a full 24 hours starting at 6 a.m. Saturday, Balinese Hindus were urged to remain silent and engage in introspection. Bali, which first became known as a destination among hippies from the West a couple of generations ago, tuned in and dropped out, at least for the day.
“Have a quiet time! Enjoy the silent day!” Wayan Sutama, 51, a traditional security guard called a pecalang, called out to a group of potentially unquiet Australians gathered on a terrace overlooking the beach here. With a half-wary smile, he flashed them a thumbs-up.
In Kuta, a rowdy beach resort on the southern tip of the island, only roosters and pigeons, usually drowned out by the din, could be heard Saturday. The pecalang peered down side streets in search of transgressors but found only other pecalang looking back, or the occasional stray cat.
As the last redoubt of Hinduism in Indonesia, the nation with the world’s largest Muslim population, the island of Bali has been attracting increasing numbers of outsiders in recent years, thanks to its booming tourism industry. While Hollywood romanticized Bali in the recent movie “Eat Pray Love,” Indonesians, mostly Muslims from the islands of Java and Sumatra, have been gravitating here looking for jobs. The tension between local tradition and outside forces is perhaps at its most intense in Kuta, where Islamic extremists bombed a nightclub in 2002, killing 202 people, and bombed three restaurants in 2005, killing more than 20 people.
In reaction, officials in Bali have been reinforcing local customs, especially those of Nyepi. Three years ago, they began sealing off Bali from the rest of Indonesia for 24 hours after tour organizers were caught smuggling in tourists on the Day of Silence as part of “Nyepi packages.” At the same time, the authorities banned radio and television and, last year, extended the ban to all satellite transmissions.
“The lesson from the Bali bombings was to return to our traditions and not be too influenced by outsiders,” Mr. Sutama said Saturday. He and another pecalang, Nengah Renda, 51, spoke as they faced a memorial for the bombing victims on Kuta’s main commercial strip; behind them, a lingerie shop called 69Slam featured an image of a woman with a man on all fours attached to a dog leash.
The day before, in one of the many local temples squeezed between shops in Kuta, the residents of a neighborhood called Pande Mas had been putting the final touches on their ogoh-ogohs, effigies 20 feet tall representing evil spirits that would be burned later. “After chasing away the evil spirits, we have Nyepi to purify our minds, to reflect on what we did in the past year and to engage in introspection,” said Made Mastra, 52, the neighborhood chief. “Then we will be clean to enter the new year.”
Neighborhood boys, who can often be seen rubbing shoulders on Kuta’s streets with Australian, Asian and European tourists, were required to make their own ogoh-ogohs. On Saturday, a group of boys, led by Wayan Putra Setiaman, 14, said they would obediently stay home, not daring to step outside lest they be caught by the pecalang.
They would not be allowed to use their television sets.
“But we can send SMSs to our friends as long as we’re quiet?” he said, zeroing in on a subject under debate among the pecalang.
How about video games?
“Yes,” he said.
“No!” said another boy, Wayan Wima Putra, 10, said, tapping the older boy across the chest.
“No,” the older boy corrected himself, explaining that videogames connected to television sets were forbidden but that portable ones were O.K.
Kuta, a rowdy Bali beach resort, lost its usual din.
“Have a quiet time! Enjoy the silent day!” Wayan Sutama, 51, a traditional security guard called a pecalang, called out to a group of potentially unquiet Australians gathered on a terrace overlooking the beach here. With a half-wary smile, he flashed them a thumbs-up.
In Kuta, a rowdy beach resort on the southern tip of the island, only roosters and pigeons, usually drowned out by the din, could be heard Saturday. The pecalang peered down side streets in search of transgressors but found only other pecalang looking back, or the occasional stray cat.
As the last redoubt of Hinduism in Indonesia, the nation with the world’s largest Muslim population, the island of Bali has been attracting increasing numbers of outsiders in recent years, thanks to its booming tourism industry. While Hollywood romanticized Bali in the recent movie “Eat Pray Love,” Indonesians, mostly Muslims from the islands of Java and Sumatra, have been gravitating here looking for jobs. The tension between local tradition and outside forces is perhaps at its most intense in Kuta, where Islamic extremists bombed a nightclub in 2002, killing 202 people, and bombed three restaurants in 2005, killing more than 20 people.
In reaction, officials in Bali have been reinforcing local customs, especially those of Nyepi. Three years ago, they began sealing off Bali from the rest of Indonesia for 24 hours after tour organizers were caught smuggling in tourists on the Day of Silence as part of “Nyepi packages.” At the same time, the authorities banned radio and television and, last year, extended the ban to all satellite transmissions.
“The lesson from the Bali bombings was to return to our traditions and not be too influenced by outsiders,” Mr. Sutama said Saturday. He and another pecalang, Nengah Renda, 51, spoke as they faced a memorial for the bombing victims on Kuta’s main commercial strip; behind them, a lingerie shop called 69Slam featured an image of a woman with a man on all fours attached to a dog leash.
The day before, in one of the many local temples squeezed between shops in Kuta, the residents of a neighborhood called Pande Mas had been putting the final touches on their ogoh-ogohs, effigies 20 feet tall representing evil spirits that would be burned later. “After chasing away the evil spirits, we have Nyepi to purify our minds, to reflect on what we did in the past year and to engage in introspection,” said Made Mastra, 52, the neighborhood chief. “Then we will be clean to enter the new year.”
Neighborhood boys, who can often be seen rubbing shoulders on Kuta’s streets with Australian, Asian and European tourists, were required to make their own ogoh-ogohs. On Saturday, a group of boys, led by Wayan Putra Setiaman, 14, said they would obediently stay home, not daring to step outside lest they be caught by the pecalang.
They would not be allowed to use their television sets.
“But we can send SMSs to our friends as long as we’re quiet?” he said, zeroing in on a subject under debate among the pecalang.
How about video games?
“Yes,” he said.
“No!” said another boy, Wayan Wima Putra, 10, said, tapping the older boy across the chest.
“No,” the older boy corrected himself, explaining that videogames connected to television sets were forbidden but that portable ones were O.K.
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