We had our last rehearsal in the morning, mostly practicing for our performance in the evening. It was unexpectedly emotional knowing that I was practicing those songs on those instruments for the last time. We were let out early, but I hung around a little longer and helped make decorations until Pak Dewa ordered me to go rest.
Left with about five hours before we met again at Çudamani for the final performance, I decided to accomplish some personal goals and set off up the street in search of mangosteen. It turned out that it was not easy to find someone selling mangosteen and I ended up walking all the way to Ubud, at least thirty minutes’ walk. After an ibu who complimented my Indonesian and my batik shirt sold me four of the fruits, I spent some time wandering the streets and using up the rest of my cash on last minute souvenirs before walking back to Pengosekan. It was a nice way to say goodbye to the area which already felt so familiar.
My hard-earned mangosteen
We reconvened at 6. Judy had us, the students and the teachers, sit and share our final thoughts about the program, which were overwhelmingly grateful. We had dinner together and then it was time for our performance. The senior Çudamani group, the village elders, Mr. Kam, and the other foreigners staying with the group were in attendance. After our performance, there was a surprise: birthday cake for Judy. Then it was the senior group’s turn to perform, which was of course amazing. All three pieces they played were incredible not just because of their insanely high level of skill but also because the compositions themselves were so complex and so unlike other pieces I’ve heard. Two of them were dances: one was a topeng (mask) dance featuring a frightening-looking hunter, the other was a reconstructed dance from the 1920s celebrating women achieving more rights.
The performance was over, but the gathering continued. Some of the teachers got out a little grill and cooked sate. They invited me to help fan the coals (my arm got tired very quickly). People were talking, drinking, eating, and singing. I ended up staying until two in the morning hanging out with other students, petting Bo-chan the extremely cute dog, and talking to Pak Dewa, who had no end of stories of his work and travels over the years. I even found out he had played in my hometown, Charleston, in the 90s as part of the Spoleto Festival. Finally, though, we got too tired, said our last thank yous and goodbyes to our teachers, and walked back to our hotel.
Grilling sate; Bo-chan
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