Most Balinese live in traditional villages outside cities like Denpasar, Ubud and the like. The village itself is a microcosm of life, almost self-sustaining. Buildings and temples are placed in very specific relationships to the mountains and the sea (a kind of feng shui, if you will). Each commune has its temples, its living quarters and its graveyard. Although cremation is de rigueur in Bali, most villagers cannot afford to pay for this rite of passage. It may take a lifetime for the average Balinese to save sufficiently for his own cremation. Although our tour guides did not encourage us to wander off, Chuck and I made our way into one of the very neat and clean bungalows and we were welcomed by young women who were selling their own handmade crafts. I picked up a wonderful wooden sculpture and was glad to part with my rupiahs as they went directly into the pocket of the villager. The rest of the people on the tour were not far behind us and caught on. We also walked into the women's area where the cooking and drying of rice is done. The simplicity of their living quarters is another reminder of our own excesses. One of the women unpretentiously opened the door to her bamboo/rattan sleeping quarters to reveal two perpendicular paper thin mattresses. She took me by the hand to show me her cooking pots that were neatly stacked on a table, on the side of her room. By the way, if you are going to touch anyone in Bali, do it with your right hand, as the left is considered unclean. Also, don't touch anyone on the head.

There is a sense of orderliness in the village, and it pervades the atmosphere. As I held a baby in my arms, to the utter delight of her mother and sisters, I realized the child never cried or whined or displayed a bad temper. It was sheer joy as we were expressing ourselves in gestures and short words of our own vernaculars, and seem to understand one another perfectly.