Little is written about Bali’s western Jembrana Regency, a rugged strip of land caught between wild, empty beaches and the uninhabited peaks of the Bali Barat National Park. Trucks and express buses travelling to and from Java traverse its coastal highway, but little traffic actually stops. And therein lies its charm. While resort development has spread westward towards Tanah Lot, the coast thereafter remains virtually untouched. It seems just a matter of time before the development potential here is realised, with many excellent sites ready for low key development. Until then however visitors to this part of the island have the place virtually to themselves and are able to indulge in some of the island’s less-seen cultural attractions such as the bull races of Jembrana.
Jembrana’s relative isolation from the rest of the island has lent it a distinct cultural identity. Closer to Java than to the cultural heartland of Bali. Jembrana is home to a large Muslim community whose mosques rub shoulders with Hindu temples along the roadside. The jegog bamboo orchestra originated in these parts, as did a number of discreet dance forms. Here, too, in and around the district capital of Negara, is the stomping ground of Bali’s only buffalo racing fraternity.
The origins of mekepung, or water-buffalo racing. are unrecorded: it is assumed the sport began as nothing more than rivalry between local farmers. The spirit of friendly competition survives today. although with some serious stakes. Local government and business now sponsor three annual competitions - August’s Bupati Cup. September’s Perancak Cup and 0ctobefs climatic Gubernur Cup - events aimed at attracting tourists to this overlooked corner of Bali. Still, the regular weekly races continue as they have for generations, rodeo-like carnivals leavened with pomp and ceremony.
To ,witness this ancient sport, a very early start is required. Event begin after sunrise every Sunday, and by mid-day it’s all over.
Two hours along the trans-Bali highway from Denpasar. just before Negara, a huge hand-painted sign pointed me down a dusty lane. Within seconds Inew I had come to the right place. The road led straight into a procession of man and beast, all decked out in their Sunday best. In a slow and orderly line, up to 100 muscle-bound water-buffaloes, adorned with coiauful silk flags, ribbons and jangling belis, were making their leisurely way to the starting line.
The animals were yoked in pairs to rickety two wheel chariots. Betwenn their heads flew team colours on flags depicting any one of Bali’s many monkey spirits. These symbols represent strength, speed and agility, all essential qualities for both buffalo and driver.
THIS SPECTACLE WAS REPEATED OVER AND OVER MAKING EVEN THE CHARIOT SCENE IN “BEN HUR” LOOK LIKE A SECOND RATE PRODUCTION
At first sight, the chariots - gaily painted carts presumably adapted from the traditional plough - looked suspiciously frail and unsafe, constructed as they were from lengths of wood, rope and bamboo. I was soon to find out, however, that the flexibility inherent in this design is essential for surviving Negara’s bumpy race-track. The chariots were to endure some serious pounding that morning.
The drivers led their plodding animals through an ever-growing throng of onlookers - hundreds of people already enjoying their day at the races. As a steady murmur emanated from the excited crowd, I realised that the spectators were mostly men and boys. This was definitely a manly spectacle, and owners paraded their animals with unabashed bravado.
Despite all the bells and ribbons, the water-buffaloes looked impossibly clumsy and meek. Looks have never been more deceiving. Come race time, they would be transformed into galloping juggernauts, capable of tremendous speed and endurance.
Not just any water buffalo can be a racer. Young potentials are earmarked early as being small and stocky powerhouses. Once a bull has been chosen as a racer, it receives endless doting attention from its owner. It does not work the fields like its less fortunate brothers and sisters, but lives instead in relative luxury. Potential champions are housed separately in comfortable lodgings and fed a special protein diet full of eggy yolks to enhance their racing performance.
On reaching a large municipal sports field, metres from the beach, the contestants fought for any available shade from the heat of the early morning sun. Owners petted their bulls, stroking their heads and brushing their hides. Drivers also are trained from an early age and I watched as small boys helped their fathers prepare for the race.
The atmosphere seemed a little tense, and although everyone was having fun, there was a noticeable undercurrent of nervous energy. Bets were being made secretly and rivals were busy inspecting the competition, an important weekly social event preceding large monthly competitions.
The racetrack was a giant “U” about 800 metres long, and wide enough for chariots to overtake each other. As the time grew nearer, spectators gathered on a small make-shift terrace, their tension becoming increasingly audible. Finally, two pairs of bulls were led to the starting line. A referee lined them up. Satisfied, he shrieked a quick count of “Satu! dua! tiga!”, and they were off. Cheers and whoops went up as the on-lookers jumped to their feet. The buffaloes accelerated at an alarming rate and thundered down the track, chariots and drivers bouncing behind them. As they disappeared into the distance, their progress was visible still from the trail of dust left in their wake.
For the drivers, who spend most of the race in a kneeling position, the most difficult challenge is turning. Once buffaloes start running in a straight line, they are under-standably difficult to manoeuvre. It takes great strength and skill to follow the track’s “U” shape at such high speeds. Overturned chariots and runaway bulls are not uncommon.
As with most races, the real excitement of a mekepung comes at the finish. On the home stretch, the drivers, with amazing balance and agility, used the reigns to pull themselves to their feet, all the time shouting encouragement (or obcenities, for all I knew!) to their stampeding buffaloes. Between the pounding of hooves and the hysterics of the crowd, the pandemonium was incredible. Finally, a pair of roan bulls crashed across the finish line, their driver too busy reigning in the beasts to savour his triumph.
For the next hour, this spectacle was repeated over and over until all teams had run the gauntlet, making even the chariot scene in “Ben Hur” look like a second rate production.
Competitors gathered at the end of the first round to carry out hurried repairs. The scene was like a medieval pit stop, with people running around frantically to retrieve debris from the circuit. The rutted track had taken its toll. Torn banners, broken yokes and wheels were all tied back into place and the bulls tightly secured for the second leg of the race, which would be run in the opposite direction of the first. The pairings, however, would be the same, giving the defeated a chance for reprisal.
The morning ended as suddenly as it had began. After the races, the buffaloes and their riders returned to their villages, victors and vanquished alike, some wandering in single file along the road, others taking a short cut along the beach. Within minutes the playing field was empty again, silent but for the roar of the nearby surf.
- Suggestion: Book your accomodation in advance, even rooms at a youth hostel were almost impossible to get.
As the city and the park moved into the twentieth century, the lower reservoir was drained and turned into the Great Lawn. The park became less and less an elite oasis and escape, and was gradually shaped more and more by the needs of the growing population of New York City. Its uses evolved and expanded; by the middle of the century, ball clubs were allowed to play in the park, and the “Please Keep of the Grass” signs which had dotted the lush meadows of the park were a thing of the past.Read More…
