Dancing with dragons

A glimpse into Balinese kite culture. Indonesia.

By Marcin Konkel

June 16^th, 2021

Jun, 2021

While riding a motorbike through the vast rice fields I noticed one of them in the air. Then came another one and in a blink of an eye, I realized the sky was abundant in various patterns and shapes flying high. Since then, I started to watch closely how this spectacle began..

Kites are an important part to Balinese culture. They build communities through competitions and are a prayer to gods asking for abundant crops. Most of all they require dedication and a great team. In competitions when surrounded by hundreds of meters of kite lines lying around it's easy for things to go south. It's a spectacle that I haven't seen anywhere else which involves the wind and water.

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Preparations took weeks. They involved sawing, carpentry, design, and knowledge of the regional traditions. The works were done in courtyards, garages, or sometimes, in the fields. Then came the iterative testing and tweaking. The winds were strong creating great opportunities for try-outs. The island soon bloomed with man-made birds flying high in the sky. The young and old were united in a common endeavour to prepare for the challenge ahead. Days and weeks have passed until, finally, it came.

Suddenly, I found myself among locals in the middle of the action. The almost invisible lines were everywhere, being held tight by dozens of locals spread out on the beach. It was to avoid confusion and increase the chances of success. The tension in the air could be felt by the passerby's on the wet sand as well as hundreds of meters away. At the same time, the sea was becoming rougher, flooding the area with water from the Indian Ocean. The men and women gathered in teams were standing patiently waiting for the signal. Nobody knew exactly when it would come. Everyone expected seconds, maybe minutes but definitely not more.

The waves came crashing on the shore when the sound broke through the vast flat space filled with waiting and anxiety. The (un)choreographed dance with the powers of nature trying to tame the untameable started. Every head suddenly turned to the sky with admiration. The dragons rose to the air.

There was screaming and running. Rather decisive and strategic than random. At times people clashed with one another in a hectic attempt to win. Trying to control what's happening in the skies with rushing sea is hard by itself not to mention being mindful of other people around. Spectators sitting comfortably on the single green isle somewhere in the corner of the beach watched passionately. Experts on the topic judged and kept the score on the ground with the teams. The participants knew that what counted were results, not a mere show for the satisfaction of the local community. Yet, it was much more than that. It was a ritual, something that you did with engagement and dignity.

The slayers were getting challenged by the incoming waves. Some have fallen and brought down with them their flying creatures. The sky was in constant movement dotted with colourful objects. As if it wanting to tell a story like the ones the elderly tell to their children from generation to generation. The man-made birds all had names - Bebeans, Pecukans and Janggans. The first two were producing sounds that one could not hear anywhere else as if trying to communicate an important message. That only added to the tale being told on the sky canvas. The last ones were the most magnificent, both in size and the fiery looks coupled with long tails.

In this dance, it was not about who brought down which one first. It was about perseverance and coordination. It was about how long and in what style did the dance last. The performances with Bebeans and Pecukans were intervowen with sessions where the sky was full of dragons flowing high in the act of the utmost freedom. They looked majestically on blue heavens brushed with clouds. Janggans' tails moved on the wind as if being there to be admired in slow-motion.

Nothing lasts forever though. Nothing is in perpetual, never-ending motion. The time has come when the last dragons came down. The water settled. The black magnetic sand looked like a painting of a furious and hurried artist wanting to produce a battle scene. The emotions faded, the fight was over. The sand would soon be levelled by the sea-water as if nothing happened. The dragons were held high with pride. This was the tradition of the island. It was here before them and will outlast their children. The ritual stopped. I remained in awe.