Flower On the Ear

I ended up with a Swedish young family and a Chinese Londoner on the same ticket to Bali. Obviously, our luggage did not land with us. With twelve hours of flying behind, we only wanted to shower by this point. We ask the man at Lost and Found whether it is certain that the luggage would arrive in two hours. His answer does not express any certainty but is accompanied by a large smile. In the two hours and a half that followed, Wayan swiftly ignores my Swedish new comrades (the Chinese lady had left) and only talks to me about his nine-year job, Indonesian politicians' villas and how the Balinese are politer than other Indonesians because they believe in karma. I am the same age as his daughter. He would like her to practice English, and thus invites me the moon ceremony in his village this week. YES.

By Wayan's house, we eat mango and drink supermarket sweetened tea. The traditional Balinese house is made of four splendidly stone carved blocks, including his own temple, where they change the gifts to the gods twice a day. These are made of pink, yellow, purple and red orchids and frangipani from Wayan's garden. Wayan is far from hurrying to the ceremoy in the main temple (wants to be fashionably late, I think). His wife, Ona, is still making the gifts. Wayan's daughter finally takes me to her room to dress me up in a traditional long green leaved skirt, corset and lace purple blouse, which she boldly ties with a crimson bow – she can't go to the temple while on her period. She combs my hair and Wayan gladly says that we're now sisters. She then of course takes some selfies of us.

At the main temple, over two hundred villagers are gathered: the multiple bells-like gamelan instruments' music, golden decorum, colourful costumes and flowers create sheer magic. Everyone is surprised and amused to see me there. The men remain at the back of the temple and jokingly throw papers at each other like school boys. Women and children go to the front. We pray with flowers in our hands. 'What do you pray for, Wayan?', I ask. 'For my family's health, and for the job to go well.' Then he puts the flower on the ear.

The theatre starts. A blond bearded (Dutch?) white character frightens the excited children around. When I ask what he's saying, my neighbours all tell me only that 'he talks about the ceremony' – presumably because they can't translate the speech on the stage into English.

On my flight back, the airport customs officer wears a flower on his ear.