Seven am on March 26, and there's something horribly wrong here on the island of Bali. There's the melody of morning songbirds—several different songs that make me wish I knew the difference between a ricepaddy sparrow and a chucklebird—and they sound unusually happy. Ecstatic. There's the droning of bees, a slight rustle of wind, but something's wrong---where's the sound of people? That's it, that's what's wrong, try as I might I don't hear the distant drone of traffic, the crackle of radio, the kid across the lane who thinks he's a great singer has shut up for once. No crying babies. No scooters putt-putting down the lane. I peek out the gate. The lane is deserted, no villager sweeping up leaves, no matron dumping plastic in the irrigation stream.

Good God. Everybody's disappeared. The Rapture has happened! The Balinese have been taken, I've been left behind, and THEY AREN'T EVEN CHRISTIAN! MUCH LESS EVANGELICAL CHRISTIANS!

Oh, wait. It's Nyepi. That's a Holy Day. The word means quiet, silence and the day is exactly that, a day of silence, when evil is cleansed from the island. The day falls sometime in March, and marks the end of the rainy season, which is the season of illness, when the Fanged Lord and his minions stalk the land.

On Nyepi, everybody stays indoors. Lights are not supposed to be on, or at least should not be visible from outside. Nobody is allowed out of their homes. No traffic, no business, nothing. Even the airport is shut. I am pretty sure that the island's creatures experience a little bit of dissonance. What, says the songbird, no boy armed with air rifle? What, says the cobra, I can brazenly cross this path? What, says the dog, nobody around to beg food from?

Balinese are supposed to meditate and contemplate. I'm sure many are just sleeping.

Hotel guests are not allowed off properties, their windows are taped with black light.

The silence truly is remarkable. In years past, you used to be able to go and wander around, stroll along the beach, and if a surfer paddle out for a session all to yourself in empty waves, but the Balinese have become far stricter. It's a way of letting all the arrivistes and villa builders and business people and powerful Jakarta overlords and arrogant Westerners know this is still their island.

This poor overdeveloped overstrained island gets a breather. It's a concept that should be applied world wide. For one day a year, people just leaving the earth alone.


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