I Miss the Breeze and the Kite People

When the Gods of solstice blow their breeze toward the equator, kites suddenly appear in the blue sky. Various kinds of many shapes of various colours.

They enliven the skies and horizons, between June and September.

Oh, I miss the breeze and its kites,  I miss the smiling faces of kite people. I miss Bali!

In the pre-covid-19 time, kite people would fill the streets on the windiest days of the year. They call it a ritual, they do it by parade; they make it into a festival

But the covid haunt the sky. Kites become the pandemic victims.

My longing for Bali kites has taken their season into my dream.

During every season, the kite parade;  the roads might be jammed for some giant kites were about to pass. You may be on the island’s main road, moving to a destination or a destiny. Then you find yourself complaining about the traffic jam. Get angry with the kite people?

Anyone is welcome to complain about the congestion. Just prepare the complaints creatively, perhaps one complaint for each kite. For there are many of them out to the streets.

In estimation, an annual festival would gather 600–800 giant kites. Each of these kites would be followed by a flock of kite-lovers from their village of origin. Your complaints would be nicely responded to by smiling faces as the music filled the air.

A kite is always followed by its supporting villagers, that’s the rule of the day of the kite parade, and the kite parade without music is shameful. The special troop for the day would be baleganjur, a traditional marching band.

Do you think it is possible in Berlin or Jakarta, that every kite has its marching band?

Some groups load and transport the giant kites,  of course with its musicians,  in open trucks. Sometimes a gigantic kite body touches tree branches on the roadside. For the kite people,  it’s simple. The music is on, they cut the tree branches, and move forward. Because the day is a day for the kite.

The festival always takes place on the wide stretch of a huge beach.

I close my eyes,  it is my kite FFH-festival from home. I am imagining many giant kites flying up in the air, so colourful. The music troops play their music, their people talk and shout,  but their voices are flown by the howl-hissing breeze and the sound of the waves.

Each kite has its own story.

Kites come from China, that’s a version of a kiting story from British historians, referring to sources in China dating back to 2700 years ago. But a German researcher and kite enthusiast Wolfgang Beick has a different opinion. Mr Beick refers to the existence of kites on cave paintings on the island of Muna, Southeast Celebes. Studies of the paintings reveal an estimation that the paintings are 4000 years old. Much older than the one in China.

Who is right about the origin of the kite? I don’t know.  Maybe it is just another England-German rivalry.

I miss Bali, my friend, and that’s what I care about now.

And I know, the breeze misses their kites, and the beach misses their people. [T]