Elephants
"Oh my God!" I exclaimed as a trunk wrapped around my arm, yanking me towards the edge of the wall. Maggie burst out laughing as I wriggled my arm free, pulling it in to my side protectively. The elephant’s large brown eyes, encircled in long black lashes, seemed to be assessing Maggie and me. It seemed tired, accustomed to the daily grind of hauling people about the rice fields.
"This is Jimmy," the guide explained to us, smiling. "He is from Sumatra, like me."
My knowledge of Sumatra, Indonesia was limited to what I had read on a Starbuck’s coffee label.
"Oh."
Jimmy ambled toward us, a rickety bench placed on his back. At the urging of the guide, we climbed aboard, closing the flimsy wooden "seatbelt" over our laps. The scene wreaked of tourism, from the elephants adorned in Indonesian headdresses tethered beneath the shade of looming green trees to the gift shop with crudely carved elephants and coffee overlooking a murky pond. But it was something I needed to do. Or was it?
I often refer to things that I am afraid of doing yet know that I should do as "elephants." The expression dates back to my only recorded opportunity to ride an elephant, when I was paralyzed with an inexplicable fear and backed out. I regretted that day ever since. And though the burning feeling of embarrassment that washed over me at the time has since subsided and the story now serves as a reminder and metaphor, I ‘ve always sort of wanted to ride an elephant. Except today, I again had reservations before sitting astride the Sumatran pachyderm, those reservations stemming not from a paralyzing inexplicable childhood fear but rather ethical complications.
Standing on the stone platform and staring into the elephant’s eyes, I wondered, is he properly fed? Cared for? Is he abused? What wages to the guides receive? Although we had researched the elephant tours, and had been assured that the animals and guides were dealt with in a fair manner, the entire experience seemed untrustworthy, contrived.
As Jimmy lumbered through the rice fields, his gait uncomfortably long and unpredictable, Maggie and I thanked ourselves for signing up for the shortest ride possible. The views were lovely - a river winding its way through dense jungle, rice fields boasting delicate blades of green, and an ever present balcony of trees - but I think I would have been content just to feed the elephant, which we did at the end of the "experience". Jimmy extended his trunk, gingerly accepting an apple or carrot from our hands, then placing it into his mouth. His pink nose dilated and closed as it stretched toward us, a page from a children’s book come alive. We laughed and took pictures, as tourists do, documenting a memory and an event.
As you grow and travel, awareness can often turn into a double edged sword. At a younger age, elephants are willing participants in the circus, main characters who love to have children climb aboard their back and enjoy the thrilling experience of sitting atop a magnificent giant, even if just for a moment in time. Youth and inexperience render you blithely unaware of the mechanics and implications of certain situations. I never questioned the animal’s treatment, or our right as humans to subject animals to such a work environment, or captivity in general. As a child, your faith in humanity is unwavering, your personal ethics and naive innocence projected onto the world around you. Of course the circus/zoo/elephant tour workers care about the animal and make sure it is fed and watered and has a happy life. You would make sure of it, so why wouldn’t everyone?
But age and experience changes our faith, and injects an awareness into us that we didn’t hold as children. In a community short on food and shorter on money, animal welfare sits low on the list of priorities, and enforcement in developing nations is severely lacking in virtually every aspect. Needless to say, the unadulterated enjoyment that I would have gotten out of a simple elephant ride as a child was simply not present that day in the Balinese forest. It was a lesson on two levels - to take advantage of the "elephants" in front of me the first time around, and that some "elephants" have simply come and gone, and don’t need to be recreated or sought for a second chance.
I won’t lie; it was cool to see the tricks of elephant training. "Jimmy, smile," our guide instructed, and Jimmy responded by lifting his trunk to the sky and opening his mouth wide. And watching Maggie shriek as she placed an apple into the elephant’s mouth was amusing, to say the least.
After feeding Jimmy all of the apples and carrots in the baskets, Maggie and I chatted with our guide about the working conditions of the Balinese, and the effects of tourism on the economy and job sector. Sitting on our balcony a few hours later, enjoying a cup of Bali copi (the best coffee. ever.) while overlooking our breathtaking view of rice fields, terra cotta roofs and temples, my sheer luck of the draw became ever more present to me.
Despite the ups and downs and minutiae that I can often be bogged down with, I’m a lucky person, to live with such freedom of choice, to benefit each day from my education, to have an abundance health and love in my life. In the Marshall McCluhan-esque figure ground of my life, stationed at the ground level, below my radar of recognition lived rights and privileges people I encounter out here would sacrifice their world for. My simple presence in Bali was an indicator of that personal wealth. Watching the Balinese dutifully offer gratitude each day, formally and ritually and in such an aesthetically beautiful way drove that realization home. I can honestly say it was one of the best vacations of my life.
