The Blossom Collector

                                                                                       In the dark times

                                                                                       Will there also be singing?

                                                                                      Yes, there also will be singing

                                                                                      About the dark times.

                                                                                                                   Berthold Brecht.

These are strange days indeed. 

I awake each morning at exactly 5.33 a.m. This number seems to be the exact time when my day will commence. However, the dawn at this hour is only just beginning; the sun's rays, not quite over the horizon, paint the high, fluffy clouds in the east a delicate shade of pink.

These days my routine never varies; I rise, don a pair of shorts, shuffle to the kitchen, put the kettle on the hob and, once done, I pad barefoot through the soft darkness to the front gate, lift the latch, and leave it slightly ajar.  While returning along the paths and lawns, the kettle's whistling interrupts the early morning silence, which calls like a demented banshee under duress. Beneath my feet is a soft, fragrant carpet of frangipani blossoms that have tumbled from the nine trees that dot the grounds of the villa. 

As is my wont, I gather one or two of these delicate multi-coloured flowers and place them on a saucer to accompany the cup of tea that I will put next to my partner, who is just rousing herself from sleep.

That done, I take a coffee to my preferred seat in the garden and listen for the swish, swish sound that will signal the arrival of someone who has intrigued me for months. 

I have named her ‘The Blossom Collector.’

We met not too long ago as she was collecting Frangipani blossoms in the lanes and driveways that make up our neighbourhood. Given the number of trees in our garden and the arduous task of sweeping up the fallen flowers each morning, I suggest that she perhaps collects the blossoms from our villa. Now, it's become a daily ritual as I listen for the slightly squeaky sound of the front gate and, the first sign I see of her is the tip of her trusty Sapu Lindi, her tool of choice. This ingenious contraption is made up of several stiff dried spines from mature coconut palms. They are tied together and attached to a short handle allowing the user to sweep with one hand. Indonesians on the whole are, a 'nation' of sweepers;  travel anywhere in this vast archipelago, and one will see men, women, and children diligently sweeping the front yards and pavements of their dwellings, using their trusty Sapu Lindi's.

She enters, descends the two steps from the front gate, and looks to where the bounty is most plentiful. My blossom collector is of an undeterminable age ( my guess is perhaps mid 70's) with a body similar in shape to the number 7. Her upper torso is almost parallel to the ground, bent like this, no doubt from decades of working in the rice terraces. We never speak she and I apart from a perfunctory Salamat pagi  (good morning), but like all Balinese, she has a glowing smile revealing teeth that resemble a picket fence buffeted and bent after enduring a ferocious wind. 

Once inside, she shuffles around the garden; her gait is that of someone whose legs have long since ceased to function as they should as she takes tiny steps across the grass. Yet, her actions never change shuffling about sweeping the blossoms into piles before scooping them into a large canvass bag slung across her shoulders. COVID 19 has undoubtedly dragged her away from her traditional village, and perhaps retirement to perform this back-breaking work each and every morning.

So, what does she do with these pretty flowers that have done their time on the trees? 

When her day is done, she will take them home to wherever she lives and evenly spread the blossoms out on a sunny patch of ground to be 'baked' by the tropical sun for three or four days.  During this time, the glorious colours of each blossom will fade and turn a shade of dark brown. Timing is everything during this process as leave them out too long and they will wither and become crisp. The trick is to get the process exactly right so that the dried blossoms retain that essential elixir, the highly prized oil locked into each petal.

At this point, the blooms will be taken to a broker and sold for eventual export to Japan and other perfume manufacturers worldwide.

The current price for 1 kilo of dried Frangipani blossoms goes for  RP. 7000 or about US$ 0.44c! 

The oil distilled from the  Frangipani flower, also known as the Hawaiian Lei flower, has been used by perfumers since the 16th century, given its lush,  rich scent. The blooms may smell like pineapple, ginger, coconut and sometimes gardenias. The flowers bloom during the hottest months, from April to November. In Bali and India, the flower is considered sacred and are an essential part of the offerings used in religious ceremonies.

The expensive perfumes one sees on display in high–end department stores will, in all probability, contain the essence of Frangipani oils blended with the perfumers other 'secret' ingredients. These exotic bottles, carrying the names Gucci, YSL, Calvin Klein and Chanel sold at eye- wateringly, elevated prices.

So, the next time you reach for one of those seductive bottles and later apply the scent, spare a thought for the blossom collector and thousands like her who gather up these exotic blooms for pennies on the dollar just so we can smell a little more exotic at next weeks soiree.

Paul v Walters is the best-selling author of several novels and anthologies of short stories. In addition, he occasionally raises to scribble to several international travel and vox pop journals when he is not cocooned in sloth and procrastination in his house in Bali.

Bali Indonesia August 2021.

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