Bali's wide variety of attractions, the physical beauty of the island, and the year-round pleasant climate make Bali a place regarded by many visitors as the "Ultimate Island".
The friendly people and the absence of any serious criminal activities guarantee visitors a totally relaxing stay – which is a very pleasant surprise for guests who repeatedly felt threatened in Barbados, Jamaica, and other "dream islands" in the Caribbean.
Travel Alert: Following a number of deaths resulting from the consumption of local arak contaminated with methanol, travellers to Bali are advised to only drink liquor from labelled bottles.
Bali may be small in size – you can drive around the entire coast in one long day – but its prominence as a destination is huge, and rightfully so. Ask travellers what Bali means to them and you’ll get as many answers as there are flowers on a frangipani tree. Virescent rice terraces, pulse-pounding surf, enchanting temple ceremonies, mesmerising dance performances and ribbons of beaches are just some of the images people cherish.
Small obviously doesn’t mean limited. The manic whirl of Kuta segues into the luxury of Seminyak. The artistic swirl of Ubud is a counterpoint to misty treks amid the volcanoes. Mellow beach towns like Amed, Lovina and Pemuteran can be found right round the coast and just offshore is the laid-back idyll of Nusa Lembongan.
As you stumble upon the exquisite little offerings left all over the island that materialise as if by magic, you’ll see that the tiny tapestry of colours and textures is a metaphor for Bali itself.
And those are just some of the more obvious qualities. A visit to Bali means that you are in the most visitor-friendly island of Indonesia. There are pleasures of the body, whether a massage on the beach or a hedonistic interlude in a sybaritic spa. Shopping that will put ‘extra bag’ at the top of your list. Food and drink ranging from the freshest local cuisine bursting with the flavours of the markets to food from around the globe, often prepared by chefs and served in restaurants that are world class. From a cold Bintang at sunset to an epic night clubbing in Kuta, your social whirl is limited only by your own fortitude.
PLACES in BALI
Introducing Amed & the Far East Coast
This once-remote stretch of coast, from Amed to Bali’s far eastern tip, has reached that nefarious critical mass where it becomes a destination just because of its size. Yet unlike some other places on the Bali coast, it is holding onto the charms that drove the development in the first place.
The mostly arid coastline has superb views across to Lombok and behind to Gunung Agung. Hotels, restaurants, dive operators and other facilities serve visitors who come to enjoy the fine scenery, the relaxed atmosphere and the excellent diving and snorkelling.
Amed itself has no standard tourist centre but is instead a series of small villages in scalloped inlets. It’s the perfect hideaway if you want to simply stay put and never leave your village.
INTRODUCTION TO BALI, INDONESIA
WHERE IS BALI?
The island of Bali is part of the Republic of Indonesia and is located 8 to 9 degrees south of the equator between Java in the West and Lombok and the rest of the Lesser Sunda Islands (Sumbawa, Flores, Sumba and Timor) in the East. Flying time to Jakarta is about 1.5 hours, to Singapore and Perth (Australia) 2.5 and 3 hours, to Hong Kong about 4.5 hours, and to Sydney/Melbourne about 5.5 to 6 hours.GEOGRAPHY:
The island of Bali has an area of only 5,632 square kilometers (2,175 square miles) and measures just 55 miles (90 kilometers) along the north-south axis and less than about 90 miles (140 kilometers) from East to West. Because of this it's no problem to explore the island on day tours. You can go wherever you want on the island and return to your hotel or villa in the evening.Located only two kilometers east of Jawa, Bali's climate, flora and fauna are quite similar to its much larger neighbour. The island is famous for its beautiful landscape. A chain of six volcanoes, between 1,350 meters and 3,014 meters high, stretches from west to east. There are lush tropical forests, pristine crater lakes, fast flowing rivers and deep ravines, picturesque rice terraces, and fertile vegetable and fruit gardens. The beaches in the South consist of white sand, beaches in other parts of the island are covered with gray or black volcanic sand.
FLORA:
The wide variety of tropical plants is surprising. You'll see huge banyan trees in villages and temple grounds, tamarind trees in the North, clove trees in the highlands, acacia trees, flame trees, and mangroves in the South. In Bali grow a dozen species of coconut palms and even more varieties of bamboo.And there are flowers, flowers everywhere. You'll see (and smell the fragrance of) hibiscus, bougainvillea, jasmine, and water lilies. Magnolia, frangipani, and a variety of orchids are found in many front yards and gardens, along roads, and in temple grounds. Flowers are also used as decorations in temples, on statues, as offerings for the gods, and during prayers. Dancers wear blossoms in their crowns, and even the flower behind the ear of your waitress seems natural in Bali.
FAUNA:
Elephants and tigers don't exist any more in Bali since early this century. Wildlife, however, includes various species of monkeys, civets, barking deer and mouse deer, and 300 species of birds including wild fowl, dollar birds, blue kingfishers, sea eagles, sandpipers, white herons and egrets, cuckoos, wood swallows, sparrows, and starlings. You can watch schools of dolphins near Lovina, Candi Dasa, and Padangbai. Divers will see many colorful coral fish and small reef fish, moray eels, and plankton eating whale sharks as well as crustaceans, sponges, and colorful coral along the east coast and around Menjangan Island near Gilimanuk.CLIMATE:
You can expect pleasant day temperatures between 20 to 33 degrees Celsius or 68 to 93 degrees Fahrenheit year-round. From December to March, the West monsoon can bring heavy showers and high humidity, but usually days are sunny and the rains start during the night and pass quickly. From June to September the humidity is low, and it can be quite cool in the evenings. During this time of the year, you'll have hardly any rain in the coastal areas.Even when it rains in most parts of Bali you can often enjoy sunny days on the "Bukit", the hill south of Jimbaran Beach. On the other hand, in Ubud and the mountains you must expect cloudy skies and showers throughout the year (this is why the international weather reports for "Denpasar" or "Bali" mention showers and rain storms during all times of the year). In higher regions such as in Bedugul or Kintamani you'll also need either a sweater or jacket after the sun sets.
POPULATION:
Bali's population has grown to over 3 million people the overwhelming majority of which are Hindus. However, the number of Muslims is steadily increasing through immigration of people from Java, Lombok and other areas of Indonesia who seek work in Bali.Most people live in the coastal areas in the South, and the island's largest town and administrative center is fast growing Denpasar with a population of now over 370,000. The villages between the town of Ubud and Denpasar, Kuta (including Jimbaran, Tuban, and Legian, Seminyak, Basangkasa, etc), Sanur, and Nusa Dua are spreading rapidly in all directions, and before long the whole area from Ubud in the North to Sanur in the East, Berawa/Canggu in the West, and Nusa Dua in the South will be urbanized.
ECONOMY:
This southern part of Bali is where most jobs are to be found, either in the hotel and tourist industry, the textile and garment industry, and in many small scale and home industries producing handicrafts and souvenirs. Textiles, garments, and handicrafts have become the backbone of Bali's economy providing 300,000 jobs, and exports have been increasing by around 15% per year to over US$400 million. Textiles and garments contribute about 45%, and wood products including statues, furniture and other handicrafts 22% to the province's total income from exports. Silver work is ranked third (4.65%) with 5,000 workers employed. Main buyers are the US and Europe with 38% each, and Japan with 9%.Important agricultural products besides rice are tea, coffee, tobacco, cacao, copra, vanilla, soy beans, chilies, fruit, and vegetable (there are now even vineyards near the northwest coast). Bali's fishing industry and seaweed farming provide other products which are important exports.
The new free-trade regulations will create some problems for Bali's exporters as they do not allow to employ children. Most children here work for their parents, and this is part of the process of acquiring professional skills and kind of an informal education which has been very important in the Balinese society for centuries.
WHAT MAKES BALI SO SPECIAL:
There is the combination of the friendly people, the natural attractions, the great variety of things to see and do, the year-round pleasant climate, and the absence of security problems. And then there is Bali's special "magic", which is difficult to explain.As soon as you step off the plane you might sense the difference. In the villages you'll notice the quietness and wisdom in old people's faces, and the interest and respect in the young's. Old men sit at the road side caressing their fighting cocks. Beautifully dressed women walk proudly through rice fields and forests carrying offerings on their heads to the next temple. There is the smell of flowers, and in the distance you hear the sound of gamelan music.
Gods and spirits have been an important part of Bali's daily life for hundreds of years. Gunung Agung – Bali's holy mountain – is internationally regarded as one of the eight "Chakra" points of the world. This may be more than an coincident. Watch out, the moment you feel the magic of this island, you're addicted for the rest of your life.
To quote the "BALI travel FORUM" contributor "Si Badak" who posted the following message on September 4th, 2000:
"The intricate patterns of Batik. A walk on the beach at low tide,near where a stream flows into the ocean at, for instance, the bottom of Jl. 66 in Seminyak, will show you where some ideas originate. Because of different coloured minerals in the sand, swirling patterns are intermingled by the action of the tide meeting the out-flowing stream very reminiscent of Batik design. For many years it was forbidden to depict human or animal forms so that people had to look to other natural forms for ideas. It would be good to hear on this from the real experts.
Shining delight upon the faces of newly arrived visitors, "baru datang" to local people, as they forge ahead into the great unknown that is Bali. Confronted by a sea of golden faces, the visiting children are the first to smile and reap emotional profit as they are cosseted and cuddled by every Balinese woman or man they meet : sale or no sale, children are all adored as spirits newly returned from the after-life. Giving a happy smile in the direction of Balinese children is a very rewarding pass-time also ; the proud Mum or Dad are only too willing to stop for a chat, even without a language in common !
Boys and girls who are there to Party, Party, Party ! These are no different to the Party Animals to be met on the Costa Brava, in Baja California, at Blackpool, Bondi or anywhere people go for a good time. Doesn't matter which nationality, although loud they are seldom obnoxious unless you attempt to impose your ides of decorum upon them. A smile and a snippet of badinage works well. Even WE were young ! Do you remember ?
An erect old lady on her 1940s bicycle, pedalling through traffic while carrying 1000 eggs, in cartons 60cm square, balanced precariously we think, upon her head of old, honorable grey. Thoughts of very large omelets pass through tourists' minds but seldom has one of these ladies of remarkable poise been seen to provide entertainment by falling over. Carrying heavy buckets of water on their heads, from an early age, has given them a balance and strength to be envied by olympic gymnasts.
Pairs of men on motor-bikes who deliver newly made, wooden beds on their heads and shoulders from town to country. Sometimes they can be seen carrying as many as three mattresses in the same way, or even a bundle of pillows larger than themselves, buffeted by the slip-stream of passing trucks : the man on the pillion is responsible for load security while the driver controls the bike and attempts to keep them both steady. One wonders if this merchandise gets tested along the way, maybe at about 2pm ?
The "8 Ps" are not often in evidence ON this blessed isle, i.e. "proper prior planning & preparation prevents pathetically poor performance". How many more time are we to see the streets of Kuta being excavated for the installation of yet another public utility ? To date we have had : drains at roadside dug and covered up, asphalted a week or two later : footpaths to be paved and raised above drains : excavations for telephone lines followed 6 months later by excavations for more cabling and each time asphalting carried out when the pot-holes have been allowed to mature to their full, axle-shattering width and depth : oops ! Then ? "The drains are not deep / wide enough, let's do it all again !" Town planning ?
Early morning on the beach at Legian towards Seminyak. A light breeze wafts aromas of the morning's rice to the fisherman, sarung and basket tucked up near his waist, casting his net into the surf in the hope of some extra food for his family. Old ladies and gentlemen appear for a bath, cautiously dipping into the water, fully clothed, at its shallowest. Tourist joggers and power-walkers come thundering sweatily along, ( to the amusement of locals from a less punishing lifestyle), to be joined by a few enthusiastic dogs, barking happily, who add to the fun by companionably running between their legs.
Gunung Agung can be seen raising his mighty head above his vassal clouds to see what his subjects are up to. Having made his ritual inspection he draws his court around him and, usually, hides for the rest of the day: he doesn't go away, the Balinese people know he is still there, unseen but all-seeing as he ponders upon the doings of everybody, even the stupid tourists!"
TOURISM to Bali began in the early 1920s, when the Royal Dutch Steam Packet Company added the island to its itinerary. By 1930 there were about a hundred visitors a year; a decade later the figure was 250. The ships stopped off the north coast, where passengers were ferried to shore first aboard tenders and then on the backs of Balinese men. Most visitors would traverse the island by motor car to the capital city of Denpasar, in the south, where they stayed at the luxurious Bali Hotel, opened in 1927.
Discriminating travelers, however, headed for the green hills of the interior, to visit the princedom of Ubud. There was no hotel in Ubud: travelers stayed in the bungalows that Prince Gde Agung Sukawati had built for the circle of artists he patronized. What was surely the most exotic art colony in the world at that time began with the arrival of Walter Spies, a Moscow-born German artist and musician who came to Bali for a visit in 1927 and stayed there until the Second World War, when he became a prisoner of war in the Dutch-controlled East Indies. In Ubud he encountered a culture as graceful and refined as any in the world, where everyone, it seemed, was an artist of one sort or another and child dancers in mystic trances enacted the fables of the Hindu classic Ramayana to the exuberant, clangorous accompaniment of a gamelan.
One early visitor to Ubud, Noel Coward, had his traveling companion, Charlie Chaplin, in mind when he wrote this bit of doggerel verse:
As I said this morning to Charlie,Today Bali welcomes thousands of foreign visitors every day. After the political upheavals in other parts of Indonesia last year, tourism dropped off temporarily, but Australians and Japanese, who constitute about half the island's visitors, are back in throngs. They know that regardless of what's going on in Jakarta and elsewhere, Bali remains as safe as can be: even as Indonesia's political and economic future remains cloudy, the Balinese, famous throughout the archipelago for their hospitable, easygoing ways, have maintained their wonted serenity.
There is far too much music in Bali.
And although as a place it's entrancing,
There is also a thought too much dancing.
It appears that each Balinese native
From the womb to the tomb is creative,
And although the results are quite clever,
There is too much artistic endeavor.
Most tourists here are young travelers on a budget, who have turned the beaches south of Denpasar into a hell of traffic jams, raucous pubs, peddlers – and, yes, pickpockets and prostitutes. At the opposite end of the tourism spectrum are those who stay at one of Bali's many luxury resorts, where it's possible to spend as much as $1,000 a night to stay in a walled villa, and be served champagne and foie gras beside one's own private swimming pool. Yet today, just as in the days of the Royal Dutch Steam Packet Company, discriminating travelers – those who may not see the need to travel so far from home for loud bars or French food – come to Ubud, the heart of Bali.
I won't mislead you: Ubud is anything but undiscovered. On any afternoon most of the faces on its main streets are foreign, and most of the Balinese you meet are offering transport or other services (though, fortunately, the scene is far more subdued here than in the south). Yet it's still possible for even the lazy traveler – and Bali will have failed you if you don't soon lapse into a tranquil languor – to stray from the touristic path and discover the enchanted place that seduced Walter Spies and the glittery visitors who passed through.
THERE'S no better place to begin than the Hotel Tjampuhan (phone 011-62-361-975369, fax 975137), built on the site of Walter Spies's home. The hotel, which is owned by the sons of Prince Sukawati, is a funny old place. Much of the romance of the bamboo- and teak-finished rooms derives from inadequate lighting. (Bali, generally speaking, is a low-wattage island.) The service is a little erratic too: there was no stationery in my room, so I called the front desk to ask for some. Ten minutes later a man appeared at my door under a dripping umbrella, holding two sheets of writing paper as limp as boiled cabbage leaves.
Never mind – the site is exquisite. Tjampuhan, the old-fashioned spelling of Campuan, means "place where two rivers meet." The hotel's bungalows and guest rooms are arrayed along a steep ravine overlooking a turbulent river that rushes between rocky crags to meet its mate. Winding paths lead through the hotel's lush, sprawling garden, past lily ponds and shrines. On the opposite bank, perched just below terraced rice fields, is the ancient temple where the royal family of Ubud worships and performs its rituals. (Officially, there's no royalty in Indonesia now, but Bali doesn't pay much attention to rules).
I find that jet lag often conduces to discovery. On the first morning of my most recent visit to Ubud I awoke before dawn. Knowing that it would be impossible to go back to sleep, I dressed and strayed out into the streaky gray mist for a wander. I met Wayan, the "room boy," a lithe, quick-eyed man in his mid-thirties who had introduced himself the night before, when I checked in. He was in the garden gathering hibiscus flowers, which would be artfully tucked behind the ears of sculptured deities or scattered across bed sheets for romantic effect. I asked him how to get to the river, and he immediately set down his basket and led the way, along hairpin pebble pathways and then down a crude wooden staircase. It had rained during the night, so the river dashed ferociously through the gap. A forty-foot waterfall splashed noisily at the first bend in the river.
Wayan didn't stop there. He skipped across the water on a broad plank bridge and led the way up a steep dirt path to the crest of the ridge opposite the hotel. Here he pointed down a narrow lane lined with bamboo, and said, "You can walk." I thanked him and did as he suggested. Rice fields were on one side of the lane, the roaring river gorge on the other. A mother duck and her brood fell in behind me, gently gabbling to one another as they followed me to the end of the fields. Eventually I made my way past the royal temple to an old Dutch suspension bridge, just down the main road from the Hotel Tjampuhan.
No place in the world could be greener than Ubud. Everything here is green: the young rice fields glow a fluorescent shade of emerald; the thick curtains of foliage appear all the greener for the scarlet accents of ginger and hibiscus. Things that began another color – brick walls or pebble walkways – soon become green with shaggy moss. Even the air has a pale-green cast: the moisture suspended in it picks up the pervasive glow of the verdure. The Balinese have long called their island "the morning of the world." It's an extravagant phrase, but that morning I had an inkling of what they were talking about.
Another verbal extravagance, beloved of travel writers whose descriptive powers have deserted them, is the word "magical"; usually it's just hyperbole for "especially pretty." Yet there really is magic in Ubud. When Balinese people lose something, they consult a balian, a benign sort of sorcerer, who tells them where to find it. Balians can interpret dreams, cure sickness, go into trances, and speak in the voices of ancestors. And magic, in the form of the island's unique religion, is at the core of Bali's arts. A blend of Hinduism and nature worship, the Balinese religion is an ecstatic union of the spiritual and the aesthetic, reminiscent of the religion of ancient Greece. Bali's famous trance dances, for example, suggest the rites of Bacchus: in one of the sanghyang dances two girls who are supposedly untrained in the dance's intricate choreography go into a trance and, eyes firmly shut, move in perfect unison. The dance is named after the divine spirit that inhabits them.
WHEN Walter Spies arrived in Bali, he found a culture completely devoted to art, yet to which the notion of art for art's sake was alien. The Balinese have no word for "artist"; painting, carving stone and wood, weaving, playing a musical instrument, and, above all, dancing were just what one did when not fishing or working in the rice fields.
It is an axiom of art history that what used to be known as primitive art had a profound influence on the emergence of modernism in twentieth-century Europe. In Bali, Europe returned the favor: Spies had an uncanny affinity for the Balinese sensibility, and he thoroughly transformed the arts of the island in the fourteen years he lived there. The famous school of painting in Ubud, one of the principal attractions for people from every part of the world, was virtually his invention.
Traditionally the Balinese considered painting to be among the lowest of the arts; such painting as was done before Spies came was comparatively unsophisticated, consisting mainly of astrological calendars and scenes from the wayang, the mythological shadow-puppet show popular throughout the archipelago. Painters were limited by convention and by the natural pigments, such as bone, soot, and clay, that were available to them.
Spies, later joined by the Dutch artist Rudolf Bonnet, introduced Balinese artists to the wider range of colors of Western painting, and to the variety of effects possible with ready-made brushes and fine-woven canvas. More important, Spies and Bonnet introduced Western techniques, like perspective, and encouraged their students to venture beyond the traditional mythological subject matter and paint scenes from everyday life. Lest the two be accused of tampering with tradition, it should be pointed out that Balinese art, while formulaic, was never opposed to individual expressiveness; the island's most famous artist, I Gusti Nyoman Lempad, had begun to innovate stylistically before Spies's arrival.
As far as I know, there has never been another case of one person's having such a profound impact on the arts of a foreign culture. The best-known dance of Bali, the kecak, in which a chorus of men lie in a circle, loudly chanting "chak-a-chak-a-chak" as elaborately costumed soloists act out a tale from the Ramayana, was choreographed in its present form by Spies, in 1931. Originally the chorus was much smaller, and performed in a trance, but Spies wanted to create something more dramatic for a film he was working on – Victor Baron von Plessen's Island of Demons, an early effort to capture the romance of Bali and convey it abroad.
Ubud in the 1930s was among the most chic bohemian destinations in the world. Chaplin is said to have been disappointed that Balinese girls were not as promiscuous as their bare-breasted condition suggested. Margaret Mead and her lover, Gregory Bateson, got married on a ship steaming toward Bali, where they dropped in on Spies. Ruth Draper visited for a while, no doubt reciting her droll monologues for everyone after dinner. Most flamboyant of all was the heiress Barbara Hutton, who fell violently in love with Spies and dragged him off to Cambodia to see Angkor Wat. With the money she paid him for some paintings, he built her a bungalow and a swimming pool next to his house, but by the time it was finished, she had moved on to Persia. (Guests at the Hotel Tjampuhan may stay in this bungalow; the swimming pool is now a lily pond.)
Spies, however, was sexually inclined in a different way, with disastrous results. The Dutch authorities, scandalized at the general moral laxity of foreigners in Ubud, and as part of a crackdown on homosexuals throughout the colony, arrested Spies on New Year's Eve, 1938, for committing sodomy with a minor. According to his biographer, Hans Rhodius, the Balinese were shocked and puzzled by the arrest, and brought Spies's favorite gamelan to play for him outside the window of his jail cell. The boy's father told the trial judge, "He is our best friend, and it was an honor for my son to be in his company. If both are in agreement, why fuss?"
Spies was released from prison in September of 1939. While war was breaking out in Europe, he threw himself into the study of insects and marine life, turning out some exquisitely observed gouaches of his specimens. After Germany invaded Holland, the following year, all German citizens living in the Dutch East Indies were arrested. Spies, the last German on Bali, was sent to a prison in Sumatra. There he continued painting and organized an orchestra, which he conducted in performances of Rachmaninoff. In 1942, fearful of an imminent Japanese attack, the Dutch authorities put their German captives on a ship for transport to Ceylon. The day after it embarked, the vessel was hit by a Japanese bomb. The Dutch crew abandoned the sinking ship, and left their prisoners to drown, slowly and horribly.
THERE is still too much artistic endeavor in Bali, though the scene is not as lively as it once was. The last great burst of creativity came in the early sixties, again at the instigation of a foreigner. In 1960 a Dutch painter named Arie Smit, who had been living in Bali for four years, was strolling through the countryside near Campuan, and came upon some boys who were drawing in the sand. He was struck by their talent, and invited them to his studio. There he gave them paints and brushes and instructed them in technique but made no suggestions as to color or content, and kept his own richly coloristic, Matisse-influenced paintings out of sight. The results, which became known as the Young Artists movement, were vigorous genre scenes, often broadly humorous, rendered in bright, flat colors with strong contours.
Smit lives in a bungalow at a small hotel next door to the Museum Neka, one of the best museums in Indonesia, where many of his paintings are on display. Now eighty-three, Smit is a big, tall man, with the benevolent, well-shaped head of a Rembrandt prophet. He welcomed the opportunity I provided to talk about old times in Bali. He told me about a Waterman fountain-pen heiress who dressed her servants in gold livery. While Margaret Mead was a guest of Smit's, Buckminster Fuller came for a visit to the island; the two luminaries conceived an instant and intense dislike for each other.
When I asked Smit to characterize the contemporary art scene in Bali, he laughed and said, "Confused." He recommended a young artist named I Gusti Agung Wiranata, who paints in the brooding, dramatic style of Walter Spies. "People criticize him, saying he only copies Spies," Smit said. "But he has succeeded in making better paintings than Spies, because he is Balinese." He told me I would find some of Wiranata's work at the Museum Puri Lukisan, Ubud's other art museum, which was founded in the early fifties by Rudolf Bonnet and Prince Sukawati.
The Puri Lukisan's collection is excellent, with a particularly strong holding of I Gusti Nyoman Lempad's work, but the gardens are so lovely that I could hardly bring myself to go indoors to look at the art. A deep gorge at the entrance is spanned by a bridge, which leads to a brick path winding among a series of lily ponds and bowers. When I arrived, some laborers were clearing the hillside in front of the garden, making terraces to plant rice.
I quickly found a fine Wiranata: next to the entrance of one of the galleries hung a round painting, no more than a foot in diameter, of a paddy field at day's end, the sinuous terraces reflecting the extravagant pastels of a Balinese sunset. The style was undeniably close to Spies's, but with a sense of repose that is lacking in the German's work. On my way out I struck up a conversation with the young woman who worked at the postcard pavilion. I asked her if a curator was about, or someone in charge I could speak to. She called out to an old man working in the rice terrace, ankle-deep in mud. After he had washed off his feet and put on a clean shirt, he came over to meet me.
Pak Muning, as he was called, was indeed a curator. He said that he knew Wiranata, and asked if I would like to meet him. I agreed to come back with a car. We drove to a little village about fifteen miles out of Ubud, and found the artist, a handsome young man in his mid-twenties, dozing on his back porch. He received us affably, and asked his wife to prepare coffee for us. I complimented him on his work, and then asked him what was his response to people who said that he copies Walter Spies. He had a pat answer: "If people say I only copy Walter Spies, I say that's okay. Walter Spies came to copy Bali." His father was an artist, Wiranata said, and his uncle was also an artist. Now he lived with his in-laws, and he complained about it, saying he missed Ubud. "A better place for painting, I think." He showed me his studio, a fluorescent-lit cubicle with a boom box and a collection of American rock tapes.
When I returned to the Hotel Tjampuhan, Wayan was making up my room. He told me that he must say good-bye, because he had to go to a cremation; his brother-in-law, a twenty-two-year-old stone carver, had died the day before, buried in a landslide at his outdoor studio, on the bank of the river. His wife, Wayan's sister, was four months pregnant. When I offered my condolences, he shrugged and said, "It was God's will. Good-bye, sir. Please to have a happy life." He bowed and quietly left the room.
Disconcerted, I ordered a coffee from room service and moved to the balcony to watch night fall. I sipped the sweet, strong brew until I came to the mud at the bottom of the cup. The moon was a pale presence behind mottled clouds; a chill crept into the air. Across the ravine I could just make out the slim shapes of worshippers arriving at the temple, their gold and pink satin sarongs glinting in the green gloom. The silvery, slightly hysterical jangle of the gamelan commenced, accompanied by the trumpeting of frogs and the screech of a gecko, melded by the basso continuo of the river torrent.
"Have a happy life": of course it was just a pleasantry. But, I reflected, a man whose job it was to collect hibiscus flowers at dawn, in a river gorge in Ubud, and who could cope with the tragic death of a twenty-two-year-old relative with such equanimity, might have some idea of what that meant.
Jamie James is a critic and travel writer who lives in New York and Bali. He is the author of The Music of the Spheres: Science and the Natural Order of the Universe (1993) and Pop Art (1996).
Copyright © 1999 by The Atlantic Monthly Company. All rights reserved.
The Atlantic Monthly; August 1999; Ubud, the Heart of Bali - 99.08; Volume 284, No. 2; page 26-30.
THE PARADISE PARADOX
Romantic Westerners once sold Balinese culture to the globe. Now locals wonder if their island is becoming a giant theme park
© By Keith Loveard
BIG MACS IN THE macrobiotic hills of Ubud? West Bali National Park handed over to a timber magnate for eco-tourism? Similar rumors of development doom have been flying on Indonesia's fabled island ever since the 1930s, when it was first marketed to the world as paradise on earth. True or not, the latest whispers making the rounds point to an increasingly gnawing worry. More and more Balinese are asking: Is our home being turned into a giant theme park?
Nothing perhaps has stoked fears more that Bali is being Disneyfied than the 40-story (140-meter) statue of the mythical Garuda bird that sculptor I Nyoman Nuarta is creating across from the international airport. Once it is completed in a couple of years, you can be sure tourist brochures will describe it as "The Largest in the World!"
The Garuda statue symbolizes a growing divide on the island. Some see the big bird as an apt metaphor for modern Bali. Governor Ida Bagus Oka, for example, compares it favorably to the Eiffel Tower in Paris. Others, like environmentalist I Made Suarnatha, see the statue as a crass tourist attraction that will cheapen Bali's heritage and send the message that anything goes. "The people of Bali are shocked by the image this will present," says Suarnatha. "But as with all these projects, developers and officials refuse to discuss it. I am tired of trying to talk when the other side doesn't want to."
A recent history of Bali might well be called The Paradise Paradox. Here we have an Asian culture that was sold to the world by Western romantics, a Hindu island in a mostly Muslim archipelago, a tourist destination that is at once commercial and deeply spiritual. While other famous tropical idylls have succumbed to jet-loads of fun-seekers, Bali culture has proved itself remarkably resilient. Nor have the people utterly lost out to the powerful business elites from the neighboring island of Java. Nonetheless, with the government planning to divide the island into 21 tourist zones, locals and tourists alike are wondering yet again whether Bali's photogenic dances and festivals, beaches and rice terraces can survive intact.
Make no mistake, Bali faces serious environmental problems. In the capital Denpasar, drinking water dwindles to a trickle during the day, owing, say conservationists, to the unquenchable thirst of Nusa Dua, the elite resort. The hotel industry's demand for electricity has pushed forward plans for a controversial geothermal power station at Bedugal, a sacred mountain lake. Nor are the beaches immune to the build-it-and-they-will-come philosophy. Sand dredging off the port of Benoa to enlarge an island for yet more hotels has altered the water currents; they are now eating away at the beaches in the old resort area of Sanur. Such developments are supposed to be accompanied by an environmental impact study guaranteeing that the projects are sustainable. "These studies are no more than procedure," says environmentalist Yuyun Ilham. "It doesn't matter how they implement the project. As long as they have the document, it's fine."
There is no debate about the debacle at Candi Dasa, a development on the east coast. Limestone from offshore reefs was used to build the hotels. Oops. With the reefs ground down, the resort beach was left open to the waves. Rather than see their inns slip into the sea, the owners ordered a series of water-breaks that march along the beach like ragged dinosaur teeth. "That was the Balinese people being stupid," says Oka, referring to the development. He denies any current projects are ecologically unsound. "The people are aware that the culture, the people, the beaches are their natural wealth. There is no way they would destroy their environment, though in some cases they may not understand the effects of what they want to do."
In fact, Balinese talk far less about ruined beaches and feeble water pressure than they do about destruction of their way of life, how their culture is being mass-marketed to the world. The government constantly urges the people to smile and make their traditional ceremonies extra lavish to please the visitors, so much so that many communities have run up hefty debts trying to outdo the neighbors. But while they endure modern rituals thrust upon them by a government eager for foreign exchange, the Balinese, as in other famous vacation spots, have a tendency to blame the tourists. Anak Agung Oka is typical in this regard. Agung, 33, is in charge of the community's adat, traditional laws that cover everything from land ownership to relationships. He lives in a village in Legian, now a northerly extension of the tourist tack of Kuta. When skimpily attired tourists venture into town, Agung feels like telling them "not to kill my tradition."
In 1993, Indonesia's Bakrie group unveiled plans to build a resort and golf course at Tanah Lot. Some locals expressed horror that they would be able to see the complex from the nearby temple, one of the holiest on Bali. In a virtually unprecedented display of disenchantment, Hindu priests organized protests. In the end a compromise was worked out. Bakrie moved the hotel back a few hundred meters, though temple-goers can still spy tourists teeing off.
The small victory has been hailed by activists who see in it the seeds of a revolt against the evils of unplanned tourism that is wrecking the environment and undermining Bali's vaunted culture. But the temple protest may have had less to do with religion than jealousy – namely that outsiders (in this case a Jakartan) were making money at the expense of locals. Long before the resort opened, the path to the holy site was lined with ramshackle shops selling souvenirs to tourists watching the sun set over the Indian Ocean. A double standard? Governor Oka says he asked the same thing. "If this is a protest against outsiders," he asks, "what happens if people outside don't like us?"
The governor has a point. Even Balinese who bemoan the paving of their island acknowledge that they have done handsomely by the planeloads of free-spending tourists. Last year, according to official figures, there were 1.16 million direct arrivals, a big advance on the 738,533 who visited four years earlier. That does not take into account the extra one-million-plus foreigners who don't fly direct, not to mention the weekenders from Java. Whatever the exact figures, Bali's economy is moving far faster than the rest of the country. Balinese proudly buzz around on motorscooters. They rarely have to look far for work. And many are downright enthusiastic about tourism.
Priests happily marry non-Hindus such as Mick Jagger and Jerry Hall for cash. Get-rich-quick artists are willing to overlook the adat laws to sell off ancestral land for big bucks. One Balinese entrepreneur runs two hotels, a restaurant and two discos, where locals and tourists alike pop ecstacy to improve their view of paradise. He is making so much cash, his neighbors speculate that Bali has become a money-laundering hub for drug barons. Balinese are increasingly savvy when it comes to their birthright: most developments are on land that is leased for 30 years. Hence, the hotels, restaurants and homes that smother much of southern Bali will revert to the Balinese.
That has not stopped the griping, of course. Balinese say the Javanese are scooping most of the tourism profits – and that the Jakarta establishment, including the children of President Suharto, are more interested in "ego-tourism" than in prudent investments; so many hotels are being built that room-price wars erupt from time to time at five-star inns. There are also complaints that developers cheat landowners. Those who refuse to sell at low prices risk having their homes demolished by bulldozers; that is what allegedly happened this year at the Pecatu project of Suharto son Hutomo Mandala Putera. All that aside, compared to their neighbors on Lombok, where foreign and Jakarta investors have mostly shoved the Sasak people out of the tourist game, Balinese are doing well.
In 1937, Miguel Covarrubias wrote the seminal work Island of Bali. In it the Mexican author reckoned that the isle was "doomed to disappear under the merciless onslaught of modern commercialism and standardization." Years later, the American anthropologist Margaret Mead came to much the same conclusion. Today's jet-fresh tourists might well, too. In Kuta, confused, sun-burned visitors are hassled by day by sellers of cold drinks, copy watches and sunglasses and by night by touts pushing sex and drugs. Here Japanese and Australian girls can find instant romances with bronzed gigolos. In Ubud, tourists buy batik hangings that are rolled out like so much wallpaper. In fact, if tourists have any interest at all in Balinese culture, it is usually limited to buying mass-market folk art or attending a dance show, often at their hotel. Kids, bored with the thought of visiting yet another temple, want theme parks and water slides, such as the Kuta Water Bom park.
Even well-heeled Balinese would rather hang out at Kuta's Hard Rock Cafe than watch a classical legong dance. "There is a very serious middle class here with money to spend," says Stuart, an Australian who has made a good living from the tourist trade for the past 10 years. "Jakarta has its Taman Mini theme park. So why shouldn't Bali have its own? These are diversions, whether you're talking about parks or prostitutes. It's what comes with money."
And yet, amid the hungry commercial rush of Kuta's strip, each day young Balinese women place floral offerings to the gods in front of every doorway. On the sacred day of Nyepi, the entire island shuts down. On lesser feast days, some devoted to such quaint chores as blessing steel, wood and other materials, processions of brightly clad women and men in their Hindu whites take to the streets, delighting foreign onlookers. Sitting by the lotus pond in his garden, Agung says adat remains a big force in the lives of ordinary folk. "Youngsters might experiment a little with Western lifestyles," he says. "But the sanctions of the community are strong enough that they quickly get pulled back in line. The ritual drum that summons people for ceremonies still has a strong charisma."
In a place where most people will tell you that adat and religion come first in the scale of priorities, followed by family and, only then, business, clearly some kind of culture endures. The problem, says local anthropologist Degung Santikarma, is how to define what it is. "We are asking, 'What is authentic?'" he says. "But no one wants to listen. What we have is something fluid." In the meantime, he dismisses foreigners – "these romantic junkies from the West" – who stay a month or 12 and start telling the Balinese how to rescue their culture.
Of course, it was foreigners who helped to create much of the Bali that the world knows today. Before the colonial period, the Balinese were better known for frequent internecine wars and a thriving slave trade than for an enlightened culture. A handful of foreigners who lived on the island between the two world wars helped shape Bali's reputation as a cultural destination. The places they chose to settle – Kuta, Ubud, Sanur – became the focal nodes of modern tourism. Even as they disseminated images of the so-called last paradise – best exemplified by the bare-breasted Balinese beauty – these early residents encouraged art forms that might well have died out otherwise. "From the 1930s there was the appearance of imitation arts," says Prof. I Made Bandem, head of the Indonesian Institute of Arts at Denpasar. "Ritual forms were turned into mass art and sold to the tourists. This served to preserve them from extinction."
One of the most influential foreign residents was Walter Spies, a German painter and musician. He moved to Ubud, encouraged other artists and writers to settle in Bali, and did much to sow the seeds of artistic development in painting, sculpture and dance. When Ronald Reagan visited Bali in 1986, according to American ethnologist Edward M. Bruner, the then U.S. president was shown a kecak dance performance. The choreographer? None other than Walter Spies, who put together the routine with a Balinese troupe back in the 1930s.
When Made Yudha was growing up, his village in the Legian region was nothing but rice fields. Today they have for the most part been swallowed up by the hotels, lodges, restaurants, bars and shops that thrust for 10 kilometers north from Ngurah Rai airport through Kuta. "Development has been too fast," says Made, 35, who now oversees environmental affairs for the village association. "Maybe the government has handed out too many development licenses."
The governor, of course, believes different. Oka says that the 21 tourist zones are part of a master plan that involved discussions with all the affected communities. Each zone, he vows, will be developed to meet the individual needs of the area. Few Balinese believe it. "The government seems intent on pursuing mass tourism," says Suarnatha. "We could be looking for quality tourism, with lower numbers but more lasting value. Now the Bali government is saying every area of the island has to have a resort development. It's crazy."
Crazy or not, the Balinese are making money out of tourism in a style that their compatriots elsewhere in Indonesia can only envy. The changes continuing to press on the island may not suit romantics, and many Balinese admit they worry about what it will mean for their future. "We are not completely content," the governor acknowledges. "The people of Bali have to be aware that with all the changes we have seen, we now have to make corrections and learn to work efficiently. We know that what we enjoy now is our heritage, and we have to give it back to our children and grandchildren in a form they too can enjoy and use."
For the past century, Bali has endured dramatic change. But for every tourist who complains that the real Bali is dead, there is another who is impressed by the island's cultural individuality. Motorbikes and cars are now part of the Balinese legacy – and their owners take them to the temple for an annual blessing. In the midst of so much change, ritual lives on. Only the Gods of Bali can know how real it all is.
Keith Loveard is an Asiaweek senior correspondent based in Jakarta
Introducing Candidasa
Tourist development ran amok in Candidasa and now there’s shoulder-to-shoulder development, an unattractive proposition for many. The main drawback is the lack of a beach, which, except for the far eastern stretch, has eroded away as fast as hotels were built. Most of the coastline has breakwaters, so you can’t even walk along it. The main drag is noisy and doesn’t get sea breezes.
Despite all this, Candidasa is much less hectic than South Bali and is often as sleepy as the lotus blossom–filled lagoon. Many find it a fine base to explore eastern Bali and there are some good restaurants. It’s popular with divers and snorkellers, although beach-lovers will prefer Padangbai.
Candidasa is on the main road between Amlapura and South Bali, but there’s no terminal, so hail down bemos (buses probably won’t stop). You’ll need to change in either Padangbai or Semarapura.
Perama (41114; Jl Raya Candidasa; 7am-7pm) is at the western end of the strip. See the boxed text for information on bus fares.
Two or more people can charter a ride to Amed in the far east for about 60, 000Rp each. Ask at the place you’re staying at about vehicle rental.
Introducing Danau Bratan Area
Driving inland from the humidity of southern Bali, you gradually leave the rice terraces behind and ascend into the cool, damp mountain country around Danau Bratan. This lovely area is an excellent place to relax and use as a base for hiking around the lakes and surrounding hills.
The neighbouring towns of Candikuning and Bedugul have a picturesque temple, botanical gardens and a colourful market where you can buy the local fruit that grows in profusion. Thankfully, the area lacks the tourists and touts found around Gunung Batur, though Sunday and public holidays are usually very busy with local visitors.
In the west, the area around Munduk is great for trekking and you can enjoy views all the way down to the north coast.
Introducing Denpasar
The capital of Bali, Denpasar, has been the focus of much of the island’s growth and wealth over the last 20 years. It has an important museum, an arts centre and lots of shops. Denpasar means ‘next to the market’, and the main market (Pasar Badung) is the biggest and busiest in Bali. Denpasar still has some tree-lined streets and pleasant gardens, but the traffic, noise and pollution make it a difficult place to enjoy.
If you are using public transit in Bali it will be your inescapable hub. Otherwise you can fully enjoy its charms on a day visit from South Bali or Ubud.
Getting there & away
Denpasar is the hub of road transport in Bali – you’ll find buses and minibuses bound for all corners of the island.
ContentsLand
Bus
The usual route to Java is a bus from Denpasar’s Ubung Terminal to Surabaya (120, 000Rp, 10 hours), which includes the short ferry trip across the Bali Strait. Other buses go as far as Yogyakarta (180, 000Rp, 16 hours) and Jakarta (275, 000Rp, 24 hours), usually travelling overnight.
Book directly at offices in the Ubung terminal, 3km north of the city centre. To Surabaya or even Jakarta, you may get on a bus within an hour of arriving at Ubung, but at busy times you should buy your ticket at least one day ahead.
There are no tourist shuttle buses to/from Denpasar.
Local transport
Taxi
As in South Bali, taxis prowl the streets of Denpasar looking for fares. As always, the blue cabs of Bali Taxi (701111) are the most reliable choice.
Introducing Gunung Batur Area
Most day-visitors come on organised tours and stop at the crater rim at Penelokan for views and lunch; most overnight visitors stay in the villages around the lake. The views both from above and from lake level are truly wonderful – if you hit the area on a clear day.
Getting there & away
From Batubulan terminal in Denpasar, bemos travel regularly to Kintamani (15, 000Rp). You can also get a bus on the busy Denpasar (Batabulan) to Singaraja route, which will stop in Penelokan and Kintamani (about 15, 000Rp).
Alternatively, you can just hire a car or use a driver. From South Bali expect to pay at least 400, 000Rp.
Getting around
Orange bemos regularly shuttle back and forth around the crater rim, between Penelokan and Kintamani (7000Rp for tourists). Public bemos from Penelokan down to the lakeside villages go mostly in the morning (tourist price is about 5000Rp to Toya Bungkah). Later in the day, you may have to charter transport (40, 000Rp or more).
Introducing Kuta
Kuta is Bali-on-a-budget, a raucous, infamous holiday enclave dedicated to fun and sun. A bustling network of narrow lanes lined with bars, losmen (basic accommodation), and stalls piled high with fake surfwear, dodgy DVDs and lurid football shirts, Kuta is all about bacchanalian nights and rampant commerce. Prepare yourself for plenty of attention from the shopkeepers and armies of hawkers that comb the streets here.
Yet a few steps away, Kuta’s raison d’être remains as wonderful as ever, as another set of perfect rollers washes over its magnificent golden sands. And while subtlety is not Kuta’s strength, the resort retains a slice of Balinese charm – incense wafts down the gang and offerings of flower petals are laid out each morning to placate the Hindu gods.
And if you’ve had your fill of Kuta’s frenetic energy, consider shifting just up the coast to the less manic surrounds of Legian or stylish Seminyak with its designer bars and legendary clubbing scene. Both are continuations of the same strip that creeps up the coastline; the further north you get from central Kuta, the less built-up and more exclusive the area becomes. But even in the heart of Seminyak there are a few budget hotels, and some terrific, authentic warung.
Following the bombs of 2002 and 2005, the area is not quite as busy as it used to be, but the locals remain upbeat, and stylish new places are emerging. So if you’ve spent weeks hiking the jungle trails of Kalimantan or thirsting for a bar in deepest Papua, Kuta could be ideal for a few nights R and R, for this is where Indonesia slips on its boldest board shorts and really lets its hair down.
Introducing Lovina
Lovina manages to exude a sedate charm even as the number of hotels and other tourist places grows. Almost merging into Singaraja to the west, the town is really a string of coastal villages – Pemaron, Tukad Mungga, Anturan, Kalibukbuk, Kaliasem and Temukus – that have taken on this collective name.
Lovina is a convenient base for trips around the north coast or the central mountains. The beaches are made up of washed-out grey and black volcanic sand, and they are mostly clean near the hotel areas, but generally unspectacular. Reefs protect the shore, so the water is usually calm and clear.
Introducing Nusa Lembongan
The most developed island for tourism is the delightfully laid-back Nusa Lembongan, which is free of cars, motorcycle noise and hassles. It has a local population of about 7000 people, mostly living in two small villages, Jungutbatu and Lembongan. Tourism money means that the power now stays on around the clock.
Getting there & away
Getting to or from Nusa Lembongan offers numerous choices. In descending order of comfort are the Island Explorer boats used by day-trippers, the Perama boat and the public boats. Getting between the boats and shore and getting around once on land is not especially easy, so this is the time to travel very light.
Getting around
The island is fairly small and you can easily walk around it in a few hours; however, the roads across the middle of the island are quite steep. Bicycles and scooters are widely available for rent.
Introducing Sanur
Sanur is a slightly upmarket sea, sun and sand alternative to Kuta. The white-sand beach is sheltered by a reef. The resulting low-key surf contributes to Sanur’s nickname ‘Snore’, although this is also attributable to the area’s status as a haven for expat retirees. Some parents prefer the beach at Sanur because its calmness makes it a good place for small children to play.
Sanur was one of the places favoured by Westerners during their prewar discovery of Bali. Artists Miguel Covarrubias, Adrien Jean Le Mayeur and Walter Spies, anthropologist Jane Belo and choreographer Katharane Mershon all spent time here.
Introducing Ubud
Perched on the gentle slopes leading up towards the central mountains, Ubud is the other half of Bali’s tourism duopoly. Unlike South Bali, however, Ubud’s focus remains on the remarkable Balinese culture in its myriad forms.
It’s not surprising that many people come to Ubud for a day or two and end up staying longer, drawn in by the rich culture and many activities. Besides the very popular dance-and-music shows, there are numerous courses on offer that allow you to become fully immersed in Balinese culture.
Sensory pursuits are amply catered to with some of the best food on the island. From fabled world-class resorts to surprisingly comfortable little family-run inns, there is a fine choice of hotels. Many places come complete with their own spas, for hours or days of pampering packages.
Around Ubud are temples, ancient sites and whole villages producing handicrafts (albeit mostly for visitors). Although the growth of Ubud has engulfed several neighbouring villages, leading to an urban sprawl, parts of the surrounding countryside remain unspoiled, with lush rice paddies and towering coconut trees. You’d be remiss if you didn’t walk one or more of the dozens of paths during your stay.
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