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Bali

I landed at Ngurah Rai Airport in Bali, Indonesia on Christmas morning. The humidity and sultry air characteristic of countries near the equator fell on me like a damp and tightly wrapped blanket.

The arriving patrons shuffling through immigrations alongside me were primarily—if I had to guess—Australian, revealed by their twanged accents and surfboards. The airline workers, cab drivers, and shop tenants were local Balinese, their already dark skin bronzed further by the island sun. Their traditional clothes and distinctive sarongs (or, “kamben” in Balinese) were conspicuous in contrast to the bare skin, shorts, and tank tops of tourists. Every local man was wearing a saron—a rectangular piece of fabric that wraps around the waist, enclosing the lower body like a tube, covering kneecaps and ankles. On the occasions I entered one of the many Hindu temples during my week, I too donned a sarong.

It was only after sunrise and drivers already solicited their services en masse to us newcomers like happy pigeons flocking to a bird-feeder out of duty rather than need. Local drivers came up to me holding signs with various prices, destinations, and tourist packages. A few grabbed my arm to get my attention. On paper, this may sound like a suffocating first-impression, more pushy than cordial. But it wasn’t. It was a warm welcome full of ear-to-ear smiles and well-practiced English that hinted at the tourist-dependent economy.


“I am Deedee. I drive you.”

Deedee claimed to offer me a fair price of 300,000 Indonesian Rupiah (about $21 USD) for the 40-minute ride into the city. Along the way, he bombarded me with Balinese history and sightseeing advice in an altogether jovial conversation. Within an hour of stepping onto Bali soil I was convinced Balinese people were the friendliest people I’ve encountered. Deedee explained:

“Balinese are nice, yes very nice to everyone, yes very nice! We are nice to you and you are nice to Balinese and everyone has better time. You are on the Island of the Gods, it’s Karma, man.”

The Balinese culture rests upon a collective belief in Karma. People do right by others because they believe, in turn, good things will come back to find them. Additionally, the unrushed tempo of Bali was like fresh air after months without it. My time entrenched in Hong Kong’s full-sprint lifestyle came to a full stop with my arrival. Bali stands out as one of the “slow” destinations of Southeast Asia.

The island operates with enduring mellowness. Everything and everyone is always “fine and well” and the locals walk slow, unfettered by pressing deadlines and clamor. Things happen when they are supposed to happen. The placid pace of life underscores how superfluous haste can be. It reminded me of a sleepy dog raising an eyebrow at a puppy chasing its own tail before collapsing in fatigue, neither gaining nor losing ground despite the commotion. People are easy-going because they believe good things are always on the way. Urgency here is like a crass swear word—used only sparingly, but not part of the the day to day vernacular.

Deedee offered me a water bottle and asked if I needed to stop for breakfast or at a money exchange center. Here was a Hindu Balinese driver speaking English to me, offering services well beyond driving from A to B. When I got out of his car, he exclaimed “Merry Christmas!”—a proclamation outside his own religious faith but spoken nonetheless to ingratiate me, welcoming me as the Western tourist that I was—it was the most hospitality I’ve ever felt in a car ride (he didn’t even accept my attempt at a tip!).


I found myself at three separate resorts during my time in Bali: Banyan Tree, Puri Pandawa, and Cendana Resort. Each resort impressed me with over-obsequious staff and expert service. Resort staff are supposed to be hospitable, though this graciousness extended to every interaction throughout the week.

From the dense jungles to the clear ocean water, from the verdant rice paddies to the long-tailed monkeys, Bali is deserving of its nickname, “Island of the Gods.” Bali is over-saturated with natural beauty to an extent that nearly desensitizes you to the cotton candy skies and postcard scenery. There is spirituality that pervades each sight and scent. Incense are always burning, and you must tread carefully to avoid the Balinese Hindu offerings that adorn the sidewalks and streets. Called “Canang Sari,” these small, palm leaf-baskets are filled with colorful flowers and made every single day for religious offerings and gratitude.

Petitenget Temple

Ungasan is in the southern part of Bali, home to countless cliffside resorts (including both Banyan Tree and Puri Pandawa Resorts). The majority of the area between resorts is jungle and greens rather than city life and tourists. The closest town of note was Seminyak, a town noted for its beaches and resorts, brimming with nightlife, tourists, hip restaurants and heavy traffic. I was in the South of Bali for half a week, then spent the second half of the week in Ubud, a cultural hub near the center of the island.

Ensconced within Ubud is the Sacred Monkey Forest Sanctuary, bustling with a lively and curious population of monkeys. Agile and sticky-fingered, these monkeys are notorious for swiping sunglasses and phones. There are local men who appear to “work” in the Monkey Forest, though they are actually self-employed, unofficial “monkey-whisperers.” One of these guys came up and motioned “follow me” with his hand, and within a minute I found myself standing behind a temple away from the crowd.  Next thing I knew I was holding corn nuts with a monkey on my shoulder and ants migrating from the monkey onto my skin. At first, I thought it was the most surreal moment of the trip. I felt a tingling sensation and warmth, something amazing was happening! — but no, it was my first experience with monkey urine. (The locals all told me that getting peed on by a monkey was good luck).

North of Ubud is the Tegalalang rice terrace, one of the most magnificent landscapes in Bali. The artful array of rice terrace steps extended into the jungle beyond, forming an imperceptible transition of farmland into tropical and green wildlife. Up and down the rice terraces, there were farmers that were farming. There were also “farmers” holding mock farming tools to lure tourists into taking pricey photos with their props. Tegalalang is practical for both its agricultural output as well as the income from tourists taking photos and joining tours. At several places in Bali, picturesque surroundings were made artificial with fabricated photo opportunities and props to post on social media.

Tegalalang Rice Terrace

I was fortunate enough to attend a Kecak dance at Uluwatu temple, a traditional Balinese fire dance. Completed atop a cliffside at sunset, it was the most spectacular combination of dance, skill, culture, and magic I have seen in my lifetime. A tribe of Balinese men used their vocals in place of instruments; the scratchy and sonorous baritone added depth and suspense. An entire drama transpired; extravagant costumes, adventure, and storytelling woven into a dance.

Kecak Dance at Uluwatu Temple

Of course Bali is not a Utopian, idyllic land of rainbows and gods. People still work and hold jobs. The culture of poverty persists despite the extravagant resorts and influx of tourists. Bali is a paradoxical island, as it is both a high-profile destination and a developing country. It seems plausible to claim Bali is stuck in limbo as a “developing” part of Indonesia as a result of the tourism. Tourists expect an “authentic” experience and desire tradition and culture. They (myself included) seek immersion in a world untouched from the West— something distinctly Balinese. Could tourist expectations of authenticity be exactly what is restricting Bali’s development? Maintaining a facade for the sake of economy rather than heritage seems suspect. Bali has monetized culture under the guise of maintenance of tradition.

Take the Balinese Kecak dance for example. A once-traditional ceremony for tribal, spiritual, and communal purposes is now a spectacle for out-of-towners, imbuing culture with capital and  currency with heritage. The demarcation between “authenticity” and tourism has blurred and there seems to be little to reconcile this.

Nonetheless, here I am convinced I’ll be back in Bali sooner than later, likely seeking a “cultural” experience again as tourists always do. I still have my qualms, yes, but in truth, Bali was nothing short of magnificent. They have mastered tourism and market their product well. I went on a giant wood swing in the jungle. I tried Bali’s famous Luwak Coffee (which is a coffee bean eaten and pooped out by an Asian Palm Civet, something between a cat and a rodent). I walked along rice paddies. I jumped in half-a-dozen cliffside infinity pools. I swam in the Indian Ocean. I touched the walls of ancient Hindu temples.

The Island of the Gods imbued me with new spirit and vigor, providing both an appropriate ending to 2018 and a timely adventure to jump-start my 2019.

See you next week.

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