BALI
In Indonesia’s vast archipelago, the island of Bali at the south eastern tip of Java is, as one writer described it, “a pinpoint of Hinduism in a complex Islamic calligraphy”. Bali has always been an alluring and colourful anomaly: linguistically and culturally distinct from neighbouring islands, it is a deeply traditional, codified society that remarkably sustains its reputation as a major tourism topper in Asia. It’s a fraction of the size of India’s leading tourist destinations such as Kerala or Goa – you can cover the entire coastline in a day’s drive – but it has more foreign arrivals, at three million a year, than Kerala or Goa. From luxurious resorts to monolith chains, budget villas to inexpensive homestays, the range of accommodation is vast but never surplus.
Partly, its success rate is due to its geographical location: it is roughly a three-hour flight from either Kuala Lumpur or Perth and, being equatorial, has excellent weather for seven months of the year. Partly, too, it has varied landscapes concentrated in a relatively small space: lush rice paddies dissolve into steep volcanic mountains for trekkers, and serene beaches can lead to surf-pounding cliffs for deep sea enthusiasts. The standard guide book to Indonesia I carried devoted nearly as many pages to the attractions of Bali (106) as to the entire, densely-populated main island of Java (133).
Essentially, however, it is a combination of its cultural riches and cosmopolitan flair that makes Bali style unique. It is cool, urbane, well-mannered and hassle-free. In the five days I spent in Ubud, the cultural heart of the island, I hardly heard anyone shout, never saw a vehicle speed or honk unnecessarily, and was bothered by no vendor, tout, beggar or the assortment of creeps on Indian streets whose sole purpose seems to be to badger foreigners — or take them for some sort of ride. On Ubud’s pavements the norm seemed to be for men to patiently hold up placards that read: “Would you like a taxi please?”
There is no great artistry in being courteous but what has made Bali so popular a getaway for outsiders since the 1930s is its refined, deeply-rooted artistic identity. Balinese architecture is as definitive as the language; it is difficult to instantly spot the difference between temple, palace or home – stone-carved dwarapalas and the welcoming Ganesha are identically placed in each – and spoken Balinese is as different from Bahasa Indonesia as, say, Gujarati is from Hindustani. Balinese music and dance, a big tourist draw, are stylised innovations of the Javanese originals.
More From This Section
Arcane Sanskrit rituals prevail in everyday life: “Om Swastiastu” – may God be with you – is the greeting accompanied by folded hands, and outside every doorstep – shop, household, restaurant or temple – are placed freshly hand-woven baskets of palm fronds with votive offerings each morning. In fact, Bali’s version of Hinduism may be the superior article: there is no gradation, or degradation, of the caste system except for the priesthood. Centred on strongly-bound village communities, Balinese society is highly egalitarian compared to the social structures of an Indian village.
Given its long history of Hinduism terminating on a self-contained island, traditional life and the tourist boom confidently co-habit with ease. Bali is international but well-run. Every kind of cuisine, boutique, nightclub and cafe is on offer in the crowded tourist strips of Kuta, Legian and Seminyak but quiet village retreats are only a few miles away.
The island has had to pay a price for its popularity. Terrorist bombings in 2002 and 2005 killed and injured more than 500 people – the majority of them Australian revellers in a nightclub – but Bali bounced back. It elected Made Pastika, the man who investigated the bombings as governor, and both crime and commercial pollution have come down. The question often asked of Bali is: “can it be too popular?” Yes, it can.