Come to Bali to connect with its vibrant culture
Quick: what are the Hindu countries of the world? Everyone would say India; some would say Nepal, but Bali, the almost perfectly round island in the Indonesian archipelago would be left out. After spending almost two weeks there, I myself would not have connected Bali with Hinduism—it is certainly not our brand of the religion. And the Balinese and Indians are creatures of different planets—not much similarity there either.
Tourism in Bali has developed around the beaches in the south of the island. That is where capital Denpasar is. The one friend I had in Bali, Asha, lived in Denpasar. Like in Goa—with which, by the way, Bali has irresistible parallels—each beach has a markedly different character and appeals to a specific set of tourists. Nusa Dua is where all the large, fancy hotels are, with the most sedate bunch of tourists. A hotelier I met told me that Nusa Dua caters to tourists of a certain age and it could well be true because compared to Kuta with its young visitors, or Seminyak, Batu Belig and Legian, Nusa Dua is as quiet as a beach in South Goa. Kuta is like Calangute and Seminyak is like one of the beaches of the extreme north of Goa—you get a sense of the original culture plus the overlay of tourism. Tanjung Benoa is a bit like Candolim, with plenty of water sports, though on a far more advanced level. A few beaches are said to be ideal for diving too. All beaches are united by one factor: spas. Spas are very big business in Bali, and Balinese massage is as distinctive as, say, Thai massage. You cannot visit Bali and not go to a beach any more than you can return without a single visit to a spa.
There are literally dozens of beaches with rough sand, black sand, rocks, seaweed—but lying on the beach comatose all day long isn’t my idea of the ideal holiday, and because Bali does indeed have a unique culture, I was happiest in the village of Ubud. Have you read Elizabeth Gilbert’s Eat, Love, Pray? Of course you have. Her description of Bali matches the place with a precision that I have rarely come across in books. There really is a sense of magic in the air in Ubud. It really does feel that spirits of long-dead ancestors inhabit the rice paddies and linger in the temples.
Even on the pavements outside hair-dressing salons that dot Ubud and restaurants and tattoo parlours, there are dainty baskets made of leaves, in which orange and purple flowers nestle for the whole day, as offerings to the gods. My friend Asha told me that every girl in Bali knew how to make the baskets. It was something like rangoli in India, but that was one of the few parallels with Hinduism in India and Bali. The temples were masterpieces of architecture and artistry and I never did come across any new temple with unattractive architecture. In the hotel that I stayed in at Nusa Dua, the garden had a prototype of a temple as its main feature. Every single guest stood patiently in line to be photographed there. The hotel was owned by a businessman from Jakarta—a Muslim. I thought it was a nice nod to religious tolerance, but nobody else seemed to think that it meant anything. It was just the way things were done in Bali. That in itself said a lot.
As in Thailand, a number of foreigners have made Bali their home. Many have set up businesses, particularly in the restaurant and the handicraft trade. There are simply too many examples to give, but in general, restaurants serving western food in open air settings with great views are the preserve of the expat community. One exception is the latest hotspot, Merah Putih, owned by a local, is not open air—it has been created in a glass dome to enjoy the view without exposing yourself to the elements. The food is Balinese albeit with imported ingredients and it has catapulted itself to fame in the same way that Warrung Madde became popular a decade back. Warrungs are food shops, but in the case of Bali, they serve cooked food. No chafing dishes here—food is eaten at room temperature. All you do is point to the dishes you’d like on your plate and they’ll be served. Rice is the staple, tempeh—fermented soybean that forms a cake after being processed—enjoys a position that dal does in Indian cuisine, and a variety of vegetables, meat and fish bring up the rear. It is a homely cuisine all right, with approximately the same proportion of staple to vegetable to meats as an Indian thali would have. You could call it Hindu cuisine, except for two factors that I found hugely interesting. The first is that there is no vegetarianism in Bali. The second is that duck is the meat of choice. “Ducks are very clean birds” I was to hear over and over. “They strain their food with their bills”. It is almost as if ducks are the Brahmins of the aquatic world.
Asha took me to one Balinese-owned duck restaurant in Ubud that overlooked the paddy fields and one that was owned by an Australian lady and her Balinese husband: Bebek Bengil translates as dirty duck, Ozzie humour firmly in place!
On my last evening in Bali, Asha, her husband and the entire clan took me to Jimbaran Beach. The meal we had was traditional Balinese dhaba meets beach shack in a rickety row of shacks that seemed to have been built entirely of tarpaulin. Outside, rows of chairs and tables had been set out in neat rows. You ordered your seafood and the rest—rice, waterspinach in a fiery chilli sauce, etc.,—came free. The meal was divine: you really cannot go wrong with just-caught seafood grilled on charcoal after being hastily smeared with spices. But the magic that I saw sent a chill down my spine.
Black clouds were boiling up on the horizon over the sea and it was a given that not only was rain imminent but we were looking at a thunderstorm. It was 6 in the evening and dinner-time for the fisherfolk of Jimbaran is when the day’s money is made. One of the stall-owning ladies walked up to the shoreline with a bunch of agarbattis and waved her hands around in imaginary circles. Smoke from the agarbattis blew away in the fierce wind that had built up. Then she stuck the bunch into the sand and walked away. Asha turned to me and whispered excitedly “Now see what will happen!” In a few minutes, the clouds vanished and the weather turned bright again. And the simple fisherfolk of Jimbaran did a roaring trade of grilled lobster and rice with vegetables, even as jets gracefully took off in the airport that is within sight of the beach. Stopping the rain with agarbattis and prayers. Who would have thought!