Balinese utopia lures more foreigners to stay
Balinese utopia lures more foreigners to stay
By Benito Lopulalan
DENPASAR (JP): "When I found this beautiful place, I was
entranced by its magic," the Bavarian-American lady said. "I
quickly made up my mind; I, too, would build my little house in
Bali. It would be Balinese in spirit and Western in comfort. Here
I would stay and enjoy life." She paused, looking around, then
added, "That was three years ago, though. Now, after all this
time spent in Ubud, I find myself lonely and homesick".
This, from a person who has lived in at least ten different
countries. She now felt the tug of her homeland. A few days later
I discovered that she was gone. She had given in to her
homesickness, leaving behind her house in Bali.
Lush rice paddies, white beaches and pretty dancers, Bali
delivers. It has been the inspiration of many cliches; "Morning
of the world", as Nehru put it, or "Paradise Island", as the
brochures have it.
Bali is not lacking for ways to define its image and meaning
in the eyes of the world. Hordes of foreigners come to Bali
looking for their dreamland. Most come for a short visit, but
others become so enchanted they decide to stay. To all, Bali is
an idyllic place where beautiful people are thought to live in
peace and harmony with nature, far from the hassles and worries
of the world.
It is the pursuit of this cliched utopia that sees more and
more people eager to get into this island of the east and settle,
to join the natives in their paradise luxury, complete with 21st
century mod-cons and post-colonial servants; Preferably at pre-
colonial prices. Ubud and Sanur are just two examples of places
with sand, surf, beaches, rice fields or riversides which have
become the preferred choices for Western expatriates.
Some expatriates have legitimate work, others find a reason to
legally hang-out. When they are not multi-national workers, they
run NGO-s, write articles, sell cookies, prepare Phds and design
garments. In brief, they fulfill both Indonesia's needs as a
newly-arrived industrial tiger and their own personal needs as
long established hedonists.
"I have lived abroad twenty years," explained a British woman
living in Peliatan, naming Goa, Katmandu, Mykonos, Saint-Tropez
and Cancun as her past fare. Twenty two places in all. She had
been looking for her utopia, her own perfect combination of
feeling and reason. A dream place where she could, at last, rest
and fear none of the dangers of the outside world and, in
particular, none from that inner world, her spiritual self. She
is still searching.
The place she dreams of is found in the word escape itself, in
the idea of the "far away" and its imagined virtues and idealized
people. This search for the "ideal" becomes an urge to travel, to
find a new place where life can be defined in ways totally new.
And more importantly, in ways totally different from how they are
defined conventionally; with its Jones's to be kept up with,
career concerns, tax bills and demanding lovers. It is this
search for the "different" and for new experiences which has
given birth to the new wave spirituality of our time, blending
marginality, openness and sexual freedom.
Greatest advantage
Ketut Surajaya -- not his real name -- knows how to use the
Bali cliches to their greatest advantage. And in Ketut's case, to
their greatest financial advantage too.
Seven years ago, an American, one of those lost souls
mentioned above, we'll call John Derrida, wandered into the
Campuhan-Ubud restaurant. He met Ketut and, before long, he just
knew Ketut could build him his dream home in Bali. Needless to
say, Ketut knew it too.
As an orang asing (foreigner), he could not own a land title,
not even a single grain of sand, in Indonesia. Therefore, he
decided to rent. From whom? From Ketut, of course, who just
happened to own a nice piece of land only ten minutes away, just
up the road from the villagers preening their gaming cocks in the
village streets of nearby Penestanan.
The location suited John. It was magical, with Mount Agung
soaring into the sky, beyond the vibrant greens of rice paddies
and palm trees.
John paid cash for a twenty year lease on 400 square meters of
tropical paradise. Of course, you can't put out a contract for
paradise, so no papers signed.
"Business in Bali relies upon friendship," Ketut reassured.
Once finished, the two-story house was "home" to John, like
nowhere on earth. It was a traditional Balinese wantilan
building. With its alang-alang, thatched roof, and coconut
pillars, it was just like the one put up by Spies, the "inventor"
of Balinese painting. John's long dreamed for place of escape!
John enjoyed his paradise for five years, in perfect harmony
with nature and Bali, and his landlord a friend. Then he was
called back home for family affairs. Before leaving, though, he
entrusted the house to his good friend Ketut and even gave him
some cash for maintenance. Once gone, his stay in California
being longer than expected, he regularly sent money and letters.
He knew he would return to the rice field landscape, the song of
crickets and the smile of Ketut.
But Bali had changed since that time of 1930's when Spies,
Bonnet and other artists first shaped the myths and cliches on
which our modern expatriates still live. In the mythical and pre-
tourist times of Bali, land had no economic value and could be
given away as a gift. Now, however, with the effects of rapid
economic growth being increasingly felt, and tourism being the
Trojan horse of capital investment, the Balinese perception of
land is changing. Spurred by hotel construction, especially in
the southern part of the island, land, in the hands of the
natives, has become the most valuable commodity. The scarcity of
land has created a gap between the landowners and landless
Balinese. And that has changed the way people think. The times
when land could be given away are gone. The price of land is now
often higher than the price of friendship. Land speculation, with
all its social and personal consequences, has become one of the
main features of modern Bali.
In the rush for land, the losers include dreamers like John
Derrida. John came back to Bali four months ago, after spending
two years in California. When he arrived, his dream-house had not
changed outwardly, the rice fields were still green, the gaming
cocks sparked reds and blues and Mount Agung forever the majestic
pinnacle. The house was well-kept too, and as comfortable as
ever. There was a hitch, though; there was an Australian inside,
who had rented it for twenty years, paying in cash, and without a
contract, like John. John had no home and no legal leverage to
get it back. Perhaps the money has been well spent on
cockfighting.
Perhaps John's only compensation is that the Australian's time
will come too, and then the Japanese's and German's. But will
Ketut's time ever come?