Enjoying blissful Bali on a budget
Enjoying blissful Bali on a budget
Burhan Wazir, Observer News Service, London
I have a habit of going east when I should be traveling west
-- east London instead of west London; New York instead of Los
Angeles -- so I'm hardly surprised to find myself 60 feet in the
air, strapped to a parachute and drifting out toward the deep
blue Pacific.
Below me and in a speedboat, George, my ever-patient
instructor, is screaming through a megaphone: "Pull the cord. You
are going away from shore. Pull the cord and head back to the
beach."
I look down and smile apologetically; he gives me a defeated
look and steers the coughing boat back toward the bay. Quantum
mechanics takes a hold, and minutes later I sink into the arms of
George's friends on the beach.
The watersports course -- and each dose lasts a well-tutored
one hour and 45 minutes -- is a steal at only US$15. It
alternates disciplines as varied as snorkeling, windsurfing and
paragliding. "You're not a bad snorkeler," says George. "But I
wouldn't try any hard windsurfing until you've had a few more
lessons."
By far the best known and certainly the most celebrated of the
13,000-plus Indonesian islands, Bali has been a stopping point
for Europeans since the sixteenth century. In 1597, a small fleet
of Dutch war yachts, headed by Cornelius de Houtman, landed on
the island. He and his crew of 89 men were all that was left of
the 249 who had sailed from the Netherlands on a trading voyage
14 months earlier.
The Dutch sailors made fast friends with the king, who,
according to accounts written at the time, was "a good-natured
fat man who had 200 wives, drove a chariot drawn by two white
buffaloes and owned 50 dwarfs". And after a lengthy stay that was
hampered by many postponements, de Houtman announced a date for
his ship to sail home. History has it that reluctant crew members
were disappearing up to the moment of the ship's departure.
Having spent six nights in Bali, it's easy to see why those
first Europeans were so disinclined to return. Early records show
that even by the ninth century Bali had developed many attributes
similar to those it has now. Rice was grown in much the same way
and the Balinese had begun to develop the rich cultural
activities which make the island so enticing to its present-day
visitors.
I decide to hire a moped -- for $26.46 a day -- and ride the
three kilometers into Denpasar, the island's administrative
capital and gateway to the main tourist resorts. The town's main
thoroughfare has a steady stream of traffic that needs to be
carefully negotiated, all heading for the resorts off the
northern coast. But Denpasar, with its quaint, ramshackle stalls
selling bamboo furniture, is a hidden gem of a town, light years
away from Bali's huge indoor shopping arenas and the
Americanization that now seems to dominate the rest of the
island.
Inching the moped between "Mom and Pop" stalls, I stop finally
at Bob's Furniture Shack to have a look at long lines of wood-
carvings and ornamental furniture. Bob immediately jumps out from
a store-room in the back: "We'll give you a good deal," he says.
"Choose what you want and we'll give you a good price."
I pick my way through the stall, idly inspecting Buddhist
figurines and Japanese Manga-influenced paintings. Picking up a
pyramidic set of shelves, no more than three-feet high, I turn
round to ask Bob for a price. "Thirty dollars," he says, a sum we
immediately agree on. He helps me load and tie the shelf on to
the back of the moped; it will fall off three times before I
return to the hotel.
Once an exclusive retreat for the upper classes, Bali's cheap
cost of living has earned it a place in mainstream holiday
brochures and opened the doors for tourists from most walks of
life.
At a bar in town two nights before my return, a newlywed
couple from Newcastle, in England, stand chatting to the barman
before dinner. They have been slinging back Sea Breezes --
tropical fruit juices laced with vodka and rum -- all day. "You
have to learn how to say this," slurs Ben, pointing for the
barman to look at his wife. Denise laughs: "Wahaay, mon!"' The
barman, normally able to give his best on subjects as diverse as
politics, literature and cinema, stares back. Angela, repeats
slowly: "Wa-haa-y, m-o-n!"
They are joined, within minutes, by a broad cross-section of
British society: Mancunians, Glaswegians and Londoners. "Go on,
try and say this," says Andrew, a bricklayer from Plumstead in
south-east London on holiday with his girlfriend. "Sorry, guvnor,
what woz 'at?" The bar -- now full predominantly of British
patrons -- collapses into giggles.
The barman, meanwhile, is still struggling with the Newcastle
colloquialisms from earlier in the evening. The guests will
disappear downstairs for their evening meal -- and come back two
hours later to find him, notebook and pencil in hand, still
practicing intently.
The pan-European tourists make for an unexpectedly delightful
trip, and it's easy to meet people. Bali, an island evocative of
paradise itself, is no longer the domain of wealthy Americans,
and has become as affordable as a week in Spain.
A few words of caution, however, are delivered to me by
Andrew: "I hope there aren't too many Brits coming here.
Otherwise this place will end up like Majorca -- a British
colony."