Can I responsibly recommend visiting Bali? Mixed feelings on my desire to return…
When I first arrived in Bali in July 2015, I had no idea what to expect. At the time, I only knew one friend who visited in 2014 and mentioned it was her favorite spot on the SE Asia backpacker circuit – but this piece of advice came like an overlooked clue on a treasure map.
On the contrary, my hopes were exceedingly high for Thailand based on numerous people’s praise.
AS WITH TRAVELING, SO MUCH OF WHAT YOU END UP ENJOYING (OR NOT) TENDS TO BE BASED ON EXPECTATIONS.Of course, other facets like budget play a crucial role too. In this case, I was let down by my time in Thailand and fell in love with the mystical charm of Bali.
This made it easy for me to determine my first four weeks on my year-long solo trip would be back in Bali. Which unquestionably extended to another four weeks… and, as I scribe this, I have just one of those weeks remaining.
For a little context, I’ve spent the bulk of my time in Canggu, with visits to Amed, the Gilis, Sanur, Jimbaran and Ubud, with various day trips interwoven. So this may be because I spent nearly four weeks total in the hyper-westernized locale of Canggu, but I’m torn as to if I can authentically recommend visiting Bali to friends back home.
Don’t get me wrong, Bali is absolute magic. Days can be easily satiated with yoga, exceedingly delicious (and cheap!) food with sweets to match, all-levels surfing, temple visits, hiking active volcanos, breathtaking sunsets, exposure to Hindu/Balinese ceremonies, scooting through miles of scenic rice fields, lounging in cafes, creating/dreaming/writing, affordable massages, meeting others on spiritual quests, getting high on cacao, sipping strong coffee… Bali is a paradise.
But I must admit experiencing a twinge of ancestral (read: white) guilt for taking advantage of this fertile land for my own extended benefit.
Yes, tourism is important to stimulate the economy – absolutely. But what happens when us westerners get so captivated by this apparent heaven on earth and extend our 30-day visa to 60-days to 6 months? And before you know it, you find yourself starting a vegan restaurant, founding a co-working space, breaking ground for a boutique hotel, all exclusively catering to other westerners, while said locals get paid so little to operate it.
It’s presumptive of me to assume that’s not what all locals want, but in chatting with a few that I’ve met along the way some concerns are apparent: younger generations are no longer wanting to work on the family farms in an effort to make easier money with tourists, this generation is also less interested in cultivating Balinese cultural and spiritual traditions.
Then again, I watched a documentary (from the early 90s! my sentiments were echoed…) that anthropologically analyzes recent Balinese history and suggests that some of these spiritual ceremonies were more or less elaborated to entertain tourists, following the liberation from Dutch colonists and Japanese occupation in the 1950s.
So perhaps, synonymous with the rest of the globe, Bali is undergoing a massive paradigm shift, what with the advent of technology and an increase in affordable travel (for westerners at least). But how do we, the tourists, respect and honor that shift without capitalizing on it and watering down the spiritual wonder of this Hindu island?
I’m torn.
On one hand, it’s massively depressing to witness the increase in plastic and trash found on the beaches and in the ocean, undoubtedly as a result of an increase of humans on this island. To also return what felt like a secret spot in 2015 and see it now populated with a cliffside golf course and expansive luxury hotels (of course Jimbaran wasn’t a secret, I was staying in an Airbnb).
On the other hand, especially in a place like Ubud, I’ve been able to carve out time to heal and work on some psychospiritual blockages, especially within a conscious community of travelers, yogis, healers and vegans (okay, yes, hippies). In addition to learning about charitable organizations founded by westerners, I’ve also heard how the education system is improving for locals.
I don’t know what the right answer is. All I keep referring back to is one local’s opinion, “We don’t mind when people come to visit, that’s great. What we mind is when people don’t leave.”
My hope is that we, as travelers, can devise sustainable ways to honor and respect our local hosts, to not see their land as our exclusive advantage, and, ultimately, to leave this magical island better than when we arrived at it.
