Bali: Not just beaches, temples & volcanoes too

By Neeta Lal

Volcano-climbing at dawn? Check. Swimming in postcard-blue seas? Check. Hanging out with monkeys? But of course.

For a diminutive island, one of the 17,000 that comprise the Indonesian archipelago, Bali punches far above its weight in immersive travel experiences. It has shimmering rice terraces, 20,000 exquisite shrines and a coastline where saltladen sea air holds out the promise of a Robinson Crusoe adventure.

Yet, Bali has also been labelled a Lost Eden. Untrammelled expansion and the influx of hordes of tourists (six million in 2017) have bruised large swathes of the province. The glistening rice paddies have shrunk, traffic is chaotic and the beaches are pockmarked with hotels, beach bars, umbrellas and deck chairs.

Even so, the “Island of the Gods”, hosting 4.2 million inhabitants, still holds plenty of allure. Go up the island’s vertiginous wonders for exhilarating encounters with nature. Bali offers 11 picturesque mountains, of which two are active volcanoes. They are not always wellbehaved — Mount Agung’s rumblings last year resulted in massive disruptions in flights from Bali’s Denpasar airport — but their pull remains undiminished among intrepid travellers. The fourhour ascent of the mountain, the island’s highest and holiest volcano, can be at once taxing and tantalising.

Scrambling up sacred Mount Batur in time for sunrise, then stopping for a muscle-soothing dip in the hot springs on the descent, can feel like renaissance itself. Batur, one of Bali’s most prominent volcanoes, is nestled amid two stunning concentric craters. It is bordered by the crescent-shaped Lake Batur, the island’s largest water body. Around 23,000 BC, during the cataclysms that marked the tectonic shift of the earth’s poles, an explosion of incredible magnitude resulted in the formation of the Batur caldera, a crater-like depression that is one of the world’s largest.

Over centuries, volcanic activity has wreaked havoc in the region, my affable driver-cum-guide Kiki informed me as we hit the road from Nusa Dua to Kintamani, a charming town located on the southwest fringe of Mount Batur. “But we still love our volcanoes. The communities around Batur sustain themselves on agriculture, fishing and volcanogenerated tourism,” he added. Kintamani offers a panoramic sweep of the entire Gunung Batur region, including the rim villages of Penulisan, Batur and Toya Bungkah which pop straight out of a storybook. The place is all about being in the moment sans technology.

Ubud is Bali’s cultural core — its culinary capital and its artistic heartland. It also radiates an overarching sense of spirituality. Crisscrossed by rivers, valleys and rice paddies, the town is located amid neatly serrated rice fields. Its steamy rainforests host exquisite Hindu shrines like the Goa Gajah (Elephant Cave) and the rock-chiselled Gunung Kawi.

I was in Ubud for a two-hour excursion of the Tegalalang rice fields, one of the region’s three most splendid terraced landscapes, the other two being Pejeng and Campuhan. Rice farming is perhaps the most productive activity on the island. As I found myself kneedeep in paddy, a wicker hat shielding my head from the sun, the dizzying complications of urban routines receded. As we plodded through, we were greeted by water-filled terraces, surrounded by swaying palms.

Kopi Luwak
Like paddy fields, coffee plantations, too, abound in Bali. Local farms offer well-organised, albeit perfunctory, tours of their farms that culminate in coffee tastings. Coffee with ginger, anyone? Or with lemon grass, chilli, coconut, chocolate? The piece de resistance, however, is the famed kopi luwak — brewed from beans that have passed through the digestive system of civet, a wild cat. “The animals consume the coffee cherries for their fleshy pulp, but the beans are left intact all the way through their digestive system,” the guide Kiki explained. Apparently the enzymes inside the civet’s stomach extract the bitterness from the coffee, making kopi luwak smooth and mild with a lingering sweet aftertaste.

Religion is not just the glue for social cohesion in Bali, it is also woven into the warp and weft of the everyday life. Local women dressed in fluorescent batik sarongs place baskets brimming with frangipani blossoms, a few rice grains and a coin in a carved niche at the entrance of their homes early morning. The small palmleaf basket (canang sari) also contains a betel nut and lime to represent the Holy Trinity of Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva, respectively.

Bali probably has more temples (called puras) per square kilometre than anywhere else in the world. No wonder it is called the Island of a Thousand Temples.

Balinese Cuisine
Apparently, Balinese specialities are so time- and ingredient-intensive that they are usually reserved for special occasions and not served in ordinary restaurants. But on the last day of my visit, I experienced its full gastronomic glory. The meal was underpinned by quintessentially Balinese ingredients: a potent eight-spice Balinese mix of candlenut, white pepper, black pepper, coriander, cumin, clove, nutmeg and sesame. Fragrant roots also came into play (shallots, garlic, galangal, turmeric, ginger) as well as sambal or basa gede that gives stellar Balinese dishes their distinct kick.

First up was Bak So, a signature Indonesian dish with meatballs. The velvety protein, the savoury broth and the flavour-charged aromatics took my taste buds places they had never been. Cingklak — a repertoire of appetisers consisting of beef and chicken satay, spring rolls, corn fritters and fried prawns — was a play on different textures. Soup Buntut Ubud, a thick oxtail concoction, showcased complex flavours while Ikan Laut Campur brought to the table an ensemble of grilled lobster, salmon, snapper fillet, calamari, prawn and minced fish served with rice and Ikan sambals.