Recently when I was stuck in an increasingly common traffic jam in Ubud I noticed a bumper sticker on the car in front of me that read, ‘Bali is Not New York’. Now, I would have thought this was already pretty clear. Built up as it now is, still no one is likely to mistake Jalan Ubud Raya for Fifth Avenue. Then I realized that people who come here for the first time probably think Bali’s always been like this, with hot croissants delivered to your door, Italian bathroom fixtures, air-conditioned restaurants and traffic jams. (This is the view from Ubud, of course. I never venture south of Mas.)
Ten years ago Ubud residents rejoiced to find a loaf of decent bread or real cheese. When we were building our houses we could choose from shiny white, blue or dark red floor tiles. Life was simple and choices were few. Now that every warung seems to have WiFi and you can order a cappuccino at every corner, people seem to think it’s always been like this. Folk who move here now often expect everything to work perfectly and to be on time, just like the ‘real world’. So it’s quite interesting to observe how Bali, under this thin veneer of modernity, gently reminds the newcomers that this particular world is real in a different way.
It wasn’t always like this and it still isn’t, sometimes. When those times come, it’s easy to separate the ones who will put down roots from those who are operating under the delusion that Bali is a suburb in Marin County.
When my friend Jenny overcontracted the house next door, she knew what she was getting into. She’s been visiting me here since 2000 and shared all kinds of dramas. Of course, the renovations weren’t quite complete when she finally moved in and brought her family from England for a holiday. Within two weeks Bali presented her with a welcome wagon of events. First was the freak weather pattern that delivered unseasonal rain in ropes and torrents, night and day, until the garden was a swamp. The long pathway from the road hadn’t been landscaped yet (because all the labourers were in Java for Idul Fitri) so every visitor brought along a kilo of mud on his shoes. The nice white cement floor, polished to an obsessive sheen, was constantly dirty. Jenny dealt with this by taking the family north to the beach.
Then there was the electricity blackout that plunged the whole island into dense darkness. She lit a few candles and the family played cards. A week or so later she woke early to enjoy a solitary cup of tea on the patio. Dreamily lounging on her new bench sipping a herbal brew, it took her a few moments to register that the coconut trunk pillars supporting the house were bending in unison and the roof was undulating. In fact, a respectable earthquake. A minute later I got a text message, “Goodness, that was a big one!”
Jenny and her family quickly adapted to ‘The Hole’ and the fact that social events and dining decisions were made according to what side of The Hole you live on because the long detour by Monkey Forest Road could mean 45 minutes in traffic. She didn’t blink when her gardener captured and removed a green pit viper from near her outdoor kitchen. She’s eager to get involved with a new recycling initiative with the high school across the street and is casting about for volunteer work that will engage her talents. This sterling character will be an asset to Ubud and a great candidate for the Living Happily Ever After Club.
Then there are the whiners, complaining constantly about the garbage, the traffic and the state of the infrastructure. Yes, the lights go out, the water stops running and things are constantly breaking down. I frequently hear, “Why don’t they make the tourist buses park outside of town? Why don’t they protect Ubud’s character? Can’t they do something about the diesel exhaust/the sidewalks/the dogs?”
Good people, there is no ‘they’.
This comes as a stunning revelation to those who grew up in ordered, well-managed communities where they are firmly in control. They make laws and ensure compliance. You can call them up and complain about things, and they will often respond. But this is a little farming community that grew organically into an arts-focused tourist town and is now morphing into - heaven help us - an ‘alternative destination’. The members of whatever local government exists have no experience in town planning, but know where all the rice field irrigation tunnels pass under the main road. Life used to be very simple here, not so long ago. Growing numbers of tourists and residents bring money, yes. But they also stretch the inadequate infrastructure past its tolerance, and this is not a culture that plans ahead.
There’s uncontrolled development in Bali because we outsiders choose to visit and live here, so it seems fair that we seek ways to be part of the solution. There are scores of projects going on, managed by Rotary Clubs, individuals and NGOs. Plenty of concerned Balinese would welcome some technical assistance in solving local problems. You don’t have to travel very far off the main roads to find poverty, ignorance and treatable medical conditions. There’s plenty of community work to be done, and becoming engaged in it softens some of the hard edges our coming here has caused.
Bali is not New York. It’s a small, fragile island with a unique cultural heritage, sinking under the weight of millions of foreigners and their expectations. The Balinese didn’t know we would come in such numbers. They didn’t know we would build houses and stay. They don’t know quite what to make of us and our ‘real world’ expectations, iced cappuccinos and swimming pools. It wasn’t always like this.
Dragons in the Bath, a collection of Ibu Kat’s stories,
is now available in paperback from
* Kuta : Dijon
* Seminyak : Ganesha at Biku
* Ubud : Ganesha Books, KAFE,
Ubud Music, Threads of Life,
Eve Body Treatment Centres
