And how travelling responsibly may in turn open the door to more authentic experiences.
It has just gone 7am when I emerge from my lagoon-side hostel in Candi Dasa, a seaside town on Bali’s east coast. The morning is hot and fragrant. Colourful canag sari offerings in smouldering woven baskets send scents of spice skyward through meandering trails of smoke, mingling with the morning mist. There is little sound, save for the intermittent crowing of cockerels, distant lapping of the ocean, and the occasional vroom of an approaching moped. I locate my own rental, a dusty red 125cc Honda Vario, and prepare for my journey ahead.
I follow a tarmac road past rice paddies and roadside vendors selling yellow-green mangoes and spikey pink dragon fruit, pausing temporarily as a leaning coconut palm expels its drupes onto the road. After 45 minutes, the roadway begins to incline as I make my way up the already-bustling mountainside, between market stalls selling bottled water, Bali coffee, souvenirs, and sarongs. I am ushered into a space by a man attempting to coordinate the parking situation, noting a surprising numbers of mopeds for early morning. I have arrived at Penataran Lempuyang, the first of seven temples set along a 17,000 step-long pilgrims route to the summit of Mount Lempuyang. Despite the scale of the complex, many of Lempuyang’s 500 daily visitors begin and end their journey here. I soon see why.
I follow a path towards the temple which opens up to a plateau. Westward, is the iconic Gateway to Heaven; a Balinese split gate on a cerulean backdrop. Between the gates, the purple peak of Mt Agung shimmers through fluffy white cloud. It is like looking through a doorway which has opened up in the sky.
On the ground between the gates sits a woman. She is cross-legged and facing the mountain. She wears red harem pants and a strappy white vest top, her curly brown hair falling to the small of her back. Her upturned palms rest on her knees and her chin tilts upwards, like she is meditating. She glances over her shoulder at the tall, sandy-haired man standing ten metres behind her, angling his iPhone to capture the perfect shot. Behind him, a long line of visitors extends to the far wall of the temple and curves at the corner, like a snake trying to fit into a box. Satisfied with the shot, the couple move on, and the next person in line takes up position, preparing for a star jump. How long does it take to reach the front?’ I ask who I assume to be the queue manager. ‘Two hours?’ he replies. ‘Up to three on busy days.’
Why Bali?
Bali was named the second most popular tourist destination in the world at the 2024 TripAdvisor Travelers’ Choice Awards, ahead of London, and second only to Dubai. Like tourist economies around the world, the Indonesian island was significantly impacted by the Covid pandemic, but visitor numbers have once again been on the increase since 2022. In 2024 alone, Bali welcomed approximately 14.96 million tourists, averaging around 1.36 million visitors per day on an island which is only 5,780 sq km.
So, what attracts so many people to Bali? The image of Bali as a tropical island paradise is one which was created and packaged specifically to appeal to western tourists. It was crafted in the early 20th century by Dutch occupiers, in an attempt to gloss over the harsh realities of their colonial rule, a technique used by colonisers who want to transform occupied territories into tourist destinations. To this day, this image of Bali is perpetuated through travel media.
That said, Bali’s portrayal as an island paradise is not entirely inaccurate. Elizabeth Gilbert’s idyllic depiction of Ubud in Eat, Pray Love – the book turned blockbuster which is in part responsible for its tourism boost – shows Julia Roberts cycling through vast green rice paddies to her traditional Balinese villa (which is still bookable on Airbnb today). It is a romantic image – and there is more be said about the centring of an American woman’s journey of self-discovery – but it does well to capture Ubud’s beauty and (former) tranquillity. Bali is an attractive option for adventure-seekers, as intrepid travellers can enjoy activities ranging from sunrise hikes up Mt Batur, to diving with manta rays on Nusa Penida. The south coast is a world-renowned surfers paradise, with the barrel waves of Uluwatu drawing experienced boarders to the blue ocean swell in the shadow of clifftop temples. Despite having every reason to be jaded by tourism, Balinese people are extremely welcoming and hospitable. In Bali, new acquaintances have asked me whether I’ve eaten enough that day, how I am healing, and if I’m enjoying my life. Not as transactional small-talk, but because they’re interested in the answer. Bali is a deeply spiritual place, and it’s uniquely syncretic blend of Hinduism, Buddhism and animism permeates all aspects of daily life, from nature and architecture to ritual and ceremony. In the middle of a 17,500 island-strong majority Islamic archipelago, it is amazing it even exists as it is.
Overtourism in Bali
It is no secret that overtourism is a significant issue in Bali, which has had a negative impact on the environment and lives of local people. It has led to severe overcrowding, high pollution levels, horrendous congestion, and water shortages throughout the island. Most unfortunately, there are reports of tourists behaving in ways which are unlawful, or just plain disrespectful, from dangerous and/or drunk driving to posing naked at revered sacred sites.
The overdevelopment of some of Bali’s most beautiful natural landscapes is sad. Tegalalang rice terrace is adorned with zip-lines and giant swings, Tegenungan Waterfall could pass for an water park, and the over-socialised primates of Ubud’s Monkey Sanctuary have exhibited some real cretin behaviour in recent years. Southcoast towns such as Kutah, Seminyak and Canguu have become so busy and built-up, they’re starting to resemble Australia’s Gold Coast. Hundreds of hotels and nightclubs have sprung up along the coastline, so much that the government agreed to set a moratorium on constructing new ones. Often these hotels – which disturb and destroy local communities – are owned by international corporations which absorb profits, so they are of little benefit to the local economy.
These symptoms of overtourism lead visitors to conclude Bali is ‘overhyped’, but the central issue is that local communities are often bearing the brunt of overtourism without reaping the financial benefits.
On the other hand, many local livelihoods in Bali are dependent on tourism. Recent reports suggest that in 2025 tourism is Bali’s primary economic driver, with up to 80% of the island is either directly or indirectly dependent on tourism. As such, it is one of the most tourism-dependent destinations in the world. Bali has grown and evolved alongside tourism and will continue to do so. What is crucial to consider is how Bali can move forward, honouring and prioritising its cultural heritage and the livelihoods and wellbeing of its communities, while maintaining a destination tourists want to visit and experience.
Balinese communities have already started to take action. The Benoa Bay movement of the past decade saw a grassroots campaign led by ForBALI (Bali Forum Against Reclamation), a coalition of environmentalists, community leaders, and activists, successfully shelve a development plan to turn a culturally significant coastal area into luxury resorts and other tourist facilities. This morphed into a movement which plans to address other development projects and lobby authorities and key stakeholders to prioritise environmental conservation and cultural protection.
Travelling responsibly in Bali
As travellers, we must ensure we are travelling in a way which is responsible, ethical and sustainable, particularly when visiting tourism-dependent developing nations where the choices we make are more impactful. Bali’s dependence on tourism – like other tourist destinations in majority world countries – was born of colonialism. Visitors must realise there are power structures at play and endeavour to travel in a way which contributes to local economies, rather than extracts from them. Rather than centring the experiences of tourists, we must thinking about what we can do to be more responsible and support the kind of tourism which benefits local economies. It turn, this may open to door to more authentic experiences.
How does this look? Bring business to the lesser-explored parts of Bali, away from the main hotspots such as Canguu, Seminyak and Ubud. Visit the central highlands and stay in Mundak or Bedugal, where you can hike to more secluded waterfalls, or explore Jatiluwih rice terraces, which so far remain free from playground equipment. Drive the northern coastal road, with the ocean to one side, and mountains to the other, stopping to catch some rays at Lovina’s black-sand beaches. Bathe in Banjar hot springs or go shipwreck snorkelling in Amed. Opt for homestays over hotel resorts, and support local businesses, family-run restaurants, and community-led tourism. Connect with culture by watching a Kecak or Legong dance performance, a wayang kulit shadow puppet show, or rustling up some nasi campur at a cooking class. Be curious about practices, rituals and sacred sites, and take the time to learn and experience these. Bali offers endless beauty if you’re willing to explore it further, or acknowledge the cultural depth which exists within the main hotspots. Try not be too preoccupied with ‘discovering’ the ‘real Bali’. The island isn’t the same as it was decades ago. You are not explorers on a quest to discover untouched lands, but a guest in someone’s home. Let them tell you about it.
Beyond the featured image
The return journey to the summit of Mount Lempuyang and Pura Lempuyang Luhur, the seventh and final temple, takes over three hours. The climb is cool and misty. Unable to see beyond the damp, moss-grown steps, I carry a large stick to deter the mischievous long-tailed macaques. There are far fewer people along this route than there were at the Gateway to Heaven. Mostly, I come across families, ascending slowly as they tackle the climb together. They wear the bright white shirts and robes reserved for ceremony, which appear every now and then like headlights through fog. Stopping at each temple on the way to the summit, they honour the Gods with prayers and offerings. One woman offers me one of her hiking snacks; glutinous rice and coconut shavings wrapped in a banana leaf triangle. It is sweet on my now salty lips. When I reach the summit, there is not much of a view today, but I still enjoyed the climb.
Leave a Reply