Bali - Denpasar to Uluwatu

A six hour flight took us from the reasonably familiar culture of Australia, to the culturally different island of Bali. A soft landing (for us) to this new the country. Although well established now on the increasingly mainstream tourist map, and its flux of international visitors, we envisaged some challenges. In the main, heat, humidity and language.

Three words to sum up my first impressions over the first couple of days - sweat, smells and smoke.

As we flew into Denpasar, the island’s capital and main city late in the evening, we would need to pass through immigration, grab our luggage and bikes, find somewhere to unpack them, assemble them and dispose of the boxes and packing material. We also needed to withdraw some currency, and sort out some local SIM cards for our phones. We landed at about 9:30pm local time, so it was going to be a late night.

The airport was busy and we passed through without issue. The only question asked of us - Why had we brought bicycles? Sometimes I wonder?

On the concourse outside, the heat and humidity were oppressive and the smells and sounds unfamiliar. Feeling a bit ‘mingy ’ already after the flight, the discomfort progressed as we assembled the bikes, generating more sweat from all parts of the body!

Set up and ready to go, we went out into the sticky night air to head to our guest house, and hoped to get there quickly as it was only a ten minute cycle. Getting out of an airport by bike is usually a challenge and it proved so again. Darkness, unfamiliar signage and Google Map conundrums meant we stopped often to check directions. We took a couple of wrong turns. Navigating off the main road onto tiny side roads and a maze of small alleyways, we eventually arrived at our guest house after midnight.

We arrived to a friendly and bemused welcome and manhandled the bikes into the guest house courtyard, as the heavens opened with our first tropical shower.

After a poor nights sleep we were awake early. Taking our breakfast in the courtyard, the heat was crazy and it wasn’t yet 8:30am! With a temperature close to 30 and humidity of around 80%, it was going to be a daunting first day, and we would cross part of the city to head south to visit the temple of Uluwatu.

Cycling into downtown Denpasar, the traffic was intense. Everything was happening, everywhere, and all at once! Cars, motorcycles, pedestrians, hawkers with carts, dogs - all negotiating the same stretch of road. The intense heat, fumes and horns mixed in a tumultuous melee and we had to concentrate; on the road ahead, behind us, traffic passing, traffic coming toward us (motorcycles often drove on our side of the road towards us! We had to react to who was starting, who was stopping and who was turning, and get ready for our turning well in advance. This proved to be stimulating and overwhelming at the same time. Right turns were difficult. If we didn’t get over into the centre of the road in time, we’d get stuck in the left lane. If we stopped on the left to wait to cross, it was impossible to cross or slot back into the flow, as a break in traffic would rarely occur.

After a couple of hours we started to get it a bit. We had to be assertive, go with the flow and use the accompanying traffic to help us. Turning with the mopeds, we became part of their ‘flock’ and take advantage of a perceived safety in numbers.

The use of horns was normal. Drivers use them to let you know that they were approaching or passing, or to warn other vehicles of something. We found this etiquette of communication to be useful and witnessed no road rage. Many junctions have no discernible right of way and there are few traffic lights, except for major arteries. Despite all this, things seemed to work and everyone seemed aware of everyone else.
As we travelled slowly in the congestion, boxed in by the traffic around us, it strangely felt much safer than the highways in New Zealand and Australia.

We eventually turned off onto quieter roads. On the coast were large resort hotels, their entrance gates manned by security staff, often decked out smartly in traditional Indonesian dress, eyeing us as we sweated and huffed and puffed our way past.

Reaching a more rural area, our route took us along potholed roads, along tiny alleyways that could be a path but then a car would appear to remind us it was a road. We zig zagged back and forth, climbing to the top of a significant hill, where we looked back to grab views of the city and its airport on a narrow choke of land between the main city and the Bukit peninsula where we were headed. The blistering heat of the afternoon made pushing the bikes to the top of some of these hills hard. As we leant into a steep gradient, applying brakes at each rest stop to stop the bikes rolling away, sweat making everything slippy, we gulped the warm air and waited for our hearts and heads to stop pounding.

We arrived at our guest house close to Uluwatu late afternoon. Set on top of a hill with views across to the Uluwatu temple site and sea beyond, it was a welcoming place and in peaceful contrast to the hectic and frenetic pace of the day’s cycle.

We had booked tickets to see a traditional Kecak (pronounced kechak) dance at the Temple that night. Background - a Kecak is a traditional Balinese dance and musical drama. It uses no instruments and is driven by a large male chorus that chant rhythmically for the majority of the performance, demonstrating amazing physical stamina. The narrative tells the story of the Ramayana, the ancient epic of Hinduism, through dance and drama, and part of it features a fire dance. Although the performance had its origin in the 1930s from a Balinese trance dance ritual called Sanghyang, it was adapted and developed by Balinese artist Wayan Limbak and German painter Walter Spies (which we would learn about later from visiting the Art Museum in Ubud). The two of them helped create and shape the dance by their collaboration into the dance form known as Kecak.

The male choir sit in a circle, moving their hands and bodies in a rhythmic sway that represents flames. It’s primal and exotic. They are shirtless and wear a sarong. Some have body paint. More flamboyantly dressed performers enter the stage and depict Rama, Sita, Hanoman, Ravana and others. My favourite was Hanoman, the divine monkey. He was cheeky and mischievous but also fearless, courageous and loyal.

The story is told in acts - one of good (Rama and Sita) v evil (Ravana) in what I can only describe as a ‘voodoo opera with pantomime touches wrapped up in a B movie vibe’. We, the audience, are like adventurers to a distant isle, where we stumble upon, and witness, an ancient ritual of natives.

…and there is fire! Hanoman is ceremonially burnt by Ravana and his cohorts in a circle of flames. The brave monkey overcomes this and precedes to kick the fire (real fireballs) high into the air and all over the stage. You wouldn’t get that in the West End. H&S nightmare!

Good eventually prevails and Ravana is defeated. All this as sun went down so it was very dramatic. To continue the drama a man and woman get pulled on to stage - what is going on? - and the man proceeds to go down on one knee, offering up a ring to his girlfriend! With the whole audience watching she accepted: what a proposal!!

We walked back up the hill to the small restaurant where we were staying and ate dinner as the traffic below picked up for those attending the second Kecak show of the evening. There are two shows each evening, every day and makes the performers endurance more amazing as each show lasts and hour, non-stop.

The following day we returned to visit the temple. As a sign of respect, any persons with bare legs must wear a sarong, or, a sash if wearing clothes that cover the legs. As well as good etiquette it is to demonstrate purity. Located on the edge of cliffs with the sea 70m below, Uluwatu is one of Bali’s six most important temples, said to protect the island and maintain a spiritual balance. The Hindu temple has a number of shrines and pavilions that are located inside different compounds enclosed by walls with decorated gates between. Certain parts of the temple are accessible by worshippers only. The temple layout follows an ancient design and has a sacred arrangement and meaning.

We wandered around, following the cliff top wall and path, wondering how long before parts fall into the sea, far below. The temple is populated with long tailed macaques. If you saw the David Attenborough Planet Earth III episode you’ll have seen these entrepreneurial monkeys nicking sunglasses, hats, cameras and phones from the tourists. They then ‘negotiate’ to return them upon the reward of food. The cheeky monkey muggers of Uluwatu. Stealthy, sneaky and learned, they pop out from trees or drop from the temple roofs suddenly. There are signs warning you. “No phone, take off glasses, no hat” and so forth. There are many guides offering to ‘guard you’ from the monkeys, and help reclaim your belongings if they get stolen. Some of the temple guides have small slingshots and snacks to aid the return of ‘lost property’. I wonder if the guides and macaques are in cahoots, like Fagin and his band of urchins and have a team meeting every morning before the temple opens.
“Tommo, you are on iPhones today. I want at least 5”
“Marty. Sunglasses. Go for the designer ones”
“Kids, just look cute and distract the human idiots”
“Now, go forth and steal. A ripe mango goes to the one who pilfers the most”

A small young one tries to grab my phone when I wasn’t looking! I felt the snatch before I even saw the monkey. Luckily, I had a tight hold.

Leaving the temple and relived to be monkey free, we had a large chilled coconut sold by the nice ladies in the car park. One small and slight lady chopped into the green husk with a very sharp machete. Using rapid strokes close to her fingers, it was fear inducing, witnessing the speed and dexterity with which she chopped - demonstrating that she has probably done this thousands of times. She looked over at me and squeezed her bicep and smiled with a toothy grin. I was living a tourist cliche but didn’t care as on this hot afternoon it was the most refreshing thing I have ever tasted.

On last evening on the terrace we enjoyed watching the flashes of lightning in the distance but the storm never came.
We could hear the sound of an Imams call to prayer drifting in and out above the noise of traffic as it picked up on the road below. Red lines of tail lights heading for the temple and evenings Kecak performance.
The show must go on and so must we. Tomorrow we head through the city again to reach Sanur and the east coast, before heading inland (and probably uphill).Læs mere