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Mention Bali and most of us think of tropical sunsets, sandy beaches and the October 12th bombing. For me, Bali is the ultimate ‘Bounty Island’ paradise. Its energy is in your face and it drew me in.

The first thing that struck me about Kuta was its pace. Its streets were overrun with speeding mopeds and taxi drivers which touted again and again for business. To be fair, it was a little overwhelming at first. The centre was a maze with few or no road signs and every stall looked like its next door neighbour. But Kuta oozed appeal, its appeal being its un-western charm.

I came to love Kuta’s early morning habits. No morning passed without local children pressing the ‘Jakarta News’ up against the hotel’s restaurant window which, more often than not, was a couple of days old. Behind them, women past in two’s and three’s making their way to the nearby temple. On their heads, they carried offerings of jasmine and fruit to offer up to their Hindu Gods. And without fail, Wayan, a local stall owner, pestered tourists to braid their hair.

'No Thanks!’…
Balinese peddlers have been hassling tourists for years and are always on the lookout for new bait. I knew my pasty appearance would attract their attention and no sooner had I laid out my beach towel I was in trouble. Within minutes I was surrounded by a mob of hawkers. A tattoo book was pushed into my face and sarongs fell over my knees. Next I felt someone massaging my back. Heads bobbed in and out from the small crowd blocking rays. I felt I was under attack. My ‘No thanks!’ catchphrase must have worked because before long they were off towards the beach entrance after some fresh bait. The couple must have found their sales pitch too much to bear because they turned on their heels and made a run for it.

The best spot for hassle free sunbathing is The Hard Rock Café Hotel’s beachfront. Hotel lifeguards parole the sands and it is open to all tourists. Of course, if you want to stray and sample some hawking action you’ll soon find out where the invisible cut-off line ends. But, it’s advisable to knock wearing a Hard Rock Café T-Shirt on its head because to any Balinese hawker its logo screams ‘Hey buddy, I’m loaded!’. Kuta’s Hard Rock Café Hotel is a mecca for the rich and hawkers are always ready to break down its guests and help them part with their cash.

It has to be remembered that Kuta is only one small part of Bali and that not all of Bali has its pace and tack. If you travel a few kilometres outside of Kuta you’ll pass by lush rice fields and lavish temples. Every village has a temple no bigger than a crossroad and every home has a simpler one. There’s no getting away from religion in Bali. When I took a rice paddy walk outside Ubud Town I even noticed small stone gods hidden in bushes. It was when I stayed at Ketut’s Place, a B & B in Ubud, that I found out the double reason behind offering gifts to the gods – to honour the good spirits and to pacify the bad. The Balinese take no chances.

Pandora’s Box…
Ubud is like Pandora’s Box when it comes to art and culture – it has so much to offer. Lucky for me, I arrived just in time for a local festival. For three days the noisy jangly sounds of the gamelan band fell from the temple onto the streets. And for three nights dancers moved to its chaotic tempo in a display of equally jumpy, ever shifting movements.

As part of the festivities a cockfight took place. Maia, an American tourist, pushed locals to tell her its time and venue but the locals kept ‘mum’ (quiet). Everyday I’d pass by the prized pets in bell shaped cane baskets. Roosters liked to watch people and mopeds passed by or so one owner told me.

The only Hindu ceremonies I had seen were on TV. The festival ceremony was open to tourists and my curiosity got the better of me. My dilemma was that I had no sarong or scarf to tie about my waist to enter the temple. By chance the temple had both on standby for visiting tourists, which of course came at a small price (fixed by yourself). Oil torches lit up the temple and gifts littered the altars. When we passed into one part of the temple the gates were locked behind us. The Hindu priests moved among the locals blessing them with holy water and rice. I felt like an intruder sitting and watching them pray. But saying that, it was an oddly fascinating experience. The dancers danced until four that morning. And at 10 o’clock they led a procession through the streets of Ubud before making their way back to their cold beds.

Bali Belly…
The first time I glanced over an Indonesian menu I thought I had entered a health zone. But after tasting the local ‘Nasi Campur’ and ‘Chap Choy’ soup, I realised Balinese dishes were far from bland. Even the most boring vegetable dishes were jazzed up with local spices. Of course every restaurant served western dishes and for tourists missing their weekly cheeseburger and fries, McDonalds and KFC on Jalan Pantai Kuta were always ready to take their orders. I’ll admit I feared being at the mercy of the three day Bali Belly. ‘Be careful’ warned my travel guide. But I soon learnt if the restaurant was busy and looked clean, I was safe. The only question I’d always remember to ask was whether or not mineral water was used to whisk up my Margherita or smoothie.

Paradise lost?
Not surprisingly, Bali is still struggling from the terrorist attack of October 12th, 2002. Sadness and anger is obvious amongst the islanders when they chat about the lively Bali of yesterday and the quieter Bali of today. Anti-terrorist T-shirts hang outside shop fronts and locals will ask tourists again and again to tell friends and travellers about their homeland.

For what it’s worth, Bali is very cheap to visit now. But behind the destruction of October 12th, the charms of Balinese life continues. The island is trying hard to get back on its feet making every effort to promote its still beautiful beaches and exotic culture. One day the islanders hope their homeland will re-emerge as a peaceful island getaway but for now, they pin their hopes to the upbeat slogan: Bali, Get into it!