Pottering around Canggu
Two novices on a scooter head inland from Canggu, a surf village on the south coast of Bali, to explore — with no particular destination in mind.
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A friend and I had been talking for a long time about travelling together. For some reason, it had never happened, and last year, we decided it finally would. The plan had originally been to go to the Jammu and Kashmir region of India, but due to some problems that came up on B.’s end we eventually switched our attentions to Indonesia. We thought we would spend a few days in Bali and then move on to Lombok to climb Gunung Rinjani. But as luck would have it, the night we arrived in Bali on October 25, news reports came in that the volcanic mountain had started spewing ash and was being evacuated of hikers and would remain “closed” for the next ten days. It hadn’t seemed serious enough to warrant leaving, yet, and we decided to ride it out in Bali and see what happened closer to time. Call it wishful thinking, but we were hoping the warnings would be lifted earlier and that we would still be able to hike up to Rinjani’s summit, which was our main reason for coming to Indonesia in the first place. (This would prove impossible in the end.)
We spent the first few days in Canggu, a surf village in the south of Bali crowded with foreign tourists. I’ve not actually travelled very much in Southeast Asia, despite that — or perhaps because — I’m from this region, and it surprised me to see so many travellers, and the ease with which many of them navigated the place and the Indonesian language. It’s not like there aren’t places in Latin America that are equally touristy, but there seem to be fewer schisms here between the travellers and their surroundings. And although the Indonesian and Spanish languages share a lot of similarities in terms of pronunciation, the white travellers here seem to sound more at home speaking Indonesian, whereas in Latin America they often sounded gringo, so to speak, when speaking Spanish. Then again, this is the Bali shaped in part by Eat, Pray, Love. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised.
Anyway, Canggu had been B.’s idea — she being a keen surfer — and we decided we would join up with a few of her friends who were already there. I was a little worried about how many days I would be able to spend by the beach before getting bored (I am not a sun worshipper and though I would try surfing, I didn’t see myself taking a board out every day), but it mattered little in the end as, due to some not great planning on my part, I had a looming deadline that cut into our trip and I ended up spending most of my first two days in Canggu stuck in cafes with my laptop while the other girls rode the waves and worked up a tan. Funnily enough, it was when I was sitting inside the Betelnut Cafe looking out, bare thighs sweat-slicked despite the fan whirring overhead (isn’t this the defining fact of existence in the tropics?), that the everyday beauty of Canggu, the simple pleasure of just being there, struck me. It had to do with the almost blinding quality of the light and the way it filtered in through the clear wooden windows, and how it spread across the bright green patch of paddy field across the road and fell so benevolently on women in bikinis or white dresses seemingly made of gauze whizzing past on scooters — surfboards anchored to one side — along the asphalt of Jalan Pantai Batu Bolong, turning them golden. And the men, too, in their sunglasses and ridiculous tank tops that cut to their navals.
I texted a friend back home telling him I was in Bali for the first time, and he texted back, saying, “Isn’t it Little Australia down there?” Judging from the reply I got from a woman in a shop when I walked in and asked if the dresses and shawls were Indonesian designs — “Yes, this is not Australian,” she said — I guess he was right: from the expats who have settled here, perhaps for a half-life of surf and sun, to the cute little cafes serving smoothies and pancakes and decked out in hipster-abilia with the occasional inspirational aphorism, lightly turned on its head so it doesn’t look like it’s trying too hard. Later, after two weeks spent on the less-frequented Flores Island further east, I would come to appreciate all this about Canggu, though at the time the divide between the local people and the tourists unsettled me a little. I’m not Indonesian, but I am Southeast Asian. Was I more of a “local”, or more of a foreigner?
In the end, I didn’t even go to the beach until our fifth day in Canggu. After I wrapped up my writing, B. and I managed, with some imagination, to keep ourselves occupied — including, among other things, cycling the thirty-five kilometres from Canggu to Padang Padang beach (Instagram here and here), which is a little ill-advised, to say the least, considering there are quicker and easier ways to get there. We also decided to take a scooter out and head inland from Canggu to explore. We didn’t have a particular destination in mind, but headed in the general northwest direction to Pura Tanah Lot, the famous temple by the sea, though we weren’t planning on actually getting there. B. had never taken the helm of a scooter before. I had, twice: the first time — seven years ago in Cuba; and the second — just a few months ago around Lake Toba in Sumatra. However, I can’t say I felt any more confident after my second go, considering the comedic mishap starring yours truly, which played out in full before an attractive guy who had deigned to ride pillion with me, and who surely regretted it. In the end, B. and I took turns at the front, and we must have made a funny sight to passersby as we sputtered up and down, up and down, up and down Jalan Pantai Batu Bolong for some practice before heading out. It was clear we hadn’t inspired any confidence in the other girls, who looked on worriedly as we sped away and promised to be back in time to join them for dinner. But somehow, through a combination of our own bluster and the patience of smiling Indonesians as we took forever to cross at intersections, we made it through three hours on busy roads and narrow unpaved paths winding through paddy fields—and wandered into the private home of local politician Nyoman Sutrisno by accident—and returned to Canggu in one piece to enjoy the sunset. Tip: don’t come to Indonesia until you know how to ride a scooter, or come and make it the first thing you learn. It’s a skill that’s immeasurably useful to have here.
Here are some snapshots we took along the way:
