But then post booking, I had heard that Bali just wasn’t what it used to be. That hard core backpackers had given way to packaged tourism and families seeking something safe yet exotic. This may be true in parts of Bali. There may be parts where it is hard not to find a 5 star hotel high rise with all the amenities that come with that type of vacation.
It is not yet the reality of Balangan. I say yet, because we all know how this goes. Once an area is on someone’s Facebook feed, or becomes part of the suggestions in the Lonely Planet guide, it is bound to change. There is no way to avoid it. Yet, I can’t help but feel that Balangan has years before it becomes a the next Kuta (which I haven’t visited, but hear is quite overrun with 5 star hotels and swarms of tourists.)
Balangan consists of less than a mile long white sandy beach, with two large cliffs on either end. A row of “Warung" or beach bars line the road and look out on to the beach offering small or large beers, coffee, fruit juice and a mix of Western and South East Asian dishes.
Many of the dilapidated shack structures also offer a stark room for rent for about $10-15, complete with a queen size bed and mosquito net, a fan and either a private or shared bathroom with a cold water drip coming out of a bamboo pipe serving as a shower.
There is not much to do except join the 20 or so surfers on the line up, drink a beer overlooking the sandy beach or lounge in the sand or for a buck or two on one of the chaise lounges and umbrellas set in front of each restaurant. There are as many restaurant workers as travelers and even the ambulatory beach sales guys seem to know that you won’t really buy anything. They offer their DVDs or bracelets, but are already walking on before you have declined.
Last night I decided to join a group of expats on the hillside for some sunset beachside yoga and "ohmmed" my way into the evening, watching the surfers on horizon. On my way back to my "hotel," my feet sunk deep into the damp sand, and stray dogs trotted on either side of me in the fading light.
I am still working on slowing down. I woke up this morning ready to jump ship and head out to see the next place. But then I told myself that I should stay. To just sit and listen to the ocean, thatched roofs and palm leaves waving in the breeze, watch a local boy slink up the trunk of the palm tree to retrieve the last remaining coconut, his bare feet propelling him up the tree 50 feet above, fearless and concentrated on his coconut prize. To rent a surf board and hope I don't die. Maybe I'll even rent those motor scooters, though I lack all the coordination necessary to make that successful.
This morning on my run, I watched a woman put tiny little boxes made out of palm leaves down around the houses near her. Inside were flowers, some candy and a stick of incense. Offerings to god she explained. I ran up the road off the beach and saw the more "fancy" places Balangan has to offer. The place my dad would stay if he ever came to this side of the world. (Though this morning he was just mad about the fact that I had flown AirAsia - apparently they are known for crashing into the sea in the same way the US is known for eating hamburgers.)
I wasn’t sure what to expect when I arrived. I was told it was rainy season. That Bali was overrun with tourists. My volunteer stint had fallen through and I felt rushed after leaving California before I was ready. But as always, you can only read so much about a place. You can only listen to so many other travelers’ stories and recommendations. You can only google search so many times, before you go and see it for yourself. And while teaching English to orphans will have to be another trip, Balangan Beach is teaching me something else about myself.
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