Everybody loves Bali. Well, almost everybody. I’m torn to say that I didn’t love Bali, or maybe I did, but my reflections on my experience are full of glaring contrasts.
I travelled alone to Bali, without the company of another to discuss or distract, so I had a very pure relationship with what I was seeing and how it made me feel. My experience was very much that of a Western traveller, and I want to note that I’m not claiming to be even slightly local or connected to the local life of Bali. Mine was the experience of a traveller, a reluctant tourist.
In Bali, you are forced into the role of a tourist. The experiences and trinkets are thrust at you at every turn. In an attempt to connect with the beautiful culture, I did some of the touristy things. The more I did, the more isolated from the true Bali I felt. The ceremony I attended was deep and profound, yet so inaccessible to me as a foreigner; the language barrier was, of course, the biggest obstacle to understanding and going deeper. The depth of the culture was there, but I just couldn’t get in.
So, I resigned myself to the tourist traps and scraps of understanding. My guides to a deeper connection were obvious: the dragonfly, the gecko, Buddha, Ganesha, and the pure water from deep within her belly. Now is as good a time as ever to mention water. If you’ve experienced my work before, you’ll know about the experiences and connection I have to water. My life and spirituality are very much based on conversations with water itself. Water is the voice of the planet, and her song is my barometer. So when in Bali, I followed her call. There are freshwater springs everywhere. I bought one big plastic water bottle and filled it up repeatedly. If I had to be a tourist, I was committed not to be one who took more than I gave.
The springs took me to quiet places where locals would gather, and we would smile knowingly at each other. There is something empowering and delicious about receiving a gift as pure as deep-drawn water. It’s free and it’s healing.
The first water temple I visited in Bali was again an experience of contrast. So many people and so much Instagram. This was the start of a theme that culminated in my article ‘Bali for the Gram’. There it was: a wall around the turquoise spring, gushing life into the Bali sunshine. Springs always take my breath and my words. I was allowed to enter the prayer area for locals, and there I wept. So many unshed tears came up and tumbled onto the stone slabs, my saline offering, a pure prayer of deep gratitude. It was healing. I tried to let as many tears happen in Bali as possible. It’s been a life of holding it together by the skin of my teeth. But eventually, the tears dried up as my sympathetic nervous system became overstimulated.
Surely by now, dear reader, you’re aware of the nervous system and its part in rest and flight. It is safe to say, as I sit at the airport about to depart, that I’m more sore and more strung out than I’ve ever been. My body is in a total state of fight or flight, and the tension has not found any relief in the abundant quantity of yoga and massages I’ve engaged in while here. Noise is the biggest and most obvious trigger for activating this response. The noise is intense all the time. There are cars and bikes everywhere, a beautiful dance of chaos, but it is hectic. There is also building happening everywhere on the island. I’m not exactly sure if the rubbish itself contributed to any of my physical unease, but it definitely contributed to my overall feeling of unhappiness, as did the animals in this country. Many dogs sit on the road with a PTSD look on their faces and seem to be wishing for death. Mange is everywhere and so many dogs will not look at you and are afraid of being beaten. The cats and dogs are all thin. I actually had to tune out. I loathe tuning out, but I had to because my heart could only break so much.
There is a subtle strain between the locals and the tourists, living under the surface, but it’s there. I can only imagine serving a plate of food to a tourist that costs as much as my daily wages. In the bartering, I see us fighting for the lowest dollar and it’s stupidly low. I ended up not buying things and not bartering hard most of the time. When I did barter, I could see the resentment when I got a low price; this person needed to eat and I wanted a fridge magnet. For me, when I’m at home in New Zealand, my privilege feels like deep humility in the presence of our beloved Papatuanuku, and she is everywhere showing me her generosity. In Bali, my privilege was blight and it was everywhere, in every action I took. And the desire to help swelled all the time. ‘White man saviour complex,’ my friendly Dutch friend said to me. A stalemate of sorts.
I have to say that Bali showed me a few sights that will stay with me forever. Being right up north by Menjangan Island was one of the best days of my life. The snorkelling was outstanding. Yes, the impact of man is on the reef, but it’s still very amazing and the fish were so cool. I had a perfect ‘Finding Nemo’ moment with some clownfish and an anemone. I saw a giant clam and watched it close shut as I touched it with the tip of my flipper. Nature let me in that day. The other impressive part of that day was the Java coastline; it was spectacular, like a land lost in time. But when we landed on this island for lunch, rubbish was everywhere. Rubbish is spoiling the world, and we seem to be pretending it’s not. The view of Mount Batur in the centre of the island was also one of the most beautiful things I’ve seen.
I will always be so grateful for my trip to Bali. She showed me how stiff and uncompromising I am becoming with age as I fought no one in particular for sanity and peace of mind. She showed me that some things can’t be reconciled and that action and true grief is an honest path forward. She showed me that the quantity of my discomfort is a testimony to my capacity to care. Bali is beautiful, the world is beautiful, we are just messing it up big time and with privilege comes responsibility and the bill is due.
My Joy Body 