Prior to going to my final project at a turtle conservation centre off the coast of Bali, I booked onto a guided tour of the mainland. My fellow travellers were a great bunch from Ireland, Australia, the USA and Malta. It was a good job we did get on, without requiring any peace negotiations, as we spent hours squashed together in a minibus which only seemed to have one gear.
Bali is a small island, so I assumed we would travel around quite easily. How wrong I was…. The traffic here is unbelievable. There are swarms of mopeds, and, it appears that one moped is quite sufficient to carry 2 adults and 3 children, none of whom wear crash helmets. I also hadn’t appreciated that there aren’t many roads on the island, and none have been finished. The shortest journey can quite easily take hours, in a convoy of old trucks laden with rice and chickens.
Our guide announced one evening that we would be spending the following night in home stays in the remote village of Sibetan, well off the tourist trail. I thought ‘home stay’ meant Airbnb but it was in fact a HOME STAY. I was dismayed to learn that I would be staying in the spare room of a local family, and did briefly consider swapping this leg of the trip for 24 hours in a 5* resort.
The following afternoon we arrived in the tiny village and were greeted by our hosts in the tin-roofed village hall. My host, a fat jolly chap, in traditional dress, said his name was ‘Andy’. He enthusiastically wheeled my suitcase along the road, down a moss covered alleyway and into his family home. Balinese families live in walled compounds with their own temple, a communal living area, numerous bedrooms and one bathroom with a cold hand shower. My room was basic, featuring only an antiquated bed and wardrobe, and it was unbearably hot.
After we dined as a group on some inedible local food I returned to my ‘home stay’ for bed at 9.00pm. As it was ridiculously early to lock myself in my ‘sauna cell’ I decided to make a quick cup of tea. PG tips and a kettle are the only 2 non-negotiable items in my luggage. Unfortunately as soon as I plugged my little kettle in, there was a loud bang, and the compound disappeared into darkness. A few seconds later Andy appeared with a torch to check everything was ok. I sheepishly had to explain my kettle misdemeanour and I apologised profusely. Fortunately he saw the funny side and said ‘You want hot water? I get it on the fire.’ Having finally got my cuppa, I climbed into the rather grim bed. My phone started pinging immediately with numerous WhatsApp messages from my fellow travellers comparing notes on how many cockroaches were in their rooms and who had the biggest ones.
Needless to say it was a short and sweaty night, but certainly a unique experience. The villagers were utterly charming and so welcoming, but I won’t be rushing back… To be honest I won’t be rushing back to Bali either, it is a tragic example of over tourism coupled with a fragile infrastructure and a massive plastic pollution problem…
