The Many Faces of Bali

How six million tourists find magic, madness, and meaning on a small tropical island

Bali—this tiny island in Indonesia’s sprawling archipelago—is consistently ranked among the world’s top vacation spots. After the long, lonely years of the pandemic, Bali is back, drawing near-record numbers of visitors once more. But what is Bali, really? What is it that entices over six million foreign tourists here each year?

For some, the name alone says it all: warm seas, soft sands, cold beers, vibrant colors, exotic sounds, friendly people, broad smiles, laughing children. A multitude of affordable homestays and warungs. A wide range of three, four, and five-star resorts. For many, that’s more than enough.

Bali is especially popular with Australians, Europeans, and Asians. For Aussies, it’s just a short hop to a world that feels different—but not too different—where you can taste the exotic and leave your inhibitions behind in Perth, Sydney, Melbourne, or Cairns. Europeans—especially the Dutch—may remember stories told by grandparents who once lived here during the colonial era. And for many Asian tourists, Bali is both accessible and more affordable than luxury destinations in their own countries. Japanese newlyweds have made Bali a perennial favorite for honeymoons.

Despite the tropical imagery often conjured in Western minds, Bali is not in the South Pacific. It’s firmly situated in the Indian Ocean. But for those who’ve dipped into these warm, sparkling waters, labels hardly matter. The pleasure is real.

Bali.

A land of wonder and magic, set in the warm embrace of the Indian Ocean and the Bali Sea.
Bali—the tourist-ruined, money-soaked island, funneling foreign cash into Jakarta’s coffers.

Hand-planted rice. Homemade offerings placed daily in woven palm-leaf baskets. Ceremonial cloths of dazzling red, gold, and black. Noisy motorcycles zipping through alleys. Howling dogs in the distance. Relentless street sellers. Guides who speak five languages—imperfectly, but with determination.

Gamelan orchestras practicing under a brilliant moon. Fishermen casting nets from traditional outriggers in the early morning light. The mystery of wayang kulit—shadow puppet plays in village courtyards where children laugh, men gamble, and women offer unfiltered commentary on their husbands’ performances—or lack thereof.

Then again:
A busload of drunken tourists puking out the windows during a bar crawl in Kuta.
A new wave of digital nomads crowding the once-sleepy fishing village of Canggu.
Cheap gold and silver trinkets. More fake watches than one could wear in a lifetime. The unwelcomed scourge of Bali Belly.

And still:
A quiet walk through lush ravines filled with birds and butterflies.
The hypnotic chant of a village priest drifting through the humid dusk.
The cry of a jamu seller in the morning. The aroma of sate sizzling over coals.

So—what is Bali?

The answer is that there is no answer. It depends entirely on what you bring to Bali—and where you take it.
Some foreigners arrive and never leave, seduced by the midnight buzz, the promise of reinvention, or the slower pulse of village life. Others pass through quickly, disappointed by the traffic, the influencers, the plastic waste washed ashore with the tides.

In Sanur, a twenty-minute drive from chaotic Kuta, older and more upscale visitors sip cocktails beneath swaying palms, the pace a little more forgiving.
Canggu buzzes with energy—dance, drink, detox, repeat. The self-branded global citizens who come here often don’t stay long, always looking for the next island to “do.”

Head north and you may find boredom—or bliss.
Quiet sunsets on Lovina or Anturan Beach. Serene village paths through terraced rice fields.

In Ubud, Bali’s famed cultural center, you might stumble upon extraordinary artists, spellbinding dancers, sacred processions, world-class yoga retreats, and luxurious eco-lodges. Or you might find yourself dodging mangy dogs on muddy footpaths, grumbling through a cold shower in a crumbling guesthouse.

Bali is a land of breathtaking beauty and maddening contradictions.
To see more than the surface, leave the tourist centers behind. Wander through local markets. Spend time in fishing villages. Sit with people. Talk. Listen.

You’ll be welcomed—and maybe, just maybe, you’ll glimpse a version of Bali that still feels real.