Nobal Glomad

“Taxi taxi… friend… Hello… Where you go… you want lady?…shopping trip?… Hello?” Welcome to the epicentre of Jetstar’s package escape ugliness. I’m back on the travel trail and on a 24hr transit stopover in Legian which sits just north of Denpasar airport, the midway divide between Bintang singlet’d Kuta and white trouser’d Seminyak.

Rag Traders spill onto borderless streets with carts-loads of tradition-slaughtering batik motifs, random kwikie-marts with umbilically attached ATMs every 5 meters swim in generator sucking fluorescents which parade endless shelves of soggy chips and generic snacks, tag-team massage operations compete for your ½ hour native pounding, and a few old-skool fly-sweltering Nasi Goreng Warungs remain amongst the stench of a two and four wheeler chaos.

Last night after dumping the bags, greeting my long distance significant special one and surviving the onslaught and initial hold-your-horses slam dunk of the humidity, we hit the beach for a quieter stroll. The break is awash with a history of plastic excrement and the stench of less than Norsca fresh water drains. Local lads dance laser pointers and propel neon UFOs into your peaceful orbit, intent on the suck from your million+ packed rupee pocket…  there’s no escape. Ironically on a nearby wall sits a tired flaking mural that reads ‘Keep our beaches clean’ and ‘A tidy Kuta is a happy Kuta’.

The thing is… every passing tourist is happy, ecstatic even to be here. They return year after year. Like sheep they flock to the feed to laze in the same seedy bars, drink the same Coca-Cola priced beer, scream the guts out of public stoning-worthy Karaoke, and joyfully strut the same gut-hugging singlets and braid the same bleached blonde hair every visit.

Welcome to a phenomenon I call Cluster Tourism.

We’ve all witnessed C.T. in varying degrees in our travels… the rich seek like-minds to catwalk latest season resort wear and sip ‘I’m so fucking interesting’ vintage Pinot Grigio, backpackers flock for ankle length dreadlocks, cargo pants, 6 weeks off from University a year antiestablishment conversation, retro Wayfarers and the 20 bed beachside dorm-room express.

Yes C.T. is a well-established global phenomenon. It comes in fabulous and freakish forms… I’m focusing on the latter. Mallorca and Ibiza wave the Euro brat pack flag, the Lonely Planet-ers swarm to Koh Pang Yang at every full moon mushroom shake’d opportunity (Lombok’s Gilli Trawangan an up and coming close second) Sitges gaggle of meat-packed men lovers gather between Atlanta cruises for beefcake beachside soirees. Surfer’s Paradise welcomes the slam-dunk of post-HSC toilet class for a week after final school IQ benchmarking, and Daydream Island in the Whitsundays? It’s all in the noime (and no, that’s not a typo).

The thing is, I’m not against it. I love and nurture the appropriate forms of self-containing CT. The more opportunity I have to explore of the world, the more I support tribal travel that keeps certain animals happily contained. When it comes to the Kuta all-in-one package ‘I wanna free cocktail in an exploding pineapple’ entourage? I encourage its package tour blossom. The more clustering, the less dilution of a culture’s true identity and the more opportunity we have to explore ‘the new’ through authentic eyes. These neon-lit post 70s pop-ups have little in common with what authenticates an experience. They’ve festered with a hunger for pan-crust pizzas, 10 page banana split menus, copy everything shop-stops, infinity pools a go-go, bouncing dance floors, disco bungie jumps, puke-stops, half-braid hairdressers and bad fashion in every sense boutiques.

Drive an hour in any direction from the Kuta crass-ophiles and suddenly you are back in Bali. Beautiful Bali. Simple not much has changed rice paddy volcanic serenity Bali. You’re transported back to locals living out the façade removed divine family loving, rich in ceremony, Balinese life.

Every time I visit southern Indonesia I do the obligatory few days of coastal cluster. Take it for what it is… an hours’, not days’ functional slab of bogan time to grab some DVDs, have a cringe-fueled laugh, haggle, eat in over-glitzed fusion eateries, relax with a tug-less rub, and most importantly plan your get me the hell out of here pronto next destination.

There’s a smattering of authentic to be found if you put your nose to the ground. Take 70’s built Three Brother’s Bungalows in Legian (a non-sponsored plug… believe me these guys are a few 100 years perfectly behind the PR eight-ball). A few acres of over-proportioned, lush, tranquil, traditional-style Balinese gardens with a mash up of simple hodge-podge room offerings featuring schizophrenic mould-hugging interiors, an appropriately forgettable breakfast served by shuffle shoe’d sparkling eyed local girls… and in the heat of the 100% humidity filled days… a big missing tile-tastic pool.

The only local food joint worth gracing your innards with sits a few doors down… Warung Yogya. Clean as a freshly White King’d bathroom this white tiled ‘simple’ serves up Indonesian classics a plenty. The super-smile ladies de la cucina are chopping, slicing, blending and frying in preparation for their loyal fans. Gado Gado is a favourite with veges and rice piled plate-high doused in peanut sauce. Throw in a side of deep-fried tempe and a fruit shake mocktail… yummo.

Seminyak has a few world-worthy drink and dine players. There’s a zillion flouncy articles all over the web for this lusty lately Russian favourite but do the obvious and head to Ku De Ta for sunset Western-priced cocktails… love or lothe it the open plan architecture’s seriously svelt, the tunes play tribute to Café Del Mar and the king-sized banana lounges, if you can nab one, are the perfect post-beach tan-line compare spot.

Don’t discount Bali or neighbouring Lombok as your next escape destination. They both are serious happy place contenders with unbeatable landscape, swim-scape and culture-scape offerings. And the Balinese people? They are by far the friendliest individuals you will encounter, more so than any other culture I’ve come face to face with around the world. And best of all? Indonesia is cheap, and super cheap right now with the AUD so good. For $70 AUD/day (away from the obvious haunts) you’ll find simple styling accommodation and local eatery for less than $10 AUD/meal. Beats Sydney’s cost of a parking fine any day.

Enjoy. Live. Love.