The cobblestone lane that traverses the rice paddies between Barawa Beach and Canggu is a cathartic kinda motorcycle ride. It only lasts for a few minutes, but this small window of open space and greenery is like medicine for the soul amongst the built-up chaos that characterises southern Bali today. The woven conic hats of a few farmers can be seen bobbing amongst the crops, the bruised clouds circling and eddying above. Beyond the fields, a few luxury villas poke their tops above high fences.
It was not so long ago that these lush, green fields blanketed the majority of the Canggu/Barawa area – then a small village in which neighbours helped one another harvest crops and children fished for eels among the marshy steps of the rice paddies. Those that remain provide a small reprieve from the otherwise urbanised landscape which boasts a myriad of hotels, retreats, cafes and restaurants.
Between island hopping and wave hunting, I have come to Canggu, along with many other surfers, in an attempt to avoid the Kuta vortex (which I have come to tread with caution in recent years). With granola bowls, beetroot juice and micro-foam lattes in the plenty, Canggu feels strikingly similar to the place I left behind – Bondi Beach – only transplanted on Indonesian soil.
The Deus Ex Machina Temple of Enthusiasm – café, bar, gallery, mini-ramp and barber – has undoubtedly been a driving force in the changing face of Canggu. It’s resident surfers, shapers, skaters, musicians and artists are at the crux of the retro revolution we see gripping surf communities all over. While Indo still hails as surfing’s mecca, Canggu, with its log-friendly playground at Old Man’s to the punchy peaks at Echo, seems a fitting location for another hipster headquarters. Street art coats double-story hotel walls alongside rice fields, creating a stark contrast between the old world and the new. Groovy nine-foot longboards can be hired from Old Mans and with free 15-minute tats available on Tuesdays at Deus, anyone, really, can jump on the anchor wanker bandwagon.
The difference between Canggu and any other trendy Aussie beach suburb – such as Byron Bay or Bondi Beach – is that in Canggu those of us lucky enough to deal in the Aussie dollar can live like kings. But when did we start travelling the world to meet the same kind of people and experience the same comforts we do at home (bar a good Padang feed and the waft of a Gudang to remind you where you really are)? A common enough experience in Canggu is that of the villa dwelling surfer. With a cleaner on hand, there are no dishes to wash or laundry to be done. You can afford to eat out for every meal. The people are stylish and beautiful. Your only commitments are the surf and getting to Old Man’s by 5 o’clock each afternoon for two-for-one espresso martinis. Yes, life is sweet. But in a Balinese village in which most places you frequent are run by foreigners for foreigners, and the only Indonesian person you know by name is the cleaner, perhaps something is slightly askew? Although we like to claim we live in a classless society in Australia, we (myself included) find it pretty easy to participate in the class system in Bali, especially when we find ourselves conveniently placed at the top.
I recently heard the seasoned travel writer, 75-year-old Colin Thubron speaking about the art of travel. In the 1960’s, Thubron embarked on a 7000-mile journey following the old trade route known as the Silk Road from eastern China to Turkey. An audience member questioned him on his methods of gaining trust and projecting his own trustworthiness as a traveller. In reply, he asked the question, why is it that one travels? He suggested we travel to experience difference – to meet people unlike ourselves, and to find some common ground. Undoubtedly, the more one travels and lives in the mode of the local people, he said, the more accepting and trusting they will be.
That noted, with globalisation, surf culture along with western culture in general has infiltrated the world, and this is nothing new. On an island as heavily touristed as Bali, with such a large gap in comparative wealth, the relationship between locals and foreigners is almost always going to be fraught. And for many surfers, their travel experiences are not limited to Balinese villas. Indeed, after a tedious and bumpy overland trek from Sumbawa whilst trying not to shit yourself you want nothing more than a few creature comforts, and hey, you’ve worked your butt off back home to allow you this pleasure.
And back in Canggu it’s not all doom and gloom. To provide a local perspective, one Berawa homestay owner, Rama, suggests that from foreign business owners he has gained entrepreneurial inspiration, and although the landscape is changing, the local culture remains strong. All young boys must learn to play traditional music on the Gambelan, and girls are taught to make offerings for ceremony. During each full moon and new moon every child goes to the temple for prayer, without exception. Other local council policies also work to keep the area from overdevelopment. We will not see late-night clubs being established here (at least in the foreseeable future) nor will we see buildings reaching higher than the 4-story mark. Rama believes that the tourism boom in Canggu has been good for his community. “When investors come to buy land and build villas,” he tells me, “it gives the people a place to work. This is good. But the bad thing is we miss our rice fields.”
Many farmers have opted to lease their land to investors rather than work the fields, farming providing a meagre income in comparison. The remaining rice paddies add a particular charm to the area, but if they continue to disappear Canggu will surely lose a valuable part of its identity. As environmental issues and the importance of green space trickles to the forefront of Indonesian consciousness, we can be hopeful that past projects such as the Dreamland fiasco are observed as cautionary tales.
There are no clear-cut solutions to the issues raised here. Yes, the rice fields are disappearing, slums sit alongside extravagant villas and cultural divides are enduring. Still, whether you’re the villa dweller or the grittier breed of traveller, this place steals your heart, no matter how many times you come and go.
