Paradise for a song

Bali's tourist trade has virtually disappeared since Indonesian unrest began with East Timor last year. But today the island claims to be safer than ever.
And, GEOFF CUMMING finds, the downturn has a definite upside for visitors.

The young men sitting by their shovels on the side of the road into Denpasar are not castaways from our old Ministry of Works.

They are victims of an economic downturn in Bali, an island totally dependent on tourism.

For Bali's unemployed, a shovel is a ticket to a few thousand rupiah a day, unloading trucks taking building materials to Denpasar's construction sites.

Like hitch-hikers, they wait a few hundred metres apart on the roadside for a truck to pick them up.

But after a decade-long construction boom, fewer trucks are coming and the queue of labour is stretching several kilometres into the countryside.

In Denpasar and nearby coastal resorts, many building sites are at a standstill as the lingering effects of the "Asian flu" and a frustrating tourism slump take a grip.

The tourism freeze started last winter with Indonesia's violent withdrawal from East Timor.

Ethnic clashes and independence protests have since spread to other Indonesian islands, prompting tourists by the planeload to steer clear.

But Bali's misfortune has a flipside: it makes for a cheap, uncluttered holiday for those who accept the evidence that, politically, this is not Fiji or the Solomons.

Ironically, tourists began deserting Bali just as a period of intense development was poised to lift the island beyond its tired "sun, surf and sex" image.

Palm-fringed, white-sand beaches, balmy seas and cheap sarongs remain cornerstone attractions, typified by the backpackers' mecca of Kuta on the south-west coast. But the industry is diversifying, opening up more of the interior and offering a wider range of accommodation and activities.

Right now, however, four and five-star hotels are discounting heavily to offset falling occupancy rates - which means ordinary tourists can stay in places normally beyond their reach.

And while the rupiah has bounced back from the bring-a-wheelbarrow rates of 1998, food and drink outside the resorts remains very affordable. Cafes and bars offer subtly-flavoured rice and seafood dishes for less than $10, washed down with a 750ml Bintang (Indonesian beer) for about $3. Moving between resorts and shopping markets by taxi is ridiculously cheap.

Yet Australian and New Zealand tourists, normally quick to sniff a bargain, are staying away. Bookings from the two countries - which usually supply a quarter of Bali's annual one million visitors - are down by half since Timor and January's clashes on Lombok, just 24km from Bali.

United States tourists are also avoiding the region, leaving tourism officials and the Indonesian Government close to despair.

As part of a campaign to woo tourists back, a party of New Zealand journalists were recently invited to see for themselves that Bali remains "as safe as paradise."

At the flash new Hard Rock Hotel in Kuta, marketing vice-president Stephen Michie says potential visitors do not distinguish between the political turmoil on some Indonesian islands and peaceful Bali - which, he stresses, is 1500km from East Timor and even further from the ethnic uprisings on Sumatra.

Tour company employee Jhoni Harrisandi says the fact that Bali is 90 per cent Hindu makes ethnic violence unlikely.

The flare-up on Lombok arose from religious tension between Muslims and Christians, he says and is "unlikely to happen in Bali."

At the Grand Bali Beach Hotel in Sanur, marketing manager Wayan Dharmadi speaks for the industry as a whole as he greets the journalists' group: "Seeing is believing; Bali is as safe as paradise."

But such is its tourism dependence, there is fear that unless tourists come back soon, poverty may turn Bali's population restive.

While its economy is not yet as depressed as some parts of Indonesia, virtually every family on this island of three million depends on full and frequent planes landing at Ngurah Rai airport.

In the rainforest interior, traditional villages supply wood and stone crafts to the souvenir shops or make paving stones to feed the building boom.

In the southern tourist towns, nearly half the population work in tourism and related activities. Here, the population density is second only to Jakarta's, swelled by migrants from nearby islands attracted by tourist industry growth.

Tour company director Jan Mantjika says working hours have been cut, suppliers have gone bust and children taken out of school because their parents cannot pay the fees.

All this when the island should be reaping the benefits of the huge investment of the past decade. Compared to its early days as a beach-party destination for young backpackers, Bali now offers more to do, and more of everything.

For those restless souls wanting more than a tropical beach to lie on, local tour operators provide a range of soft adventure trips, including mountain biking, jungle treks, kayaking and whale watching.

Inland towns like Ubud are expanding rapidly, establishing niches as centres for arts, culture and souvenirs.

And while Kuta's sprawling batik stalls, bars and cafes remain the drawcard for the young, other resort towns have grown in a deliberately planned, upmarket fashion.

At Nusa Dua on the south-east coast, the Indonesian Tourism Development Corporation has overseen development of a cluster of four and five-star resorts over the past 10 years. The hotels, complemented by designer-label shopping malls, an international-standard golf course and tropical gardens, are linked by Bali's best roads.

The Hiltons, Hyatts and Sheratons are here, each trying to outdo the others with lavish variations on swimming pools and spa and massage facilities.

In exclusive Nusa Dua, the authorities have even kept a lid on one of Bali's love-hate attractions - hawkers. On the resort beaches, you have to go looking for a cheap massage, unlike at Kuta. Similarly, the price tag in malls such as Galleria is not a starting point for negotiation.

You can still haggle for a bargain sarong or parallel-imported footwear in Kuta's bazaars. But even here, you are less likely than a few years ago to be followed down the street by locals armed with fake watches and sunglasses.

Local shopkeepers, seizing on feedback from hassled tourists, forced a council crackdown on street vendors last year. The vendors have been promised a plot of land to create a market of their own.

Just as we are convinced that Bali is as safe as ever, we reach Sanur, an east coast resort town, where our tour guide warns against walking the streets at night.

"It is dangerous," he says, and journalistic ears prick up.

But the danger is not of stumbling across disgruntled natives on these dark streets. The risk is of falling down one of the many gaps in the footpaths being laid over the town's open drains.

As in many streets on Bali, work on roading and paving has stalled until the economy picks up, with subsequent loss of work for suppliers and labourers.

Behind Dharmadi's plea at the Grand Bali Beach Hotel is a hint of desperation: "We need tourists to come back, especially from Australia and New Zealand.

"Let us hope things get back to normal soon."