The joys of venturing off the beaten path in Bali

By Tamara Hinson

NZ Herald·

30 Jan, 2025 06:00 AM7 mins to read

Mount Batur is an active volcano offering unforgettable sunrise treks for adventurous visitors. Photo / 123RF

Tamara Hinson discovers there’s never been a better time for Bali-bound travellers to combine luxury with a walk on the wild side.

It’s my third day in Bali when a revelation dawns – I’ve yet to clap eyes on the ocean, despite being on an island famous for its palm-fringed beaches and coral reef-dotted coastline. Tourists have been few and far between too, and when I opt for an evening walk to the village near my hotel, the buzzing doesn’t come from clattering mopeds steered by barefoot backpackers, but from cicadas hidden amongst the rice paddies.

The reason? My base, the Anantara Ubud Bali resort, which opened in late 2024, is one of a growing number of luxury hotels making it easier for visitors to explore beyond the well-trodden tourist routes. Yes, it’s named after Ubud, a region of Bali famous for its Insta-worthy rice paddies and monkey-filled forests, but it feels a million miles from the tourist haunts popular with those who head north from the airport in the hope of venturing off the beaten path, only to realise that the beaten path’s tendrils have very clearly reached Ubud.

Or at least Ubud town which, thankfully, is 17km south of my hotel. The Anantara Ubud Bali is a tiered retreat which clings to the side of a steep hill, hence its staggered layout and the presence of a funicular, alongside an elevator, to aid guests’ ascents and descents. The views of the lush valley beyond fuel my wanderlust and I decide to explore further afield, requesting a Grab taxi to the nearest village, a couple of kilometres away.

Anantara Ubud Bali proves that you don’t need the beach to find beauty and adventure in Bali. Photo / Tamara Hinson

Which sounds simpler than it is – it takes me four attempts to secure a ride, which, to be clear, is music to my ears. Tourists are clearly few and far between in these parts. The first two drivers cancel moments before accepting the booking, while the third one messages me to tell me that the village’s only attraction, a firefly visitor centre, doesn’t open until 7pm. I reply to point out I simply want to spend the afternoon exploring the village. He replies with the words “firefly centre closed” and cancels. The fourth one pulls through, and we head for Taro, past paddy fields in retina-burning shades of green. Every so often, I spot the torso of a shop dummy blowing in the breeze – not, my driver informs me, a warning not to trespass, but an attempt to prevent birds from nibbling on farmers’ crops.

The village of Taro is filled with stonemasons. In rural areas, many Balinese live in karangs – walled compounds which are home to multiple families, and which have living quarters, temples and pavilions. The entrances to karangs are fabulously elaborate, featuring intricately carved wooden doors framed by stone archways depicting fearsome dragons, masks and mythological creatures. Unsurprisingly, stonemasonry is big business here, and some of the finest craftsmen can be found in Taro. With the help of my trusty translation app, I ask several if I can observe them at work, and it’s fascinating to watch them chisel away, transforming huge blocks of stone into lions, dragons and Hindu gods.

Bali’s karangs are traditional walled family compounds, complete with temples and pavilions. Photo / Tamara Hinson

That night, it’s lights out at 6pm – the next morning I’m hiking to the 1,717-metre summit of Mount Batur, an active volcano 30km to the north. After a 2am wake-up call – I’m keen to reach the summit for sunrise - my guide (arranged through the hotel) and I head to the starting point, easing myself in gently with a hike up a track which streaks past paddy fields, farmlands and statues draped with swathes of cloth known as saput poleng. I learn that the chequered black-and-white colour schemes represent the Balinese’s belief in dualism – that opposite entities depend on each other to exist.

Before long, we reach the base of Mount Batur, donning head torches and setting off along the narrow, rocky path. By the time we reach the halfway point an hour later, it’s still dark. Below us, the pinpricks of light cast by head torches worn by other hikers weave up the mountain like a length of golden thread. Our guide points to Mount Agung. It’s 48km away but, like Mount Batur, its peak pierces the thick layer of cloud, and I can make out tiny pinpricks of light near its summit – a mirror image of our own caravan of trekkers.

Taro Village is famous for its skilled stonemasons who craft intricate carvings from local stone. Photo / Tamara Hinson

Despite the presence of other hikers, at times Mount Batur’s slopes feel truly wild. There are several moments when I find myself scrabbling over huge boulders on my hands and knees, and we pass several numerous fissures belching hot steam, the white puffs of hot air clearly visible against the morning sky, now tinged with pink and orange.

At the summit, my heart admittedly sinks when I spot gaggles of selfie stick-wielding tourists primed and ready for sunrise. Thankfully, our guide – a local who’s climbed the volcano hundreds of times – knows Mount Batur like the back of his hand and leads me to a small clearing, hidden from the masses by some shrubs. He points out a ramshackle wooden bench before disappearing, returning moments later with a small wooden table and mugs of black tea. After the most spectacular sunrise of my life, we start the hike down, my shaking knees somehow holding out on the twisting footpath snaking through the fragrant pine forests covering the volcano’s lower slopes.

Climbing Mount Batur had been my goal for this visit to Bali, but as with other visits when I’ve based myself in the island’s more remote parts (including the time when I stayed in a hotel in the far south, and the receptionist invited me to his family home for a delicious curry prepared using spices grown by his wife in their tiny garden) I came away with insights into the island I’d never have been partial to had I stuck to the tourist hot spots.

Another reminder of the benefits of this approach comes on my final day. En route to the airport, I pause at the Tegalalang-Ceking Rice Terraces, one of Bali’s biggest attractions. I’m simply after a bottle of water so I skip the queue (which snakes halfway down the road) for tickets and head to a cafe perched above the rice terraces. Far below, traffic jams of selfie stick-touring tourists plod along a network of footpaths as zip-liners streak overhead. To the right of the cafe, there’s yet another queue, this time for tickets to provide access to a supersized swing next to the stall where wannabe swingers can rent brightly coloured dresses with flowing trains designed to fan out behind them as they soar over the rice paddies in their mermaid tail-adorned swing.

I can’t help but think it’s ironic that people spend so much time prepping for photos they (I assume) hope will give their Insta feed the wow factor, despite the fact their main goal is to sit in the same swing, in the same dress and with the same backdrop as the hundreds of other people they’re queuing alongside.

Don’t get me wrong. Venturing off the beaten path is relatively easy, and doesn’t need to cost the Earth, but there’s no denying certain travellers are more likely to do so when they can make a beeline for a luxurious base. And the Anantara Ubud Bali resort is just one of several examples. Another is the Hoshinoya Bali,12km north of Ubud town. Guests at the property, one of Bali’s swankiest, are encouraged to explore the nearby banjar (community) on guided walks, although many admittedly choose to stick to the resort, where villas line ancient irrigation canals (known as subac) dating back to the ninth century. The best bit? There’s not a selfie stick, swing or Insta-friendly dress in sight. Bliss.