At the southern end of Jimbaran Bay, a sweeping arc of white sand famed for its beautiful sunsets is a scene frozen in time.
The tables at the open-air Menega Cafe are laden with half-eaten meals; crumpled white napkins flutter in the breeze.
But the people who gathered there on Saturday night to eat seafood under the stars are nowhere to be seen. The clock at the cafe stopped at about 7.30pm, when the first of three Bali bombs exploded between the candlelit tables.
Last time the terrorists targeted clubbers in Bali; this time it was families dining on the sand. On both occasions, they struck on a Saturday night.
The tourism industry, mainstay of the island's economy, had only recently started to recover. Now the locals are confronting hardship and ruin once again.
Security at Bali's tourist hotels is stringent, and has been for the past three years. All vehicles entering and leaving are thoroughly checked. But how can you protect a little cafe on the beach without any doors and windows?
Yesterday the seafood joints that line Jimbaran Bay, selling freshly caught lobster and prawns by the kilo, were almost deserted. The sound of guitars wafted across the sand, but the musicians were playing to rows of empty tables.
The owners of one cafe stood outside forlornly. Oka and Yudi, two young Balinese friends, opened the Lumba-Lumba (Dolphin) Cafe seven years ago.
They borrowed heavily from the bank and things initially went well. Then came the 2002 bombs - and the number of visitors to the island halved. In the past year, business had started to pick up. Until Saturday night.
"There was a bang, and now the customers are not coming again," said Yudi. "I'm scared that the same thing is going to happen to Bali. And this time maybe it won't recover."
In the kitchen, the cooks sat idle.
"I don't know what we'll do," said Oka. "We still have most of our loan to pay back. I just want Bali to be normal again, with lots of people around."
On the road leading into Jimbaran, two little girls - Natalia, 6, and Melinia, 7 - held aloft a black banner depicting an angel hung by the neck. "Condemn the terrorists," it read. "Forgive our disability to keep Bali safe."
The girls' father, Agleg, owns a small grocery shop and is dependent on the holidaymakers. "I'm worried about my business, and I'm worried about my family."
At Nyoman Cafe, charred tables lay upturned. Floral tributes rested against fences and saplings. Beyond the police tape, forensic science officers were at work, shovelling sand through a large sieve.
Kuta, too, was deathly quiet. Normally the area is raucous. The tourists who fill its bars and cafes were at the airport, queuing to catch flights out."Singapore, Bangkok, I don't care where we go," said one woman leaving a taxi. "Anywhere but Bali."
- INDEPENDENT
Empty cafes leave locals staring at hardship again
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