The black volcanic sand beaches here in Bali are extraordinary. They sparkle as the silica glints in the sun reminding you of stage make-up and exotic eye-shadow. Your first reaction is concern for how your white shorts and slops are going to get black and stained and then relief as it brushes off just like normal beach sand without so much as a mark. As dark as charcoal it is littered with forest debris and coconut shells, a glorious canvas for photographs. The green and yellow leaves glow against the backdrop and driftwood is three dimensional but without shadow. The ghost crabs kick sand out of their holes forming geometrically perfect, concentric patterns across the width of the beach. A closer look reveals tiny little balls of sand which feel like a soft carpet underfoot.
Forests of palm trees, casuarinas and other large leafed beauties line these beaches, providing endless and welcome shade from the sauna-like heat. The water is warm but the flow of the Balian River reaches far along this north western coastline turning the sea into a brown and uninviting mass of water. The hordes of surfers, however, are undeterred by this and spend hours riding the impressive break that unfolds from left to right. Unfortunately for most of them, many a mouthful of this river-tainted sea leaves them with the ever famous Bali Belly.
The last day of 2010 is spent climbing the narrow mountain roads in search of views and waterfalls. Two on a scooter with helmets of all shapes and sizes, we wind our way up towards the little town of Pupuan sitting at almost 1000m above sea level. Riding up there one has the feeling of climbing the stepped and vast rice field terraces. We stop en-route to hike down a green and slippery slope and a swim against the cleaner current of the upper Balian river – complete with collapsing mud banks, rapids and towering forest waterfalls. The herds of cows examine us intently as we clamber past, taking in the palm trees scattered hillsides.
We pass countless ancient villages and warungs, temples and rice fields. Some stop reluctantly to watch a cockfight attended by many shouting and gesturing locals. A Bintang break is required in Belimbing as we venture down the other side of the dormant mountain landscape. Every field is more picturesque than the last. Temple after temple and forest after forest, Bali is a never-ending paradise of culture, architecture, religion and human contentment. We approach the base of the mountain and the roar of the busy main road is around the corner. Bracing ourselves we try to join the scooter flow as it weaves around the mess of cars and trucks headed for Java. My only comment – not for the faint-hearted as I hold on tight and enjoy the last hours of 2010.
