Bali beyond the beach clubs: See a different side of the island

One line of my Balinese birth chart reading leaps out at me. “When the time comes, you will pass away at the age of about 34 years.”

Um, what? Having recently turned 32, I’m not thrilled with this prediction. I compare notes with the rest of the group. Those set to survive into their 70s are slightly happier, while another member is looking down nervously at her paper.

Our guide attempts to reassure us: “Don’t worry, it’s just a minimum.”

I’m not convinced. But I try to remind myself the prediction is not as dire when you don’t consider death to be the end. Being predominantly Hindu, most Balinese believe in reincarnation.

I didn’t expect to be confronting my mortality on this trip. I’d had a much more shallow vision of sipping cocktails at a beach club, on the island considered a hedonist paradise.

But at Samsara Living Museum, we’re wading deep into the “circle of life” that is at the heart of Balinese culture. Samsara is the Sanskrit term for the repetitive cycle of death and rebirth.

The museum is located in the eastern region of Karangasem, about a two-hour drive from Denpasar. Along the way, the scenery changes from western brand names and glittering resorts to tiny warung (local restaurants) and villages set amid towering palms and banana trees.

Samsara Living Museum co-founder Ida Bagus Agung Gunartawa, who goes by Gus Agung, explains Karangasem is the most undeveloped region in Bali, largely due to its distance from the main tourist areas in the south. It doesn’t help that the notoriously active Mount Agung looms over the region.

Wanting to give people a reason to visit the area, Samsara’s founders came up with the concept of a “living museum” – a way for people to experience authentic Balinese culture, using the untouched setting to their advantage. The museum is set within a real village, home to about 200 people, and showcases the rituals that take place from pre-birth to post-death.

“We just go about our daily life,” explains Gus Agung.

Stalls showcasing different aspects of what it means to be Balinese are dotted throughout the lush grounds. At one stop, we watch two women weaving the intricate baskets to hold the flowers which are presented as a daily offering to the gods. At another, we watch young girls writing Balinese script on palm-leaf manuscripts.

Visitors can immerse themselves in different activities and workshops, and our half-day experience includes being dressed in traditional Balinese clothing: a patterned sarong wrapped tight around the bust, with a matching piece of cloth draped around the shoulders.

No detail is overlooked. The woman dressing me even fetches a hairpiece to add length to my chin-length bob, so it can be styled in a low bun, adorned with flowers.

Once we’re dressed up, we take part in a purification ceremony known as melukat, a highly symbolic ritual which involves having fresh flowers brushed over our hands, grains of rice pressed to our forehead, and holy water poured into our cupped hands to sip from, as our priest softly chants mantras.

I’m not a particularly spiritual person, but I can’t help but feel soothed by the process. Though that sense of calm soon dissipates when I’m presented with the scroll containing the news of my untimely demise.

Even more relaxing is the traditional massage I’m booked in for at my resort, the Alila Manggis. Grim thoughts of the future melt away as I lie in the outdoor bale, having my back tended to with the long, languorous strokes that are signature of the Balinese style.

The resort is also located in the east of Bali, set within a coconut grove overlooking the sea. It seems to attract a quieter crowd – Europeans rather than Australians, couples with very young children, and travellers who are more likely to be seen by the pool with a book than a Bintang.

For the “active relaxers”, the resort also has an in-house cooking school, where a chef will teach you how to make a selection of local dishes.

We start by making a spice blend called bumbu Bali, which is used to prepare a fish satay served on lemongrass sticks, then fish wrapped and cooked in banana leaves. For dessert, we put our flipping skills to the test by making green pancakes – their startling hue comes from the pandan leaf – filled with coconut and palm sugar.

Until now, my knowledge of Indonesian cuisine could be summed up in two words: nasi goreng (fried rice). I’m pleasantly surprised by the abundance of fresh, flavour-packed dishes, and easily get my five-plus-a-day in with platters of tropical fruits served at breakfast.

Our time in Bali’s east couldn’t be more of a contrast to the well-trodden south. The island is shaped like a chicken, and most tourists flock around the bird’s shanks, where the airport is located.

Uluwatu Temple, one of the island’s most famous attractions, is found at the tip of the claws. Perched on the edge of a 70-metre cliff, overlooking the ocean, it’s a spectacular setting – one that draws throngs every evening for sunset selfies.

Local monkeys who roam the ancient site have learned to identify high-value items to steal from unwitting tourists – sunglasses, wallets and phones – which they will only return in exchange for food.

Determined not to be a victim, I close my bag firmly and march past the cunning creatures, heading to the amphitheatre beside the temple to watch the traditional Kecak fire dance. It’s a mesmerising display of costumes, flexible fingers and nimble feet, darting through the flames, with a choir of 70 chanting men providing the soundtrack.

We’re staying about an hour up the road in Seminyak, an upmarket area packed with designer boutiques, trendy bars and restaurants, and hotels. Our base is Desa Potato Head, a five-star resort attached to a pumping beach club.

This isn’t your typical luxury resort. It’s a self-described “creative village”, combining music, art, design, food and wellness.

There’s also a huge focus on sustainability. Upon check-in, guests must hand over any plastic water bottles or bags they have with them. In return, they’re given a stainless steel tumbler and reusable tote bag to keep.

I’m given a behind-the-scenes tour of the resort’s waste room, learning how almost every piece of rubbish is sorted and recycled, meaning only 3% of waste ends up in landfill (their goal is zero).

Many of the resort’s amenities are made of repurposed rubbish. I had thought the bright pink soap dispenser and tissue box in my room were designer homeware; it turns out they are made of old polystyrene boxes mixed with crushed oyster shells saved from the resort’s restaurants.

But it’s not all virtue and no play. The aforementioned beach club is one of Bali’s most popular, and at sunset, we make our way past the venue’s iconic “5000 Lost Soles” installation – made up of thousands of jandals washed up on the beach – and nab ourselves a day bed.

It’s the Bali scene I had imagined before coming here – the infinity pool packed with influencers, the glorious sunset, the elaborate cocktails – yet I now know there is so much more beyond it.

Still, life’s too short not to enjoy a cocktail on holiday.

Air New Zealand flies direct to Bali. See

Entry to Samsara Living Museum is IDR$100,000 (NZ$10). See:

Uluwatu Temple: Tickets for the temple and the Kecak fire dance can be purchased at the entrance. Tickets go on sale around 5pm, an hour before the show starts.

Alila Manggis starts from NZ$161 per night. See:.

Desa Potato Head starts from NZ$345 per night. See:

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