Solo Travel Bali: Of Rhythms and Whale Sharks
My life in Auckland, for all its pleasures, operates with a certain methodical predictability. The days have a familiar rhythm, punctuated by the soothing sense of order, a quality I not only appreciate but actively cultivate. This personal preference for efficiency is most evident in my luggage. I am a firm believer in the streamlined approach, where the entire contents of my journey fit into a single carry-on. It's a small, silent rebellion against logistical chaos and a way to bypass the great purgatory of baggage claim. It brings a certain peace of mind, leaving me unencumbered and free from the tyranny of excess. It was in this spirit of efficient satisfaction that I departed for Bali. I have travelled extensively throughout Europe and have grown comfortable with its familiarities, but my experience of Asia is limited. Its rhythms and customs were, to me, a delightful mystery, and I'll admit, a little bit terrifying. This limited familiarity led to a very deliberate choice: I needed a responsible adult to hold my hand, at least at the beginning.
My chosen path was one of deliberate paradox. I had booked a small group tour with Intrepid Travel, a trusted name known for its small-scale, authentic experiences. I knew Intrepid offers a range of comfort levels, from the spartan to the sublime, and I, ever so sensibly, had opted for one of their budget tours. More importantly, I chose to pay the single supplement for my own room. I sleep badly enough already without the variable of sharing a confined space with a stranger; it's simply not my cup of tea, and frankly, a small price for my sanity. With all the logistical details neatly sorted, I planned to arrive three days early and stay an additional three days at the end. This allowed me to acclimatise on my own terms before joining the group, and to reflect on my journey after it concluded. My initial days were to be spent in Ubud, at the beautiful Puri Padi Ubud, and my final days by the coast in Sanur, at the serene Sagara Beach Resort.
A Quiet Prelude in Ubud
The plane deposited me in Denpasar, and the air hit me first. Thick, warm, and scented with frangipani and cloves, less a gentle, fragrant embrace, and more a bear hug of heat and humidity. As I finally cleared customs and emerged from the terminal, I was met with the organised chaos of the pick-up area, a sea of drivers with signs held aloft. It took a good twenty minutes of squinting and navigating the throng to finally spot my driver. My first real taste of the island's rhythm came on the drive. I’d looked at Google Maps before I left, and couldn’t fathom how a mere 35km journey could possibly take an hour and a half to complete. As we inched along, caught in a beautiful, rolling river of motorbikes and cars, I began to understand. The sheer, wonderful madness of it all. We soon arrived at the tranquillity of the Puri Padi Ubud. This little hotel was quiet, unassuming, and seemed to exist in perfect harmony with its surroundings. It didn't have a restaurant, a concierge, or any of the trappings of luxury, but it was palatial in a very budget Bali kind of way, which is to say, it was exceptionally clean, it had a lock on the door, and acres of local Indonesian marble from the reception desk to my bathroom counter.
My first solo evening was an immediate lesson in local customs. My mission was dinner. The simplest of tasks became a grand, personal challenge in Bali. One does not simply cross the street; one enters a flowing river of motorbikes and learns to trust in the unspoken understanding between driver and pedestrian. It is less a dance of faith and more a high-stakes, Darwinian gambit. I completed the ritual and was rewarded with a plate of exquisite Nasi Goreng. I completed the ritual and was rewarded with a plate of exquisite Nasi Goreng at a small, family-run warung tucked down a side alley, the kind of place you'd only find by accident. I recall a quiet satisfaction that evening, a feeling that every small, solitary accomplishment in a foreign land tastes a little sweeter.
Over the next two days, I settled into the rhythm of the place. I spent a morning observing the daily offerings, the intricate canang sari, left on pavements and shrines. I wandered the Ubud Art Market, a riot of colour and craftsmanship, where haggling was less a transaction and more a polite conversation. In the Sacred Monkey Forest Sanctuary, I found myself an object of considerable interest to a macaque, a small, furry creature whose brazen attempt to liberate my water bottle was a humorous reminder that nature, even in a sacred setting, has a playful side. These quiet, unscripted moments were invaluable, a true initiation into the Balinese way of life before the bustle of the group tour began.
The Unfolding of Our Group
The day came for the tour to begin, and I walked to the lobby of the Puri Padi Ubud to meet my fellow travellers. They were a delightful and diverse collection, a United Nations of wanderers: a lone American, a Canadian, and a rather predictable but charming balance of Australians and British. And then there was me, the sole New Zealander, a quiet observer of this grand social experiment. It was a group, I would soon discover, that included a doctor, a nurse, a British army medic, and myself, a paramedic. I wasn't sure whether to feel comforted in that fact, or a sense of foreboding. Was fate preparing us for something terrible? Our first dinner was an exercise in polite curiosity, a feeling that quickly gave way to genuine camaraderie. It is a remarkable thing, how the simple act of sharing a meal and a few Bintangs in a new place can strip away the polite formalities and forge an instant bond. From that evening on, our dinners were filled with easy conversation, laughter, and a comfortable companionship.
Our guide, a local named Wayan (I came to understand that in Balinese tradition, names are given based on birth order, with Wayan meaning ‘first-born’), was a man of immense patience and a quiet, knowing wit. He was not just a guide but a purveyor of stories and a cultural translator who, I suspect, had seen every brand of tourist madness under the Balinese sun. He expertly guided us through the highlights of central Bali, seamlessly blending cultural insights with practical advice, and always with a warm smile. The Beautiful Bali tour, I would soon discover, was perfectly designed to reveal the country’s heart, a seamless blend of iconic sights and unexpected delights. It was an itinerary that allowed for a genuine exploration of the culture, and my fellow travellers, with their individual quirks—the American’s effusive enthusiasm, the British dry humour—made the experience all the richer.
Undisan & Sibetan: The Countryside Calls
Our journey with Intrepid took us through some of Bali’s most iconic landscapes as we departed Ubud. We walked along the narrow, winding paths of the Tegalalang Rice Terraces, a masterpiece of human ingenuity and natural beauty. It was a tapestry of vibrant green that seemed to stretch to the very horizon, a humbling experience and a quiet testament to the generations of farmers who had cultivated this land and made me feel utterly useless in comparison.
Later, our travels included a special visit to a local family’s home in Undisan, a truly authentic experience. We were warmly welcomed and given a taste of Balinese coffee. Our guide, Wayan, used the opportunity to explain Intrepid's ethical stance on animal welfare. He brought up the topic of Kopi Luwak, or civet cat coffee, which we might see advertised elsewhere. He pointed out that Intrepid does not endorse trying it due to the potential for exploitation of the animals. We all agreed it was a commendable position. We settled for a selection of traditional coffees and teas, finding contentment in their rich, earthy flavours and quietly judging those who might, in fact, try the other stuff.
After coffee, we travelled to Sibetan, the home of the salak fruit. We wandered through the salak plantation, the fruit growing on prickly palms. The journey had been a bit of a marathon, and after a fabulous picnic lunch surrounded by the lush green palms, a touch of reality set in. My body, used to the familiarities of home, reacted to the delicious local flavours, and I was briefly acquainted with the infamous 'Bali belly.' A minor inconvenience, to be sure, and one that simply added a new, unpleasant layer to the story of my adventure.
The Land and its Pleasures
This unpleasantness, I would soon discover, would have a much greater cost. The next morning, as the group gathered in the pre-dawn darkness for the highlight I had been looking forward to most—the trek to the summit of Mt. Batur for a sunrise view—I was miserably confined to my room, a prisoner to my own malfunctioning digestive system. My planned epic adventure was tragically reduced to a desperate sprint to the en suite bathroom.
We visited ancient temples, their stone structures draped in moss and history. The sight of Tanah Lot Temple, perched on its rocky outcrop and besieged by the relentless surf, was particularly striking at sunset. The sky was a canvas of fire, and the sight left our small group in a quiet state of shared appreciation, despite the rather obscene number of fellow tourists doing exactly the same thing.
The Quiet Majesty of Lovina
From the hills of Mt Batur, we made our way north to the coastal town of Lovina, a place that holds a very different kind of beauty. Here, the sand is a deep volcanic black, and the atmosphere is one of serene tranquillity. The purpose of our early morning expedition was to see the local dolphins. As the sun rose in a blaze of orange and pink, we set out in traditional jukung boats. We were rewarded with the sight of numerous pods of dolphins, their sleek bodies arching gracefully through the water. It was a peaceful and beautiful moment, a quintessential Bali experience that felt both intimate and grand, exactly as it should according to every travel brochure ever printed.
It was during our post-dolphin snorkelling that the true highlight of my trip unfolded. While exploring the coral, our group was quite spread out; most were in the shallower water, but I and one other person had drifted to the edge of a deep shelf. I looked down, and my breath caught. Gliding serenely through the water below us was a colossal whale shark, a gentle giant of the ocean. In a truly undignified moment, I squealed into my snorkel, a sound that was, thankfully, muffled by the plastic and the water. It was a creature of immense grace and scale, and for a brief, breathtaking moment, I swam along above it, sharing a silent, private moment with this magnificent being and my fellow deep-water wanderer. My heart, I swear, had a minor cardiac event. This was not a moment of frenzied excitement but of pure, quiet awe, a profound Bali whale shark encounter that transcended words. It was a humbling reminder of the simple, magnificent wonders that the world holds.
That evening in Lovina, a few of us decided to venture out for a nightcap at a beach bar. The gentle sound of the waves, the cheap cocktails, and the shared joy of our adventures made it a truly memorable evening.
A Gentle Farewell in Sanur
As the tour concluded, our group travelled to our final destination, the peaceful coastal town of Sanur. On our very last night of the tour, back in Sanur, the entire group came together for a final dinner. It was a night of pure hilarity, filled with inside jokes, fond farewells, and a few too many Bintangs. It was a poignant reminder of how quickly twelve strangers can become a travel family.
My stay was to continue for another three days at the Sagara Beach Resort, allowing me the time to savour a final chapter of solitude. The atmosphere in Sanur is one of effortless calm, a perfect counterpoint to the more adventurous part of my journey. I needed a break from all that 'intense' tour group bonding. The days passed with a comforting rhythm of quiet mornings, leisurely strolls in the oppressive heat along the beach path, and simple meals at local warungs.
Reflecting on my trip, I was struck by the perfect balance that had been struck. My solo time had allowed me to truly connect with the rhythms of Bali, while the group tour had provided a rich tapestry of shared experiences and easy friendships. My luggage, still just a single carry-on, felt heavy now not with material possessions, but with the weight of cherished memories and the quiet understanding of a place and its people. This journey was a testament to the fact that an adventure, no matter how grand, can be found in the smallest of moments, in a quiet smile from a stranger, or a minor cardiac event when a gentle creature glides by. I would recommend this experience to any traveller who needs a bit of a kick up the backside and a reminder that the world is a beautiful, chaotic, and utterly magnificent place.
Small Print:
Just so we're clear:
This trip was entirely self-funded. Every flight, meal, and stay was paid for out of my own pocket, and I received no freebies, sponsorships, or paid endorsements. All opinions are my own.
Best time to visit Bali:
The best time to visit Bali is during the dry season, from April to October.
Best Weather: May, June, and September offer the ideal balance of sunny days, low humidity, and fewer crowds. July and August are also great for weather but are the busiest and most expensive months.
Wet Season (November to March): This time is perfect if you want to save money and avoid crowds. The landscape is lush and green, but you'll experience higher humidity and frequent, heavy rainfall, usually in the afternoons.
Cost:
At the time of publishing, Intrepid Travel’s Beautiful Bali tour ranged in price, depending on departure date, from NZD$1,237 to $1,620 (USD$724 to USD$949)
