Bali: A Reality Check

My mental image of Bali was built entirely on Instagram feeds and travel vlogs. You know the ones: pristine white sand beaches, crystal-clear turquoise water, and those perfectly framed romantic sunrises. It looked like paradise on Earth. Untouched nature. Everyone raved about it being the ultimate place to live. A few people did mention that the “beautiful beaches” were actually kind of boring because there was nothing to do but walk and look at them…

Honestly? I was looking forward to that “beautiful boredom.” Our plan was to explore the inland areas too, which were supposed to be peaceful and spiritual. We pictured waterfalls, mountain rivers, terraced rice fields, rainforests, temples, and authentic villages. I imagined long walks with the kids, discovering hidden gems, hitting up local markets and warungs, and connecting with both Balinese and expat families. I wanted to soak in the culture with all my senses.

Then we got there. And reality hit.

Walking? Forget about it. Sidewalks are practically non-existent. Plus, the towns are incredibly sprawled out. Since they don’t build upwards and everyone has a scooter, there’s no real “town center.” People just open shops wherever they can and wait for customers to drive to them. The kind of strolls we’re used to in Europe? Not happening here. Biking isn’t much better. Attempting it felt like a death wish, though I did see a few “kamikaze” tourists and maybe three local kids brave enough to try.

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Untouched nature? More like wild, unchecked development. It reminded me of the 90s back home—building everywhere with zero concept or vision. Public infrastructure isn’t even an afterthought. You have massive construction projects next to narrow, paved dirt roads. The traffic is so dense that a 4-mile trip can easily take 90 minutes by car.

Clean beaches? Try piles of trash, the stench of open sewers, and packs of stray dogs.

Meeting people? There are no public spaces like playgrounds or parks. The only real communal space is the beach, assuming it’s not disgusting and people actually go there. During our stay (December–January), the beaches were practically deserted. Every now and then you’d see a hipster with a coconut, a surfer, or an Instagram model doing a photoshoot. None of that is exactly “compatible” with a mom and three kids. Every kid-friendly activity I found was behind a paywall. Even playgrounds are just part of a paid club or a restaurant/cafe.

Accommodation #1: The Golden Cage

We spent our first month in Pererenan, right next to Canggu. Canggu is known as the party hub, mostly populated by childless 30-somethings. We knew this, so we compromised: we stayed in a quieter spot about a 15-minute walk from the beach so Johnny and Leo could have their social life and gyms, while the kids and I had some peace. My plan was to hit the beach in the mornings, explore a bit, and then relax at the villa in the afternoons since it was rainy season and the forecast usually predicted sun in the AM and rain in the PM.

What we didn’t realize—and didn’t think to check—was that this area isn’t “walkable” at all. We also knew nothing about “trash season.” The daily rains wash all the inland garbage down to the sea, and the ocean currents at that time of year are aimed right at the island, dumping tons of junk from the rest of the ocean onto the shore.

The villa itself was nice, and thank God for the pool! We used it every single day. It wasn’t strictly private, but no one else ever used it, so the kids basically lived in it from morning till night. Even our weaker swimmers became pros.

BUT, while the villa was comfortable, it became a golden cage for me and the three kids. I know, I know—it feels ridiculous to complain about “suffering” in the tropics by a pool in December. But the daily monotony was soul-crushing.

I did venture out on my own once. I needed to buy sneakers because Johnny insisted I’d need them for the botanical gardens since it gets chilly there. (I’d brought sneakers for the trip, but they were on their last legs and finally gave up the ghost in Bangkok.) I ordered a Grab. Mohammed picked me up. The ride was supposed to take about 7 minutes. We rode and rode, the sun was beating down, and it felt like we’d been going way too long. Since I was death-gripping the back of the scooter, I didn’t dare let go to check my phone. Eventually, he stopped. In the middle of nowhere. Just green pastures and grazing cows. No one in sight. He said, “We’re here.” I have no idea what happened; I’d put the Google Maps address directly into the app. My brain was racing: “I have no idea where I am. I don’t know how to get back. Will another driver even come here if I send this guy away?” Just me, Mohammed, and the cows. I was genuinely stressed. Then he asked if I had cash. I admitted I did. He started the bike and took the long way back to civilization, finally dropping me at the store. He charged me 100,000 IDR (about $6), which is insane since a scooter taxi usually costs less than a dollar. This was my second experience with a guy named Mohammed and that “magic” 100,000 figure. I paid him. I was just happy to be back in the city.

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Johnny did all the grocery shopping because it involved a lot of travel and carrying heavy loads—something I couldn’t manage on the back of a scooter. I stopped taking the kids on trips because even short distances took forever. Someone was always crying, hungry, bored, or getting car sick. They were so over it that they started refusing to go anywhere. Just the act of getting everyone ready and moving was exhausting. Plus, when you don’t know the area, you never know if the place you’re headed to is even worth the effort. I didn’t want to drag three kids across the island only to find out the destination was a bust. And with the rainy season, the weather apps were useless.

One day, I decided we were going to have a “nice day” at Kedungu Beach. Johnny and I had checked it out before, and it seemed fine—clean, with local warungs and a nice vibe. I hyped it up, fought with the kids to get them out the door, and Simeon cried the entire 30-minute taxi ride. We got out at the gate and walked past these beautiful rice fields where locals were working hard. It looked like a postcard. Volcanic peaks in the distance. I wanted to take a photo, but I felt weirdly intrusive—I wouldn’t want some random tourist snapping pics of me while I was working a grueling job. So I just tucked the memory away. We got to the beach. Unlike our last visit, it was covered in trash. Photos never quite capture how gross it is—there’s always small, nasty stuff like syringes mixed in. We tried to ignore it, but it’s a common sight: a fancy beach club with tourists sipping cocktails, staring out at the ocean, completely filtering out the fact that they’re basically sitting in a landfill.

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Johnny needed to work in peace, so my mission was to keep the kids out as long as possible. I told them to just ignore the trash. We were the only ones there, aside from some stray dogs. Arthur started building a sandcastle with a four-legged friend, Matyas jumped in the water, and Simeon and I hung out. The sky turned a beautiful, dark charcoal color. It was still warm, so we didn’t mind. But when the rain really started coming down, we took cover in a nearby shelter—one of the many half-finished buildings on the island.

We waded through grass full of dog poop to get there and waited. I hoped it would be a quick tropical downpour, but when it didn’t let up, we threw on our ponchos and ran to the only open warung. The kids were hungry, so it worked out. We ordered food and didn’t even mind the slow Balinese service. We had nowhere to be. Every time it looked like it might stop, the rain doubled down. Even under the tin roof, we weren’t totally dry because it started leaking. The kids were surprisingly chill about it.

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Eventually, we made it back to the beach for a bit, but then it started pouring again. Matyas was done, but I had to stay out, so I kept their spirits up. I covered our backpacks with the biggest poncho and told them we were going to enjoy ourselves regardless. We were in our swimsuits, it was warm—who cares if it’s pouring? We stayed until about 4 or 5 PM. The kids really stepped up and entertained themselves even in the miserable weather.

By evening, the rain stopped. we walked back to where the taxi had dropped us. I tried to call a ride on the app, but because the weather was crap and traffic was a nightmare, no one wanted to pick us up. It’s a pretty helpless feeling being stranded with three kids and no other way home. Finally, after several failed attempts, a miracle happened and someone accepted the ride. We made it back to the villa, everyone breathed a massive sigh of relief, and we had zero desire to ever do that again.

The first villa did have its charm. It was built for Westerners but in a Balinese style with beautiful carved ceilings. The kids loved the contact with nature. Geckos ran around inside, making their weird clicking sounds day and night. One particular gecko lived in a corner of the roof that acted like a megaphone. He saved his best “concerts” for when everyone was trying to sleep. Well, everyone except me. My light “mom-sleep” meant I was his primary audience.

We had centipedes, caterpillars, and lizards (like skinks) scurrying across the floor. There were some spiders that I personally found terrifying, and tree frogs on the outside of the windows. Occasionally, a massive insect would fly in and jump-scare me with its sheer size. Every morning, a tiny, scrawny kitten would show up at our door crying for food. Despite looking half-starved, it was a picky eater—it would ignore eggs and ham, holding out for chicken.

Matyas, who loves praying mantises, spotted a tiny Asian ant mantis by the pool one day. It was barely an inch long. Their eyes met. I never would have noticed something so small. It was a male. Matyas picked it up, and the little creature just stayed on his finger. They spent the whole evening together like best friends. At night, he put it outside on a leaf. In the morning, it was still there. They hung out again. Later, when Matyas went back to check on him, the mantis had passed away. It felt like the little guy’s last wish was to spend his final hours with Matyas.

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Accommodation #2: The Mosquito Pit

After a month in Pererenan, we moved. We’d originally planned to spend a week in the much-hyped Ubud, but after a day trip there, we changed our minds and picked Seminyak instead. At that point, we weren’t looking for “top locations”—we were just looking for decent villas. We found one in Seminyak. It had a truly private pool, and we were initially excited about the outdoor bathrooms. So exotic! Well, they were beautiful… until an Asian hornet tried to fly into my underwear. And don’t even get me started on the millions of mosquitoes. We had to mentally prepare ourselves before every trip to the bathroom, making sure our digestive tracts were ready for an express mission. When I found a giant cockroach waiting for me on the wall one night, I just sighed and told myself we’d be leaving soon… actually, that’s a lie. I’m not that Zen. I grabbed the bug spray and unleashed all my pent-up frustration with Bali on that thing. I used half the can and called it every name in the book.

Despite the bugs, this area was better because it was actually somewhat walkable. There were sidewalks! Sure, as a pedestrian, I always felt like I was in the way of a scooter trying to overtake a car, but it was better than nothing.

The beach was only about a 10-minute walk away. It’s where tourists go to walk their dogs. We only went once because playing and swimming among dog poop isn’t really our vibe.

But I celebrated the little things. I finally took Simeon in the carrier and went for an hour-long walk to a bakery because I was craving a normal piece of bread with butter. The prices were European, but the service was Balinese: I waited 10 minutes for a bag that was missing the bread, then another 25 minutes after I complained. But the bread was good, so I let it go.

We also treated the kids to a French patisserie. The pastries were expensive for Bali, and I was skeptical because they were tiny. Turns out, they were so rich we could barely finish them. Matyas had a rough night after that culinary adventure.

Nearby was “Shooters,” a mini-golf place. It was definitely showing its age and felt more like a dive bar for loud Australians, but the kids didn’t care. They played ping-pong and mini-golf, and had a blast with the “dunk tank” (which was full of plastic balls instead of water).

This area is mostly older tourists and expats. If Canggu is for the 20-somethings, Seminyak is where people go to retire in peace.

The house itself had a strange, heavy atmosphere. I can’t quite put my finger on why, but we never felt truly comfortable there. A week was plenty.

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Accommodation #3: The Uluwatu Mystery

Our last stop was Uluwatu. The villa was the smallest, but it was nice, new, and clean. However, the mosquitoes were relentless. We kept everything shut, and even though we were on a killing spree, they just kept appearing. We never figured out where they were coming from. My theory is that the Balinese are so used to them that the cleaning staff just leaves everything wide open while they work, letting in every bug in a five-mile radius.

January was very rainy. Many days it just poured from morning till night, so we didn’t do many trips. We did try to visit the GWK Cultural Park, which has the largest statue in Indonesia (taller than the Statue of Liberty). We hopped in a taxi when it looked like the rain might stop, but it started pouring again on the way. We ducked into an Indian restaurant to wait it out. We were the only ones there. A swarm of employees surrounded us like fruit flies on a rotting banana, standing at attention, waiting for any request. The portions were huge, and by the time we finished, the rain had actually stopped. We walked toward the park, only to realize it was a 20-minute trek on broken sidewalks. The park is massive, and it was a long uphill walk to the entrance. We were the only ones walking; everyone else was being shuttled in. We got to the top, found the info center, and were told their card machine was broken. We had to walk all the way back down to the start to pay in cash. By then, it started pouring again. We snapped a photo of the statue from a distance just to say we saw it and headed back to the villa to swim in the pool.

What We Actually Visited

Reptile Park – The kids loved this. We had a guide who told us all about the reptiles and answered our endless questions. The highlight was the area where they could actually pet some of the reptiles. Matyas finally saw a Komodo dragon, fulfilling a lifelong dream (even if it was from a distance).

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Bird Park – This was another great experience. The kids loved the interactive stuff—taking photos with parrots and feeding birds that would land right on them. For some reason, my phone decided not to record any audio that day, so all the videos are silent. Given how loud the birds were, maybe that’s not a bad thing, but I’m sad I lost the audio of Simeon playing with the parrots.

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Bali Butterfly Park Tabanan – A small, outdoor butterfly garden. It was full of flowers and colorful butterflies. It wasn’t the most diverse collection, but it was pretty. Unfortunately, the place is clearly underfunded and needs a serious renovation. There’s a small insectarium where the kids could hold some bugs. I was busy taking photos, so I skipped that part! We were there on Christmas Day, and Arthur finally got to hold an Atlas moth—his dream butterfly. He had three of them on him at once!

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Bali Botanical Garden – Honestly, nothing special. It wasn’t like a European botanical garden with exotic greenhouses; it was just a big park. If you live on a beach, I guess big trees and grass are a nice change, but for us, it was just a big park. The kids still had fun, though. Leo rented a scooter to zip around, and Johnny rented a golf cart and let the kids drive it in the empty areas. I, on the other hand, found a leech on my arm. It took its chance when we walked past some ferns. Its joy was short-lived; it ended up in the cactus patch.

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Bali Farm House – This wouldn’t impress anyone from back home. Ponies, donkeys, rabbits, goats, and alpacas. You had to pay for everything—feeding, petting, you name it. It was crowded and not nearly as interactive as the other places we’d been. The kids weren’t into it. I was amused by the Balinese Santa on a train. The service at the restaurant was a nightmare—getting a menu, ordering, and actually getting the food was an endless struggle. Definitely not worth it.

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Temples

Water Temple (Saraswati Temple, Ubud) – Johnny described this as a beautiful garden with ponds. Water here symbolizes spiritual cleansing. We went to Ubud mainly for the Kecak dance, but that wasn’t until dark, and we had to leave at 7 AM because of traffic. We needed low-energy activities for the kids. A garden with ponds sounded perfect. First surprise: you have to pay to get in. Then they gave us purple temple robes (representing spirituality and wisdom). We walked into… a courtyard with fountains. It was packed with tourists and felt very cramped. Plus, it was under renovation, so there were construction workers and tools everywhere. Definitely not a relaxing spot for kids. Despite the entry fee, we couldn’t even go inside the temple; we just walked in circles like prisoners in a yard. The whole courtyard was lined with souvenir shops. But the “best” part? At this sacred Hindu site, they were playing Christmas carols and had plastic reindeer in the fountains.

Tanah Lot – A temple on a rock. At high tide, it’s surrounded by the sea; at low tide, you can walk to it. The path from the parking lot is basically a giant souvenir market. But once you get past “Fifth Avenue,” it’s magical. A massive, majestic rock in the middle of crashing waves. We headed toward the temple but were stopped by a monk for a blessing. One by one, we drank from a spring and washed our faces. He put rice on our foreheads and a flower (jepun) behind our ears. Then, of course, he asked for a donation. Once we paid, we were allowed to continue… up to a gate. The temple was closed to the public, but no one mentioned that. So we got blessed for the privilege of walking up a few stairs. Regardless, the temple was built there because of the “miracle” of a freshwater spring in the middle of the ocean. Pretty fascinating.

Uluwatu Temple – Our last attempt at seeing a Balinese temple. Paid the fee, saw the tourists. This one was more like a large park, which was nice. It was shady and had stunning views of the ocean from the cliffs. But the highlight for the kids was the monkeys. Lots of them. Long-tailed macaques. Suddenly, no one was sad about missing the Monkey Forest in Ubud. Even though they look like they’re ignoring you, you have to be careful—they were definitely plotting something behind Arthur’s back. We walked through the garden to the temple. Naturally, it was closed. So in a month and a half, we didn’t see the inside of a single temple.

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Ubud: The Zen Illusion

Central Ubud was a nightmare of cars and scooters. Noise, chaos, and tourists everywhere. The Water Temple was a bust. Johnny wanted a massage, so the kids and I (along with Peti and Samko) wandered the broken sidewalks hoping to find something to kill time. We saw a sign for rice fields and decided to follow it. We went down a sketchy alley and suddenly, we were in the rice fields. It started pouring, and I realized I’d forgotten the ponchos I was sure I’d packed. We looked for shelter, and a guy letting us into his property saved us. The owner sat with us under a roof and chatted while we waited out the rain. When it stopped, he showed us the way. Then it started raining again. This time we found a restaurant—roof, food, and a bathroom. Perfect. By then, Johnny and Leo were done with their massages and found us. The rain finally stopped for real, and we explored. Those green, waving rice fields are incredibly soothing. The city noise just disappears. I can see why people go there to escape the hustle.

We still had time before the show, so we walked across the Campuhan Bridge to the village of Penestanan. It’s a long walk but the views are great. We saw a “swing” attraction—basically a board on some ropes—for 100,000 IDR (about $6).

While we were soaking in the scenery, a young guy approached us. A foreigner. A little guy with long hair and a flowy Hawaiian shirt. He was the quintessential Ubud “guru/yogi/spiritual seeker” type. He was clearly trying to hustle up some cash for his “life in paradise” without a work permit. He offered us a “magic wand” as a lucky charm. Basically, he’d found a stick on the path and wanted to sell it to us. Luckily, he wasn’t aggressive and moved on after a polite “no thanks.”

We made it to the villa village, cooed over some puppies at a cafe, bought the kids ice cream, and hauled tail back because the show was starting soon. It got dark, and the sounds of the jungle started kicking in—a full orchestra of insects, birds, and mammals.

We got to the show later than planned (they recommend arriving an hour early for good seats). We got there 30 minutes before, so the best seats were gone, but it was still fine. I was worried that a long day plus a late show would be a disaster for the kids, but they were transfixed by the Kecak and fire dance for the entire hour. It was a beautiful way to end the day.

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The Kecak Dance

Kecak tells a story from the Hindu epic Ramayana. The name comes from the “cak-cak-cak” sound the men chant rhythmically. There are no instruments. The main characters are Hanuman (the monkey god), Rama (the prince), Sita (his wife), and Ravana (the demon king who kidnaps her).

Ubud – We saw it at the Ubud Dalem Temple. It was grander, with more performers and a larger stage. The fire dance was longer and more intense. Uluwatu – We saw it at the Uluwatu Temple. It felt more intimate (even with 1,200 people) and was more interactive and funny. The performers went into the crowd and pulled people up to dance. They got an old Indian man to cut loose, and they put a mask on a little Chinese boy Arthur’s age who put on a whole show. It was hilarious and charming.

Getting tickets in Ubud was easy—we just bought them at the box office at noon. Uluwatu was a nightmare. You can’t buy them at the gate. You have to pay to enter the grounds, then wait until 5 PM for the ticket booth to open. We didn’t want to wait around, so I tried to book online. You can’t actually buy them online, only reserve them. Most platforms charge 2-3x the price. The only way to get them at face value (139,000 IDR / $9) is through one licensed Balinese company. I filled out a form at night, and they WhatsApped me the next morning asking for all the info I’d already given them. Once that was settled, they sent payment instructions. I tried Revolut, but the amount was too small. They told me to go to a minimarket and pay via GoPay (which only locals have). I went to the store, and the first employee looked terrified. He passed me to a colleague. We had to split the payment into two transactions, and since one was below the minimum, I just paid a bit extra in cash. I sent a photo of the receipt, and they sent back a photo of a hand-written confirmation. I had to do all this by 10 AM for a 6 PM show. I had to be at the temple by 4:30 PM to stand in line for the 5 PM opening. We got our paper tickets and I rushed to snag a good seat. I sat there for an hour staring at the sky until the show started. We were packed in like sardines on wooden benches. Simeon was on my lap, so after two hours, my legs were numb and my back was killing me. The show was “enhanced” by tourists from the world’s most populous country whose phones were constantly ringing with video calls. The tourists from Japan and other parts of China were not amused, but they were too polite to say anything.

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The Beaches

The beaches here have dark sand that absorbs heat and gets incredibly hot. It’s full of iron particles—you can actually pick them up with a magnet.

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Pantai Pererenan – Empty and quiet because there are no clubs. It would be great if it wasn’t covered in trash and stray dogs.

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Echo Beach Canggu – This one has clubs, so it’s somewhat cleaner in the mornings. By afternoon, the tide brings in all sorts of junk, including large shards of glass that blend perfectly with the dark sand. Even if you want to pick up trash, there are zero bins anywhere—not even in the restaurants.

Pantai Berawa – Practically deserted when we were there. Just us, two other tourists, and a couple doing a professional wedding shoot (carefully framing out the trash, of course).

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Pantai Kedungu – First visit was nice; second visit was a trash-filled disappointment.

Pantai Bali Belig – We didn’t stay long. It was basically just a dog park.

Then there are the “normal” sand beaches, but the sand is much coarser than what you’d find in Dubai.

Pantai Balagan – No surprises here, good or bad. I didn’t even want to go in the water. I just sat with the younger kids while Johnny asked for a trash bag and started cleaning up the beach. It was sweet—other people actually started joining in until the bag was full.

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Nyang Nyang Beach – A brutal hike. About 500-600 meters down a steep, slippery forest path with stone steps. I carried 35-pound Simeon in the carrier the whole way. The beach wasn’t “disgusting,” but it wasn’t clean either. All the trash just gets moved into the nearby woods. The path was lined with a landfill where cows and monkeys were hanging out. It must have been magical once. If the trash were gone, this would be the Bali I imagined.

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Melasti Beach – Private, beautiful, and clean. The last beach we visited, and finally, a win. It was the only place we saw people actually swimming. It’s only accessible by car or scooter. Entry was 15,000 IDR per person. There are beach clubs like Palmilla, where a daybed costs 3,000,000 IDR ($200). If you don’t pay, you’re stuck on the upper level away from the pool and beach. The staff was constantly hovering, which made me nervous, but the pool was great for the kids. Unfortunately, we got rained out. The staff, who had been everywhere a minute ago, suddenly vanished or ran around looking like they’d never seen rain before. No one covered the luxury daybeds, so I’m sure the people who paid for them were thrilled to lie on soaking wet mattresses later.

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My Observations

The People: Bali’s biggest asset (for now) is its people. They are incredibly kind, positive, and smiling—especially the Hindus. The Muslims living there have a different vibe; they seemed more somber. The Hindus were always upbeat; the Muslims felt more like “complainers.”
Overstaffing: Restaurants are wildly overstaffed. Apparently, it’s a cultural thing to make guests feel “cared for,” but it just made me twitchy having someone staring at me the whole time, waiting for me to need something.
The Local Void: You don’t really see locals unless they’re working. You never see a local family out at a restaurant or a group of friends hanging out. The whole island is built for tourists. There’s zero consideration for the actual needs of the local population, now or in the future.
Waste Management: It doesn’t exist. There are no public trash cans. Trash is picked up… whenever. Residential areas are full of piles of bags, and as I mentioned, garbage is everywhere.
The Temperature: One big plus is that even when the weather is “cold” and miserable, it’s still warm enough to swim in an outdoor pool.
Healthcare: I needed to get Simeon a Hep A shot because we ran out of time in Slovakia. I contacted several clinics and an international hospital, and honestly, I didn’t trust any of them. Everything is done via WhatsApp. They all claimed they could get the vaccine, but they were shady about the price—either suspiciously cheap or 3x the market rate with hidden fees. I didn’t trust their storage or transport protocols, so I decided to skip it. Be very careful with sketchy medical or beauty clinics there.
Massages: They have a weird habit where a masseuse greets you, covers your eyes for “relaxation,” leaves, then someone else comes in to do the massage. I’m 100% sure it’s a bait-and-switch. It doesn’t exactly build trust.
Animal Ethics: Looking back, I’m not sure how ethical the animal attractions are. They’re clearly built for tourists, and I have mixed feelings about it. I started questioning everything after we visited a civet coffee farm where the civets were clearly drugged. It was heartbreaking.
The Food: Balinese cooking has a seasoning problem. The meat often had zero flavor. We tried to eat at local warungs, but after a while, everything tasted the same. Tofu, veggies, meat—it all had the same aroma of chili, curry, and some generic sauce. The soups were just bouillon. There’s none of the herbal diversity you find in Thailand. And they fry everything. Tofu, tempeh, bananas, sweet potatoes… it was so heavy and hard to digest that we eventually couldn’t even stand the smell of it.
New Year’s Celebrations: They last about three weeks. The fireworks started a week before New Year’s and went on for two weeks after. It’s great when you have a civet living in your roof that’s terrified and scratching around all night. Not to mention the sleeping kids.
Laundry: I don’t even want to know what kind of shape the washing machines are in. You can’t get a good wash there. They do everything on a quick cycle in cold water. Everything we sent out came back looking exactly the same. If you have white clothes, you have to pre-scrub them with gall soap. The “clean” towels the cleaning staff brought were always questionable. And they don’t understand drying—one cycle in the dryer and they’re done, regardless of whether the clothes are actually dry. Everything came back damp and smelling like mildew, which even their aggressive fabric softener couldn’t hide.
Traffic Zen: Despite the insane traffic, no one is aggressive. No angry honking or shouting. No matter what’s happening on the road, the drivers stay calm and patient.

Who is Bali for?

Childless couples (or people with very independent older kids).
Introverts bordering on social phobia. You can easily exist without seeing a soul. You can stay in the middle of a rice field and order everything via Grab.
Burned-out souls who need silence and solitude. Ubud or Sidemen are perfect for this.
Resort lovers who are happy sitting by a pool all day.
Tourists who don’t care about culture and just want Western food and services at a discount. There are spas and clinics on every corner. Canggu alone has 30+ beauty clinics.
The budget-flexible. Everything in Bali costs money now. Individually, the fees are small, but they add up fast, especially for a large family. There are cool things like swimming with dolphins or volcano hikes, but we skipped them because the prices for a family of six were just not in our budget.
Dog lovers. It’s a paradise for dogs. They run free, ride on scooters, and are welcome in restaurants.

Summary

For me, Bali is overrated. I have zero desire to ever go back. Honestly, I don’t see a bright future for the island. The environment is being destroyed. If you’re thinking about investing in real estate there, don’t. These “fast-build” villas use materials that won’t last 10 years in that climate. Between the pollution and the rising prices, tourism is already starting to dip—locals were already complaining about how quiet it was.

My takeaways:

Don’t have expectations.
Always read the worst reviews first.