Indonesia

As we wave goodbye to Indonesia in our rearview mirror, it’s time to reflect on some of the cultural observations we made over our past month here. First, though, my usual caveat about these culture posts; these are meant to be causal observations with a dose of humor and not judgements or indictments. In addition, for this installment, it is worth noting that Indonesia is made up of 17,000 islands so this post is not so much about Indonesian culture as it is about one specific part (Ubud) of one specific island (Bali) out of that 17,000. So think of this as more like a “Dave Barry’s Guide to Foreigners in the Jungles of Central Bali” rather than a National Geographic in depth exploration of Indonesian culture.

While Indonesia is a predominantly Muslim country and the island of Bali is a Buddhist enclave, one of the most visible cultural aspects of Bali, and likely many parts of Indonesia, comes from a Hindu tradition. Every morning you can see homeowners and business proprietors laying out small, handwoven palm-leaf trays containing flowers, rice, incense and other symbolic items. These Canang Sari are an expression of gratitude to the gods and are an important part of Balinese Hinduism.They are placed daily, usually in the morning, to maintain harmony between humans, nature and the divine. You’ll find them everywhere—on sidewalks, in front of businesses, and even atop scooters (yes, really). Stepping on them is considered bad luck, but given their sheer abundance, it sometimes feels like an obstacle course for the uninitiated.

When we first arrived in Denpasar and made our way to Ubud, I asked the kids, “Notice anything different from Vietnam?” Their unanimous response: “More cars, fewer scooters?” That was true—briefly. Then we hit Ubud, which might have more scooters per capita than anywhere else on Earth, including Florence, Italy.

Fifteen years ago, Ubud felt like a serene, mystical paradise of lush rice fields and peaceful temples. That’s still there—buried beneath an avalanche of scooters. The narrow rice-field footpaths, once tranquil walkways, now function as high-speed highways for two-wheeled transport. Many of the riders are Grab drivers ferrying young foreigners in yoga gear—presumably en route to yoga or meditation sessions—on their pollution-spewing bikes. The irony is not lost on me.

To be fair, the scooter drivers are unfailingly polite, even when zooming past pedestrians with mere inches to spare. But if you’re looking for a peaceful stroll, let’s just say you’ll be practicing mindfulness in a whole new way.

Speaking of Grab, Southeast Asia’s answer to Uber, it’s absolutely everywhere in Bali. You can summon a car, a scooter, or even use Grab Express—a service that will fetch and deliver literally anything. Case in point: When we were in Denpasar shopping for hiking boots, the store didn’t have Finley’s size. Rather than spending two hours in traffic to retrieve a pair from another location, we paid for them remotely, and a Grab driver picked them up and delivered them to our door for a fraction of the cost. Interestingly the scooter drivers are always clad in long black pants and what appears to be a winter weight ski jacket with the green and white Grab logo and colors, even in the oppressive heat. Yikes!

Meanwhile, traditional taxi drivers are... struggling. They still call out for fares, sometimes even promising to match or beat Grab prices. But since Grab doesn’t require cash and is ridiculously convenient, taxis have been left in the dust. The desperation is real—so much so that they even proposition me while I’m out for a jog. “Taxi, sir? Taxi?” they call, as I huff past them, drenched in sweat. I guess it’s possible that I am not running fast enough to pass convincingly for a jogger or maybe they just subscribe to my motto “If you don’t ask, you don’t get”, throwing it out there like some transportation Hail Mary. Admittedly there were times when I was so hot and tired on a run that, unbeknownst to them, I entertained taking them up on their offer.

In Bali, many people share the same first names because the traditional Balinese naming system is based on birth order rather than unique personal names. The four most common are:

Wayan (or Dede/Putu) - Firstborn

Made (or Kadek) - Secondborn

Nyoman (or Komang) - Thirdborn

Ketut - Fourthborn

If a family has more than four children, the naming cycle typically starts over, sometimes with “Balik” (meaning “again”) added to the name. So if you meet a "Ketut Balik," congratulations—you've just encountered someone who is at least the eighth child in their family.

Since these names are so common, Balinese people often use nicknames or attach a family name to differentiate themselves. Prefixes like "I" (for men) and "Ni" (for women) can also be added, which helps, but let’s be real—if you yell "Wayan!" in a crowded market, at least five heads are going to turn.

You can’t talk about Balinese culture—especially Ubud—without mentioning its deep connection to spiritual arts like yoga, meditation, and Kirtan (devotional chanting set to music). There are almost as many yoga shalas in Ubud as there are Grab scooters, and it’s a wonder how they all stay in business.

While I’m not a particularly devout yogi, I do consider myself an "experientialist" and took full advantage of my time in Ubud to explore these practices. I purchased a five-class pass at the impressive Alchemy Yoga & Meditation Center, which I used for yoga, meditation, and a Kirtan session. I also attended a free silent meditation session at Bamboo Spirit, which—perhaps as an incentive—was followed by a free vegan buffet.

While these experiences weren’t all a perfect fit for me, they did offer fascinating insight into Ubud’s spiritual scene. One observation? While attendees came in all shapes and sizes, the vast majority were young, fit women in their 20s and 30s. Clearly, the path to enlightenment comes with an unofficial dress code of yoga leggings and sports bras.

Bali is an enchanting mix of ancient traditions and modern quirks, and while not everything is idyllic (cough scooter traffic cough), it’s a place that leaves an impression—sometimes literally, if you misstep onto a Canang Sari. Would we return? Absolutely. But next time, I might bring a helmet just for walking.