Kuta, Bali: The Place between Heaven and Hell

If I believed in heaven, purgatory or hell, I would say that I have just visited the first two and I know who's going to the latter. 

A lot of people hate Kuta Beach, the noisy and over-touristed surfer town on Bali's southwestern coast (see map). Others pretend to hate Kuta because to admit liking the cigarette burn on the face of lovely Lady Bali would be too shameful. But like it we do; because even upstanding and intelligent human beings sometimes just need to get their party on. Ahem.

The original draw of Kuta was its gorgeous beaches and pristine waves, but over the past few decades this paradise has morphed into a sort of dirty in-between place. It's where all those carrying the strong dollar, Euro or pound go to get cheap party commodities, and where those carrying the weak Rupiah go to get rich.

People planning to stay for a few days or weeks get stuck because of stolen money, bad drugs, lost flights. Some stay because they are hypnotized by the rhythm of Kuta life: the undulation of sun and surf, drunk and dance. 

And here we find the perfect melting pot of hedonism and greed, perpetuating stereotypes that all Westerners are wealthy sex fiends and the confirming fears that certain Indonesians are ever willing to drug and steal to make a buck.

Stereotypes about Westerners that are born out of mass media and confirmed in places like Kuta pervade much of Indonesia. As a sort of cultural ambassador, I try to dispel the notions of American women as necessarily drunk, rich and loose. In Jogja, I cover my [almost] cleavage and shoulders. I drink less alcohol and discreetly, and during the fasting month I don't eat in front of observers. I curtail my sexuality to a point where I'm safe from any judgement.

Strangely though, actions which once felt forced are playing a trick on my mind; sometimes instead of thinking I can't wear this tank top in public, I think It is wrong to wear this tank top in public. 


That's about the time I feel like banging my head on the table. I don't agree with these values at all! Where did they even come from? 

The Qur'an, the Islamic Bible of sorts, is veeery specific about what deeds will be rewarded or punished in the afterlife; so much so that there are special hells for those who dress provocatively (women), wear gold or silver jewelry (men), those who refuse to give alms, and those who drink alcohol or eat pork, etc. Such are the restrictions in life that there is a saying that goes something like this: "Alam Dunia (Earthly Life) is a prison for the Muslim man."

But before you shed your sympathy tears, hear this: Those who sacrifice in Earthly Life will be rewarded in Paradise!    ...which is basically an eternal party. Wine and beer flow in rivers, everyone gets 40 virgin escorts, and Allah hosts a suckling pig all-you-can-eat buffet.

Which kind of sounds like Kuta, Bali.

Ok, it might be overblown to liken my compromises in Jogja in exchange for a few good days at the beach to a heaven-aimed Muslim's sacrifices in life. But there is something to be said for living a life of self-censorship and repression; sometime, somewhere, something's gotta blow.

For me, a few days in Kuta was like lifting the button on the pressure cooker. All of the little compromises that I make in my daily life in Jogja had built up to the point where I was starting to forget what I believe is important. Let me tell you, it's not keeping my shoulders covered.

Did I find 40 muscle-bound virgin surfers to help me eat a whole suckling pig? No! (Actually that's not possible, partially because.... ahem.... and partially because one surfer can eat a whole suckling pig by himself). But I did take off some layers, and have more than a few brews with my ham-bacon pizza. If I have to go to hell for it, so be it. It was heaven while it lasted.




'three very best friends' have a night out on the town -->