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The meeting of the Western world and that of the people with the eternal smile. To truly appreciate your trip to Bali, you must first begin by getting to know and understanding its history, as you would on a first date: knowing how to listen, to hear, to accept, and sometimes to show a great deal of imagination. Understanding Bali is a bit like reading a science-fiction novel—letting go and entering the story by telling yourself it is possible, forgetting that our relationship with spirits is different, that our own beliefs no longer matter if we are to step into a parallel world. That is when everything takes on meaning—not necessarily logical, but is our own history not strewn with nonsense, absurdities, contradictions? So let us accept that it is the same for Bali, and begin the story of Bali’s history.
It will not be possible here to address the island’s spiritual side—its legends, which nevertheless determine the choices of the Radjas, the greatest warriors, and the simple farmer. Here, we focus on the encounter between the Balinese and the first Westerners.
The lost kingdom of Majapahit
Majapahit (or Mojopahit), founded at the end of the 13th century, was one of the most powerful and wealthy kingdoms of Java during the Hindu-Buddhist period. Its history comes down to us from the mists of time through two poems translated from Old Javanese and through Chinese writings. The first poem, the Nagarakertagama, written by the court poet Mpu Prapanca in 1365, recounts the great achievements and heroic deeds of Majapahit’s own king, Hayam Wuruk. It includes descriptions of temples, ceremonies, and rituals, such as the ceremony honoring the king’s own great-grandfather, Kertanegara, the last king of Singasari.
These precious pages present Hayam Wuruk as a devout Buddhist. After his death, he was deified in three forms: as a Tîrthankara (“ford-maker,” meaning across the river of human misery), as Ardhanarisvara (that is, “Lord Ardhanari,” the androgynous form of the god Shiva), and as “Shiva-Buddha,” “the honored and illustrious protector of the mountains, protector of the unprotected. He is surely sovereign above the sovereigns of the world.” This Shiva-Buddha figure is specific to Java, where Hinduism and Buddhism were intertwined.
The second poem, the Kidung Sunda, written in the 16th century and whose copy was found in Bali, tells the love story between King Hayam Wuruk and Princess Dya Pitakola, daughter of the King of Sunda. The writer describes another time, when the King of Sunda—Dya Pitakola’s father—started a war with his future son-in-law, which ended with the death of his own daughter, who had been promised to the King of Majapahit. The poem also describes the death of Gajah Mada, Hayam Wuruk’s right-hand man. The kingdom collapsed at the end of the 15th century after a fierce struggle for power against its neighbor, the kingdom of Pajajaran.
At its height in the 14th century, it stretched from Malaysia to New Guinea, of course including Bali. Today, it appears that Hinduism arrived in Bali without Javanese intermediaries. A Sanskrit stele, with not a single word of Javanese on it, still visible in Sanur, would attest to the direct link that may have existed between Indian Brahmins and the Balinese. Of course, ties with Java are ancient. A charter dating from 962 even attests to the construction of a seaside resort for the Javanese!
Bali was not conquered, however, until 1343, by Majapahit’s chief minister Gajah Mada. According to legend, the last king of the Pejeng dynasty in Bedulu, a village near Gianyar, was a fierce opponent and resisted the invader. Known by several names, including Dalem Bedulu or Raja Tapolung, he was said to possess mystical powers and the ability to replace his own head if it fell off. One day, he cut off his head near a river, but it was carried away by the current. It is said that Shiva wanted to punish him for this sin of hubris. A servant standing nearby then cut off a pig’s head and placed it on Dalem Bedulu’s body. From that day on, it was forbidden to look the king in the eyes on pain of death.
Once at court, Gajah Mada brought, as gifts, all kinds of dishes and long fern leaves. He asked the king for permission to eat one and pushed it down his throat while bowing his head; he then met Dalem Bedulu’s gaze. The latter, furious at this transgression, could not have Gajah Mada killed, because in Indonesian culture one cannot disturb someone who is eating—let alone kill them. Dalem Bedulu, burning with anger, was consumed by his own fire, and the Javanese then had a clear path to conquer Bali.
The Javanese truly began to emigrate to Bali during the Islamization of Java, when the Majapahit kingdom began to crumble at the end of the 15th century. The best-known Javanese priest is undoubtedly Nirartha. According to legend, he founded the major temples along the west coast from Perancak to Uluwatu, including Tanah Lot. Majapahit influence in Bali was as diverse as it was significant—whether in architecture, Hinduism, weaponry, or social organization, with the import of a more rigid caste system. While being Javanese is not always viewed favorably in Bali today, implying that one has Majapahit ancestors—therefore Hindu Javanese—still commands great respect, as Javanese Hinduism was long seen as an ideal of perfection among Balinese nobles and notables.
First Indonesian encounters and culture shock
Let us skip the Paleolithic period and Austronesian migrations to go straight to the arrival of the great European explorers. Bali’s history is closely linked to the rest of the Indonesian islands. We will begin with Marco Polo’s (1254–1324) account, described in “The Book of Marvels.” Let us recall that this great traveler claimed genuine empathy toward the peoples he met, presenting himself as an ethnologist, open to different cultures and appreciative of religions such as Buddhism, Islam, or Taoism.
It seems, however, that immersion has its limits. Indeed, in Sumatra, where he stayed for five months, he was extremely shocked by the customs of a tribe whose tradition was to eat their dead, allowing them to absorb part of their soul and strength. Marco Polo, horrified, summed up these practices with the following phrase: “these wicked, bestial men who eat men.” He seemed to forget that, at the same time, in Europe, the practice was not unknown during great famines, for less spiritual and more practical reasons. It was in 1493 that, according to some historians, during his voyage to the Caribbean, Christopher Columbus called this cannibalism.
Bali discovered by the first explorers
Many expeditions then reached the Indonesian coasts in 1585. Their primary objectives were not to immerse themselves in an unknown culture, make new encounters, share traditions, understand customs, and even less to engage in fair trade. The aim was above all to claim new lands for one’s king, queen, or nation; to subjugate peoples; to convert them to the country’s beliefs; to plunder their resources; to trade slaves for opium to make the natives dependent and docile.
In 1597, the Dutch explorer Cornelis de Houtman discovered the island (though he was not the first) and named it “Young Holland,” with little regard for its original name, Baly or Bali—this contempt for Balinese traditions and culture seeming to be a constant among explorers in general.
In 1601, it was Jacob van Heemskerck’s turn to claim the island—based on a misunderstanding, moreover. The King of Gelgel sent a letter to welcome them, which was translated as “you are at home here,” and the Dutch took it literally. In 1619, the creation in Batavia on Java (present-day Jakarta) of the Dutch East India Company, or VOC, materialized with the establishment of a slave market. Balinese princes thus seized the opportunity to sell their slaves, which in turn fueled wars between the different kingdoms in Bali and also in Java. Balinese slaves, highly valued for the men’s artistic skill and the women’s beauty, were sent to Batavia, into the colonial army, or exported as merchandise to Mauritius. The Balinese princes, for their part, were paid in opium.
Conflicts resulting from agreements made with the VOC were numerous, and battles raged from Java to Bali. Territories changed hands, royal families disappeared, and the King of Gelgel’s dominance over Bali faded, giving way, at the end of the 16th century, to an island divided into nine kingdoms.
When Bali becomes a colony
In 1816, Bali’s economy depended mainly on the export of slaves, which the nine kings of Bali traded for weapons and opium. The Dutch, wishing to assert their presence on the island of Bali and put an end to piracy and the looting of shipwrecks, then decided to have contracts signed by the Balinese kings. After long negotiations, the latter refused to sign the documents, which did not seem to bother the colonists, who considered that with or without signatures, the contracts were valid.
From this period onward, the Dutch were able to observe that the Balinese had a keen sense of property (and contradiction) while particularly valuing their independence. Relations became more complicated, and skirmishes multiplied, turning into military expeditions. Three interventions left a lasting impression: the first two, in 1846 and 1848, enabled the Dutch to take the kingdom of Buleleng. The last, in 1849, forced the colonists to witness a Puputan, or collective suicide—a collective ritual practiced by the entire royal court, including women and children, when the battle is lost.
After these three campaigns, a colonial administration was created, attempting to find a compromise. It was a member of the royal family who led it, under the authority of a Dutch controller, who arrived in 1855 in Singaraja in northern Bali. If we mention this date, it is to indicate that he was not familiar with local customs or even Balinese culture. He arrived with his own definition of “what is good for you.” His main reforms were vaccination; the ban on self-sacrifice, or Sati (or Sutty), a ceremony in which the Radja’s wives and concubines threw themselves onto their husbands’ cremation pyre, thus joining them in the afterlife. He also developed trade and the production of coffee and cloves, and proceeded to eradicate slavery—which, let us remember, had been widely endorsed by those same Dutch in the early 1800s.
From 1858 to 1890, new wars broke out between the different kingdoms, most of them driven by greed and the quest for power. Depending on the commercial interests at stake, the Dutch took part. In 1890, they took advantage of a conflict between Bali’s southern kingdom and the King of Lombok to depose the latter and add Karangasem and Lombok to their possessions. But today’s allies are often tomorrow’s adversaries. The colonists were often challenged by the Balinese themselves, as in 1858 and 1868. Tensions rose; colonialism became more present, more authoritarian, more summary—while gradually forgetting how important it was for the Balinese to live their own culture and obey the gods.
The Puputan, or Balinese collective suicide
Everything changed in 1906. A merchant ship ran aground on the Sanur coral reef. The inhabitants, well-versed in the art of looting, emptied the ship of its cargo and then shared it with the entire village. For them, it was not truly theft, but rather an opportunity offered by the Gods. The Chinese shipowner, however, did not see it that way and demanded full reimbursement from the Balinese for the merchandise. The first time did not work out; the Radja did not fully understand what the offense was. The merchant had to return several times, and with the Dutch themselves, increasing the price of his cargo with each visit, for the royal court to understand that there was indeed a problem. Not necessarily the problem of paying—because, deep down, that was not the point—but rather of losing face.
The last visit was decisive. The Dutch army, with a large fleet, landed in Sanur, deploying battalions of artillerymen, and went straight to the Badung Palace. They were, of course, convinced that this show of force would be enough to make even the most recalcitrant yield and that the matter would be settled within the day—it was logical. Realizing that the colonists were in control, the great palace doors opened to reveal the Radja himself, with his royal guard and servants. Close behind came the two royal families, made up of wives, concubines, children, priests, and slaves—the entire procession dressed in their finest clothes. What followed was a true massacre: a Puputan, or collective suicide. The Balinese threw themselves at the soldiers with simple kris daggers to force them to fire, and under a hail of bullets—between cannons and muskets—a large number of Balinese perished; the survivors slit the throats of the wounded before taking their own lives. Thus the Badung royal family disappeared, with the death of around 1,000 people. After another Puputan in 1908, this time in the Klungkung region, the Dutch held all power over the island of Bali. They left control of culture and religion to local leaders and managed trade and administration.
Bali’s first steps into tourism
The story could end there and, like many islands around the world, Bali could have remained under Dutch rule, gradually absorbing Western culture and losing both its own history and its cultural uniqueness. But that would be without the gaze of Westerners on the other side of the world. Indeed, these bloody acts of war were reported by the media of the time, such as in the “Petit Journal,” and the image of the Netherlands as a benevolent colonial power was seriously tarnished. Trading with a country that massacres the indigenous population—the disproportion between the offense and the punishment—became intolerable.
Reactions and stances from other countries, mainly Western ones, forced the Dutch to reconsider their relations with the Balinese. Failing to do so as part of a humanitarian, altruistic, and selfless action, they were compelled, under pressure, to respect customs and traditions and to communicate about this “virtuous” relationship—if not out of conviction, then at least to develop spice exports to Europe. This did not prevent them from banning Balinese women from leaving their homes topless in 1930, but since it was a request from the clergy, it suited the colonists perfectly.
Faced with criticism of their policies in managing islands such as Java, Sumatra, or the Celebes (which became Sulawesi), the Dutch implemented a real marketing communications strategy, announcing that they acknowledged they had (perhaps) been a little harsh, but that they had understood. They put Bali in the spotlight, positioning themselves not only as the drivers of the island’s sustainable development but also as discoverers of talent and protectors of a culture they themselves had helped to suppress. They turned the island of Bali into a living museum, and in 1914, Bali was opened to tourism: here we are!
Bali became the must-visit destination. Tourism development in Bali took a new turn in the 1920s with the start of the third international. Let us also recall that while travel truly took off after 1815, the word “tourism” appeared in 1841 with Thomas Cook, who opened a travel agency in England. It was therefore at the Paris Colonial Exhibition in 1931 that, for the first time, visitors could discover, in the colonial pavilion, the entrance to a reconstructed Balinese temple, a presentation of Balinese and Javanese culture, and a demonstration of Balinese dance accompanied by a local orchestra (the gamelan).
At the same time, anthropologists Margaret Mead and Gregory Bateson, artists Miguel Covarrubias and Walter Spies, not to mention musicologist Colin McPhee, conveyed a Westernized image of Bali. Through their writings, they described an enchanting island—the one with a thousand temples—presenting its inhabitants with eternal smiles, aesthetes at peace with themselves (“an enchanted land of aesthetes at peace with themselves and nature”). This made a complex culture more accessible by simplifying it in Western terms and gave Europeans the desire to come and discover the Island of the Gods. Much later, around the early 1930s, many artists came to settle in Sanur, a source of inspiration for many of them. They were painters, novelists, sculptors, such as the Americans Katharane and Jack Mershon, and the German brothers Hans and Rolf Neuhaus.
Bali, a love story? Sea, sex and sun…
In the 1960s, surfers from Australia came to enjoy the waves of Kuta, reputed to be powerful yet safe, and other spots such as “Impossible,” “Lacerations,” or “Padang-Padang.” In the evening, they slept on the beach, which the Balinese found hard to understand; in their culture, “living together” (Bersama) is a philosophy of life. And so they opened their doors to surfers and hosted them with great generosity. Hallucinogenic substances, such as mushrooms, were widely consumed, and love carried a scent of freedom that gave South Bali an image of paradise.
Later, in the 1970s, rooms for rent at a modest price began to spring up, then hotels in the 1990s at a substantial price, and resort complexes aimed at a different clientele, with more Western rates, began to appear in the 2000s. The Balinese had to learn for themselves what travelers expected, themselves surprised that families would travel thousands of kilometers to come and see them, never ceasing to thank them for this kind attention.
Bali is over, or how to hate an island without knowing it
A phrase that often comes up, whether on blogs or even from some travelers, is this: Bali is over! As if there could be no transformation, no evolution. In Bali, we learn that everything is impermanent, that we must accept loss, that nothing lasts, and that we can learn from the past to face the future. So, is Bali over? This phrase can be repeated endlessly for any destination—Greece is over, France is over, Capri is over…
As far as Bali is concerned, 30% of the island—namely the South—has indeed evolved. It has transformed into a tourist resort, with large, beautiful hotels, water activities, many restaurants, and places to party. There is no denying that this appeals to a certain category of travelers, and many stays are organized by limiting oneself to this southern region.
But Bali is also 70% authentic villages, age-old landscapes, rice fields as far as the eye can see, unique customs and traditions, and warm, caring encounters. Bali is an island of contrasts that cannot be reduced to the lack of imagination of those who follow the crowd. It must be earned, tamed. We have lived here for many years, and everywhere we still manage to be surprised, to take the wrong road, and to get lost in absolutely magnificent regions for miles. We regularly find ourselves captivated by timeless scenes of life, with the impression of plunging back into the past even though we are very much here and now.
To love Bali as much for its past as for its future.
Through this condensed history of Bali, we better understand that nothing is quite so simple. Trying to reduce an island, a country, or a region to its current situation—its landscapes, its tourist sites—without taking its past into account is to accept obscuring what makes the destination’s soul, both in its dark periods and in its years of light. It is also to assume that all its inhabitants share the same desires, the same hopes, and above all the same commitment to developing local tourism, respecting flora and fauna, and having practical knowledge of sustainable development.
Before tourism developed, we can understand, through Bali’s history, that colonization left its mark, and that there was no room for understanding local customs and traditions—except to use them for commercial purposes. If we had truly approached Balinese culture through its many legends and local stories, we would certainly have lost you. Yet this is the daily life of the Island of the Gods: beliefs from another time, ancestral traditions, and age-old superstitions—and it still makes sense today.
Bali is evolving, yet remains faithful to its beliefs—its DNA. The Balinese welcome travelers with great kindness and adapt without sacrificing their identity; they remain both dignified and respectful of ancestral traditions. The future of the Island of the Gods will inevitably depend on travelers’ willingness to go a little further in discovery and, at times, to step out of their comfort zone—and that is precisely what Amanaska, as a travel agency in Bali, offers you.
