Seminyak - From the Streets to the Beach

Below is a travel writing piece that I entered into a competition. Not one to sleep in on my 24th birthday I woke up and walked on the beach at 6.30am...

Before stepping for the very first time on a plane to Bali, your head is filled with too many preconceived notions. Images of negative newscasts, of sunburnt tourists and harassing hawkers are the cause of apprehension blurring your excitement ever so slightly.

On the streets the stereotypes begin to fade. Motorbikes fill the roads driven by locals and tourists alike expertly darting through traffic. One motorbike has a white surfboard strapped to its side.

My taxi driver practices his English and burgeoning French on visitors. Wayan tells me that the fruit in season are mangoes, durian and the curious looking mangostien or “manggis” with tough purple skin and white flesh inside. Stopping at a junction, I watch as children use a long stick to prod manggis from a tree to be caught in a turquoise painted woven basket.

Waking up early for a stroll, I’ve found that the morning mist has broken on Seminyak Beach. My bare feet leave prints on the diamond dusted grey sand. I dodge the tiny crabs that make sandcastle homes on the beach. The sand is a kaleidoscopic pattern comprised of tiny balls of sand.

“Salamat pagi!”
Two young boys jog barefoot in their ragged t-shirts and shorts. Smiles envelope their faces as they wave at us, pausing to run backwards before breaking into a bolt.

I continue to walk across the cool sand, which is devoid of litter but strayed with seaweed and shells. I’ve approached the Balinese street dogs standing guard. One white skinny dog curls himself like a banana oblivious to the morning activity.

A family of fishermen untangle their long spiderweb nets, cackling with laughter. They drag the nets out meticulously, ensuring the red and orange baubles are upright.

Balinese children sit in the sand, drooping globs of wet sand through their fingers. A little girl with dark tresses of hair falling down her back wears solid gold earrings that catch in the sun. She twirls and runs and falls into the sand, only to pick herself up, dusts off her bright floral dress and dances again.

An offering lies on the beach. Encased in a pale beige square rattan basket, it contains colourful flowers, pandan leaves and a couple of cracker biscuits. The pandan leaves are “haram” meaning “nice-smelling” of a sweet earthy scent. A red incense stick in the middle blows smoke into the air.

Breathing in deeply, I can smell the pungent incense. The salty moisture in the air leaves my arms feeling smooth. It’s 6.30 am on Sunday morning. Good morning Bali.