Nobody Comes Here Anymore.

A thin cuticle of a new moon casts its weak light across the deserted port town of Padangbai on the east coast of Bali. The strip of bitumen leading into the harbour is intermittently sewn together by the headlights of one or two cars slowly making their way to the dock to board the inter-island ferry. I pass two old men walking slowly along the empty streets as if they do not want to go where they are going.

Time here has stood still for the last two years and seems reluctant to begin ticking anytime soon. This once-thriving port, where ferries and fast boats loaded their precious cargo of carefree holidaymakers heading for the beaches of the Gili Islands, Lombok and beyond, is now eerily quiet. Those tourists who provided a lucrative living for most of the town's residents are gone, for, as one man sitting on the pavement outside of a shuttered fast boat ticket office ruefully told me, "Nobody comes here anymore." 

For the people here and thousands like them across the island, each time a small ray of hope appeared, another lockdown, a spike in hospital admissions, the emergence of a new variant or yet another government decree seemed to thwart any hope that this persistent pandemic and the havoc it has caused will disappear in the days to come.

The only thing to do is wait.

Bali's population has suffered a devastating loss of income; however, I noted a palpable sense of resilience during my travels across the island over the past twelve months. The Balinese, as always still smile, offer daily prayers to the Gods, feed the ever-growing packs of stray dogs on the beach, diligently fish the shallow waters off the coast, fly their kites and meet their counterparts at the end of the day to chat and gossip, coming together as they have always done.

The pandemic has rocked Bali's economy to its core. The province's GDP contracted by a whopping 9.31 per cent in 2021, primarily due to its paralysed tourism sector, which, until COVID arrived, accounted for over half of the island's income. 

With the spike in infections during 2020/21, Indonesia found itself in the unenviable international position of being classed as a 'red zone' and consequently, tourism all but dried up. However, determined travellers still managed to trickle into the country via Jakarta, with over 80,000 making the journey and enduring ever-lengthening hotel quarantine stays.

 On the other hand, Bali welcomed fewer than 50 international arrivals, a minuscule fraction of the six million who visited these shores in 2019.

Two years on, the fightback here is in full swing, with over eighty per cent of Bali's adult population now fully vaccinated, most having received the Sinovac vaccine, whose efficacy against the Omicron variant is still unproven. However, there is a sense of optimism, given that the peak of infections and deaths of August 2021 has passed.

 Nevertheless, even with these encouraging signs, the government's recent ban on arrivals from more than a dozen "badly affected" countries, including the United Kingdom, optimism is again dissolving. It is akin to a game of snakes and ladders, where, like Sisyphus, the residents slip and slither, ending up at the bottom of the mountain once again. Until the government lifts quarantine restrictions and Bali's airport can again receive international flights, things will remain pretty much as they are. 

In the interim, the government has sought to court domestic visitors.

The recent festive season saw a dramatic change in visitor numbers compared to 2020. As a result, most of the five-star resorts on the island and fine dining establishments ran at virtually total capacity. 

The patrons? 

Indonesians. 

From across the archipelago, they descended on Bali, swelling the near-empty coffers of hotels which saw their occupancy rates go from single digits to one hundred per cent. It is an encouraging sign, but the reality is that domestic tourism alone will not drag the tourism sector back to the lofty heights it once enjoyed. 

Unemployment is rampant, and many of the thousands of hospitality workers laid off have returned to their villages or rely on food handouts or sembako in the once-thriving southern tourist hot spots. I was privy to one of these handout 'ceremonies' in Ubud where a politician and his substantial entourage distributed thousands of 10kg bags of rice branded prominently with his image accompanied by a catchy campaign slogan. It made for a good soundbite given the bevvy of television and press photographers in attendance.

There is nothing like a disaster to fish for a few more votes. 

There is a lack of transparency in reporting government statistics due to the low level of testing rates that The Jakarta Post quoted as being just 55.89 out of 1000 people. This absence of information has meant that citizens have stepped up to share local stories on a myriad of social media sites to keep each other informed about the current status of the pandemic. The downside of this is that the rumour runs at full speed, fuelling conspiracy theories proving that, with the internet, even the village idiot has an influential voice. 

If one area of Bali seems to be oblivious to this pandemic, it is the 'hip' suburb of Canggu that still lures a young, white, seemingly affluent crowd who have no time for conformity. They are a vocal anti-vax lobby anti-mask-wearing and have attitude to burn. The cafés, trendy bars, and beach clubs are crowded seemingly oblivious to the carnage enveloping the rest of the island. 

Privilege, it seems, still runs rampant when it suits. 

Even though this pandemic has wrought economic chaos, perhaps there is a silver lining for, this is a warning to step back from the over-reliance on tourism and the flow of cash it generates. It has perhaps created a much-needed void where officials have the time to confront the societal issues created from decades of tourism–fuelled over- development. 

One can only hope.

The loss of the tourist hustle and the near absence of gridlocked traffic has created a silence that has draped itself across the island, soft as gossamer opening up a new world. We who have weathered the pandemic by staying on have been given a rare glimpse of what Bali must have been like before; pristine, silent, ancient, and stunningly beautiful.

One day the tourists will return, places like Padangbai will spring back to life, the warungs, shuttered restaurants, and shops will open, and incomes will rise again. Bali appears to be waiting quietly, never really complaining, putting their faith in the Gods who will judge when the time is right.

Until then, they will manage, make it work, return to their kampongs and banjars and rely on each other. 

The wait perhaps will soon be over. 

Astungkara 

Melbourne, Australia 2022

Paul v Walters is the best-selling author of several novels and anthologies of short stories. In addition, he scribbles for several international travel and vox pop journals when he is not cocooned in sloth and procrastination.