What Bali teaches us about 'overtourism'

Anyone who has ever visited Venice in the summer will be familiar with the concept of over-tourism. Crowds of people thronging almost every thoroughfare, the architectural and cultural jewels that made the destination so attractive in the first place in danger of being overwhelmed, physically damaged, or displaced by the cheap tat and inauthentic cuisine that invariably appear when plentiful visitors – not all of them particularly discerning, or appreciative of a location’s discrete charms – descend upon a destination. It's such a problem in Barcelona that demonstrators waved placards saying “tourists go home” this summer. The latest place to announce publicly that it is suffering from this malady is the island of Bali. Synonymous with beautiful beaches, sea sports, a highly refined culture of dance, painting, sculpture and music, spa-pampering at exquisite hotels, and ancient Hindu temples, Bali drew nearly half of all the tourists who visited Indonesia last year. But overdevelopment has led to nightmarish congestion on the island’s winding roads, environmental degradation – over half Bali’s 400 rivers have dried up – and a plague of ill-behaved visitors, some wearing inappropriate clothing in sacred spaces, to the extent that one commentator recently said that these days it was “less paradise, more parking lot”. That’s a bit harsh. But the Indonesian government recognises the island needs protecting, which is why it has proposed a moratorium of up to 10 years on building new hotels, clubs and villas in four of Bali’s busiest areas. The idea has been well received. But Bali is an exceptional case, different to Venice or Barcelona, in that it has built such a strong reputation that many people don’t even know that it is part of Indonesia. In fact the country’s former president Megawati Sukarnoputri once complained that on trips abroad she would be asked where Indonesia was, and only when she answered “do you know Bali?” would her questioners make the link. That may not have been a disadvantage when Indonesia was primarily known in the English-speaking world through the lens of the “year of living dangerously” – both the words from the fiery speech given by then President Sukarno in 1964, and the 1982 film of the same title starring Mel Gibson and Sigourney Weaver – and for its decades of authoritarian rule under Sukarno’s successor, Suharto. But today the country is a stable, vibrant democracy. And that disconnect means that it is likely the concentration on Bali is at the expense of, or is not leading to a spillover to, so many other wonderful locations in Indonesia. If Bali is booked up, for instance, why not visit the over 1000 year old Borobudur temple, the world's biggest Buddhist monument, on the island of Java, as well as the nearby royal city of Yogyakarta? I could go on, but 6,000 of Indonesia’s 17,000 islands are inhabited. Bali is only one of them; there’s quite a lot to see on the others too. Bali encapsulates two issues that face South-East Asia as a whole, as the region needs tourism. Pre-pandemic, the 10 member Association of South-East Asian Nations (Asean) was receiving up to 140 million visitors annually. The numbers haven’t quite recovered yet, but tourism still contributed over 241 billion US dollars in 2022-23 and has generally made up around 12 per cent of the group’s overall GDP. Increased visitors and development can be accommodated if managed well. The first time I visited Cambodia’s stunning temple complex of Angkor Wat in 2008, the road outside our hotel in the next door town of Siem Reap was rudimentary. When I returned last year, it had become a modern boulevard and the formerly sleepy town was bustling. But the colonial and Khmer mansions that line the river wending its way through Siem Reap have all been maintained, and it remains one of the most enchanting places I have ever had the pleasure to encounter. Popularity causes problems, however, when one destination commands such attention that it leads to drastic overcrowding. On the Thai island of Phuket, for instance, tourists now outnumber locals by a startling 118 to 1, leading to damage to the surroundings that made Phuket’s name in the first place. “Is Thailand’s holiday hotspot ruined?” asked a local news portal last week. Part of the pattern appears to be that visitors – from afar, at least – have heard of a few places, and they then become top of the list, to the partial exclusion of others. Many British people think of Penang when it comes to Malaysia ; and the “pearl of the Orient” is indeed a lovely place to visit. There are far better beaches on Langkawi island, next to the border with Thailand, but when I lived in the UK it seemed to be a well kept secret: if you knew, you knew. Returning to Thailand, it has been so popular for so long that several of its islands are as famous as Bali. But who is aware of the excellent snorkelling and diving that can be had off the coast of Papua New Guinea? Over 30 years on, I can still remember swimming over the coral reef at Submarine Base near Rabaul, in the country’s East New Britain province. There’s a sudden vertical drop of over 75 meters; it’s as though you’re flying. Promoting tourism has been a focus of Asean (to which Papua New Guinea has observer status) since 1977, when it established a permanent committee on the sector. But Asean doesn’t have the resources to educate the world about the incredible diversity of its islands, rainforests, mountains, monuments, rivers and coasts. One solution to over-tourism is for would-be visitors to delve a little more deeply into the region they’re intending to go to. To take South-East Asia, it couldn’t be easier nowadays to find out that there is far more to Thailand than Phuket, for example. And for those in search of holiday paradise, may I gently suggest that discovering that Bali is in Indonesia, and not a state in its own right, might be a good start?