French doors leading out to a generous veranda. Dramatic white drapes billow down, while the cloth-swathed four-poster bed conceals a Balinese offering basket blessed with a kimono, slippers, insect repellent—and ear plugs. Later, I understand: after dark, a lizard vigorously exercises its vocal chords. In go the earplugs, and I enjoy a blissful night’s sleep. It’s true that there aren’t many top-end hotels in north Bali, but Puri Ganesha would stand out just about anywhere. Not only does it offer a luxurious sense of privacy—40 staff to just four sprawling villas, each with its own pool, spread across 2.2 hectares—but guests are afforded a tremendous amount of freedom. You can eat the fresh, organic fare where you want—at the restaurant, in your villa, at your poolside balé—and do as much or as little as you like. In fact, this feels less like a hotel and more like an unfathomably stylish friend’s tropical beachside hideaway, where you’ve been lucky enough to get an invite. In this case, that friend is British owner Diana von Cranach, an Egyptologist turned interior designer turned hotelier turned chef and raw-food advocate. She moved to Bali following a failed marriage, speaks German and Indonesian fluently— “I absorb languages by osmosis”—and now runs Puri Ganesha with her Balinese husband, Gusti Wishnu Wardan. It occurs to me that Diana embodies the archetype of Eat Pray Love, Elizabeth Gilbert’s book turned film, before it became cool— or cloying, depending on how you look at it—and has somehow managed to transcend it. Diana and Gusti have left little notes in the villas, gently asking guests to be patient in case anything goes awry—upscale as Puri Ganesha is, this is, after all, the Southeast Asian countryside. Do not forget where we are, reads one. Remember we are in the tropics, cautions another. It’s ironic that these notes are necessary, because surely this is the purpose of travel: to be where you are. Gusti tells me most guests are content to accept that coming here won’t be a Disneyland-orchestrated experience, though naturally, it’s impossible to avoid detractors. northern exposure “One guest wanted marble in the Opposite, from top: Enjoying the water at bathrooms. Marble!” He shakes Banyar Hot Springs; his head. Tamblingan, a crater lake.
Speaking of where we are, I explore the shore of Pemuteran Bay. If you’re looking for a typical picture-postcard beach, its appeal isn’t immediately obvious: black sand and dull volcanic rock, a handful of fishing boats, a fringe of trees overlooking paperstill waters that are the polar opposite to the brash surfing beaches of the south. But the water conceals some of Bali’s best snorkeling and diving, at the reefs off nearby Menjangan Island, while more visibly, a sweep of volcanic mountains cradles the bay’s moonlike crescent. Breathtaking as those mountains are, they’re also a reminder of tragedy: many of north Bali’s inhabitants came here in 1963, when east Bali’s Mount Agung erupted in the most devastating explosion in a century, killing a reported 2,000 people and displacing 100,000. “People here are not rich,” Gusti says as we drive to a foundation supported by Puri Ganesha, which helps 110 children continue their schooling from the ages of 12 to 17. The foundation pays for school fees, books, uniforms, after-school tutoring and activities, even motorbikes. There, a group of girls practice a local Balinese dance. I quiz Gusti on how he thinks north Bali compares to the south. “People in the north are rougher, like cowboys,” he says. “People in the south say it’s like Texas here.” He’s clearly not a fan of the south, and I ask him if he’s ever been to Texas. “I don’t travel anywhere!” he grins. “I just feel happy here, I don’t know why.” hen I arrive at Shanti, it’s dark. Somewhere, a waterfall rumbles. The shapes of a man and a woman emerge out of the black night. “Hi, I’m Kadek,” says one shape. “Hi, I’m Kadek,” says the other. Patiently, the woman explains that Balinese first names depend on the order of a child’s birth: Kadek means second child. Confusion dissipated, I sit down in a wooden dining pavilion to feast on succulent chicken satay with peanut sauce and tasty nasi campur. But only in the morning’s first light does the real reason for coming here become clear: below, a stunning cascade of rice terraces leads down to a high waterfall. An alfresco breakfast of fresh fruit is the perfect way to soak in the setting. »
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travelandleisureasia.com | february 2011 91