Kuta

Kuta began as a coastal village of fishermen and traders on a shallow bay, useful for beaching boats but exposed to the surf that later made its name. In the 19th century the Danish trader Mads Lange settled here and ran a trading post that dealt in rice and other goods between Balinese rulers and passing ships, acting as an intermediary with the Dutch; his grave is still in the town. The village otherwise remained agricultural, with temples, rice land and coconut groves behind the dunes.

Tourism began in the 1930s, when the American couple Robert and Louise Koke built a small beach hotel and introduced surfing to the bay. The war ended that, but from the late 1960s the overland travellers' route through Asia brought young visitors looking for cheap rooms and waves, and Kuta became one of the best-known stops on it. Losmen homestays multiplied in the lanes, the airport a few kilometres south grew into an international gateway, and by the 1980s the village had been absorbed into a continuous resort running north through Legian to Seminyak.

On 12 October 2002 bombs in the nightlife district on Jalan Legian killed 202 people from more than twenty countries, the deadliest attack in Indonesian history; a memorial now stands on the site. A second attack in 2005 struck restaurants at Jimbaran and Kuta. Visitor numbers recovered within a few years. The Covid-19 pandemic closed the island to foreign arrivals for about two years from 2020, emptying the strip, and the return of mass tourism since has renewed local debate about crowding, traffic and behaviour.

The resort has two lives running alongside each other. One belongs to the village, Desa Adat Kuta, a customary community with its own temples, banjar councils and ceremonial calendar; processions still walk down to the sea for Melasti, penjor poles go up for Galungan, and the whole island, including the airport, shuts for Nyepi. The other is the holiday culture that grew around the surf: board shops, tattoo studios, cheap tailors, massage on the sand and bars that run until dawn.

Surfing shaped the place more than anything else. The beach break is forgiving enough for beginners, which is why Kuta is where a large share of Bali's surfers start, and instructors, board hire and repair shops line the seafront. Hawkers on the beach selling drinks, sarongs, bracelets and surf lessons are part of the scene; a polite refusal is understood and haggling is normal in the markets, though not in fixed-price shops.

Kuta draws a young, international and largely Australian crowd, and its reputation for excess has drawn criticism from Balinese commentators for decades. The provincial authorities have issued published guidance on how visitors should dress and behave, particularly at temples and shrines, and have deported foreigners for offences ranging from working illegally to disrespect at sacred sites. Most residents of the village work in tourism and are practised at separating what happens on the strip from the observances that continue behind it.

Kuta itself is a district of Badung Regency with roughly 30,000 residents, but it functions as one piece of a built-up coastal belt of several hundred thousand people running from the airport north to Canggu and east into Denpasar. A large share of the population came from Java, Lombok and elsewhere in Indonesia for work, and many foreign residents live in the area on business or retirement arrangements.

Almost everything here depends on visitors: hotels, guesthouses, restaurants, bars, shops, spas, transport and construction. Wages are low relative to prices on the strip, and workers often live further inland and commute by scooter. Rice land behind the resort has largely been built over, and the pressures that follow — water demand, waste collection, drainage and traffic on roads never designed for it — are constant subjects in provincial politics. A tourist charge on foreign visitors and tighter enforcement of rules on conduct and work permits have been part of the response.

The daily rhythm is unusual for Bali: mornings quiet, afternoons on the beach, a rush at sunset when crowds gather to watch it from the sand, and a long loud night in the bars along Jalan Legian. Residents start much earlier, with offerings at dawn and market shopping before the heat. Wet-season mornings bring cleaning crews to clear debris that the currents deposit on the beach.

Kuta's everyday food is Indonesian rather than specifically Balinese, reflecting the migrant workforce: nasi goreng and mie goreng, nasi campur plates chosen from a glass cabinet, sate ayam with peanut sauce, gado-gado in its peanut dressing, and soto ayam, a turmeric chicken soup. The warungs on the inland lanes serve these for a small fraction of beachfront prices, and many open from early morning.

Balinese specialities are here too. Babi guling, suckling pig roasted on a spit with base genep spice paste, is sold by the plate with crackling and rice. Ayam or bebek betutu, chicken or duck packed with spices and slow-cooked in leaves, appears on many menus. Sate lilit, minced fish or pork pressed onto lemongrass sticks, is a Balinese version of satay, and sambal matah, raw shallot, lemongrass, chilli and lime, accompanies almost anything grilled.

Seafood defines the evenings. The fish market at Jimbaran, a few kilometres south, supplies rows of restaurants that grill snapper, prawns and squid over coconut husks at tables on the sand. In the resort itself the range runs from Australian-style cafés and brunch places through pizza and burgers to Japanese, Indian and Mexican kitchens, a result of decades of catering to long-stay visitors. Local drinks include Bintang beer, fresh juices, young coconut, and arak, a distilled palm or rice spirit that should be treated with care because of poisonings from illicit batches.