Beautiful Purpose: My Bali Experience

The sky is bluer here. It feels closer than back in New York, like you can reach up and touch it.

No clouds in any direction. Occasional wisps of incense snake their way across the cobalt above. Beyond the red stone wall, towering palm trees rock like giant legs walking in place.

The scents of this place—tropical plants and fruits from the garden—smell of a humid summer day where things ferment in the sun. Hot oil and cooking fish. And the incense, a constant spice carried on the breeze from nearby temples. I’m not usually a fan, but for some reason it doesn’t bother me. I welcome it as part of the experience.

I am far from home.

It’s about 11pm Central Indonesia Time. That’s 12 hours ahead of NY after 24 hours of flight time. Too much math for my brain at this point.

The airport is surprisingly busy. My travel companions, Cameron and Chrissy, yawn and stretch upright as we make our way to ground transportation. At the exit, we’re met with a bleacher of waving name cards and beckoning valets. We meet our driver—a broad-shouldered Balinese man with a gentle smile.

Our shuttle shoots down the narrow highway toward our hotel in Seminyak, carving its way through traffic. We pass clusters of motorbikes, chaotic intersections and massive webs of electrical cables strung across alleyways.

As we near our destination, the road becomes lined with neon retail centers and small food shops called warung. Buildings stack on top of each other—timeworn markets against ultra-modern showrooms, patched together with signage in English, Indonesian and Balinese. The only breaks are the temples, beautifully carved stone structures rising from manicured gardens. A pause purposively fit among the busyness of daily life. We make a last turn down the long driveway of the hotel, check in and it’s lights out.

I wake up groggy and excited to see Bali in daylight.

Our hotel, oddly named Potato Head, is a sustainable resort committing itself to zero waste. Everything from the building materials to the table settings is recycled plastic, concrete, or local, sustainable wood or bamboo. I meet Cameron and Chrissy downstairs.

As we look out on the Indian Ocean, we each take a deep breath. After almost a year of planning, we made it to Bali. Time to get to work.

Over the next two days, we orient ourselves to the area around the resort. Seminyak is on the southwestern coast, known for beach resorts and eclectic restaurants. Walking through the town takes balance and awareness, as sidewalks don’t exist along the sedan-width roadways. While many of Seminyak’s shops cater to western tourists, I notice several Balinese traditions woven throughout.

At the entrance to any shop, there is a small basket containing flowers, a small bit of food and incense—an offering to the gods poetically called canang sari, “beautiful purpose.” These, plus the intricately decorated temples and Hindu statues, serve as a reminder that Bali is “The Island of the Gods.”

We met our Balinese film crews the previous day over lunch. They were friendly with a healthy sense of humor. They asked smart questions and made smart suggestions. We would come to appreciate both as we inevitably ran into surprises during production.

Each of us (and our respective crews) would be shooting a different part of a larger project for our client, documenting ways they offset their own plastic footprint. Three stories, one purpose: show the negative effects of plastic pollution on Bali AND the positive impact of the Balinese people on restoring its beauty.

Why Bali? It sits on the crossroads of two issues: lack of waste infrastructure, plus half a million people visiting an island the size of Delaware every year, all of whom need plastic-based products.

Plastic collector members, as they’re called, are local Balinese people who collect hundreds of pounds of plastic waste that would otherwise end up in the ocean and waterways. They, in turn, get paid for this plastic and gain access to healthcare, food and other necessities. For some, it’s a lifeline; for others, it’s supplemental income and a point of pride.

As we came to learn, the Balinese belief system seeks harmony between people and planet—a perfect thread to tie our stories together.

It’s 8am. I finish my coffee and we pile into a white van.

We’re driving an hour north to Tabanan to film the family of a plastic collector member named Made (Mah-deh) Kariasih. Given the bike-to-bumper traffic in Bali, the most efficient mode of transport is a small motorbike. The least is a Ford Transit. But here we are crawling through the morning commute.

Only a few miles north of the beach resorts, the landscape dramatically changes. Hotels and shops give way to rice paddies and tropical forests. A mom on a motorbike darts through traffic to our right, baby slung in front, her daughter casually hanging onto her back. Through the trees, clouds of smoke form a haze over the rising sun—burn piles from local farms that supply the island with everything it needs. Mechanics smoke cigarettes in a garage bay, a woman carries a fruit basket on her head, a stray dog nibbles at the day’s offering.

I think to myself, “This is the Bali we are here to capture. Take note of the details.”

A traditional Balinese village is formed from a continuous grid of walled properties interspersed with small temples. The architecture looks ancient—ornately carved stone in red, grey and yellow. Our “family” is actually four families that live together.

Made and her husband, Wayan (Why-On), greet us in the entryway. I fumble my way through a traditional Balinese greeting but it seems to land well as Made grins and gently takes my hands. As we step inside two massive wooden doors, I’m overwhelmed at the beauty of her home.

A walkway takes us down a long outdoor corridor. On either side are the homes of Wayan’s brothers. At the far end, a right turn opens into a courtyard—a communal gathering space. An exotic garden occupies one corner and a series of stepped porches mark the entry to more living spaces. Pagoda-style roofs, clad with orange clay tile, hang over porches, blocking the harsh sun. Plants I’ve never seen before overflow from a dozen clay pots along the steps.

Made’s living space is in the back of the property. She excitedly shows us portraits of her two adult children—a son who works on a cruise line and daughter who lives nearby with her husband’s family. Her eyes begin to well with tears as she talks about her son who is at sea for six months at a time. We unpack our gear and start rolling.

I’m standing in the middle of the courtyard, looking for those “details.” The crew is filming Made cook a fish-and-tofu dinner. The kitchen is only large enough for Made and our cameraman, so I provide direction and get out of the way. I watch a curl of smoke in the sky above and track its origin to a temple next door. Wayan, watching me peek over the stone wall, invites me to see his family’s temple.

He offers me a sarong and, witnessing my fumblings, helps tie it around my waist. Bare legs are not permitted in the temple space. I follow him through a gate at the back of the property. Four stone towers stand in a square, each multi-leveled and adorned with Hindu deities. A family friend is repairing one of the shrines with plaster. I’m incrediblly grateful to even be allowed in this space, then Wayan makes a camera motion with his hands and encourages me to snap a few pics.

We interview Made that afternoon. She talks about family, how she met her husband, her kids and grandkids. She tells the story of Bali’s transformation. How the introduction of plastic packaging, along with a lack of education on proper disposal, has led to a trash problem consuming Bali’s oceanfront and mangroves.

In her quiet, graceful way, she paints a picture of a determined woman doing what she deems right regardless of compensation. She runs a women’s group reinforcing the same principle. In this way, they support each other and the community. The good work is multiplied.

We follow Made on her daily route to collect plastic and see the problem firsthand. Across the street from her home, we stand behind a collection center, swatting flies in the intense midday sun as Made methodically cuts labels from plastic bottles she previously collected. The piles of bottles are as tall as she is. She looks into the lens and smiles.

I enter day two more confident. My usual first-day nerves disappeared yesterday. Made was amazing on camera and the members of my crew are pros. On this day, the family would be preparing for the anniversary of their village’s temple.

As Made and her sister-in-law construct offerings and prepare meals for the celebration, we interview Wayan and his brother Rama about Bali’s pollution issues. As humble and stoic as Made is, they don’t overthink their part in plastic collection. They do the work because it needs to be done. Put another way, they love their island and wish for it to remain clean and healthy for their children and grandchildren.

Day two brings a few memorable moments—Made and her grand-nephew making brownies, portraits of the family in their ceremonial garb, the celebration itself.

The day is capped off by Made balancing a 4-foot-tall basket of offerings on her head and walking down a hill behind her home to the village temple. We hugged the treeline to stay out of the way of the drone camera overhead, and in this procession of family members, Made stood tallest, and set the pace. The temple is positioned on the side of a sacred river, hugged by 100-foot palm trees and banana leaves the size of small cars, all flecked with tiny pink flowers.

We are welcomed into the temple and film from a respectful distance as Made and family kneel in front of a priest. He calmly, methodically casts water over their heads and hands. My photographer whispers that this holy water is from the river behind us and it dawns on me that it’s the same water source we watched Made pull trash from the day before.

I hear the river. A temple bell chimes rhythmically. I sink into this moment, like I did when I first saw my wife from our wedding altar, or first held my newborn sons. Driving back, the bell continues to ring in my memory.

Bali is as beautiful as everyone says, and so are the Balinese people we met. They are kind and understated. Generous and proud. They live simply and place value in both the people they love and the natural environment they depend on. They grow their own food and feed their communities. They fix what’s broken rather than replace it. They are taking action to protect their island home.

The word “karma” literally means “action.”

More than just a collection of observations, this experience has added depth to my perspective, like roots in the ground. It reveals itself in the ability to find patience with my young boys, vision in my creative work, empathy for those around me fighting their own quiet battles. And a newfound appreciation for the natural world we are bound to protect—if not for ourselves, for our kids.

At first, I feared that what I collected in Bali would fade, and while the less significant details get fuzzy, the people and culture have woven themselves into who I am. As we planned for this trip, I was inspired by the travel-doc style of Anthony Bourdain. Reflecting on what I saw, and the stories we’re telling, one of his quotes stands out as especially poignant: