Both Lake Batur, Bali's largest freshwater lake, and the even larger caldera within which the lake is set, daily attracts droves of tourists eager for volcanic, upland views. Yet the shimmering, placid waters belies its cataclysmic past. Balinese history is not without its fair share of violence - mythical, geological, human - which years of promoting mass tourism conveniently elides.
Below: from left to right, Gunung Batur, Danau Batur and Gunung Abang
For every testimony of Balinese gentleness and hospitality, there is a monument to violence. We passed a number of ogoh ogoh effigies - the king of the spirits Barong and the demon queen Rangda, Krisna and Rawana, all locked in immortal, mythical combat. These papier mâché representations were paraded exultantly to boisterous accompaniment on the eve of Bali's Day of Silence and later burned to symbolize the eviction of malevolent spirits. Reminders of the more recent past also exist in statues commemorating the Indonesian independence struggle. We passed a couple of statues depicting three independence fighters wielding stones and bamboo stakes - perhaps representing the grim-faced determination of the Indonesians to wrestle freedom, against overwhelming odds, from the Dutch.
The smouldering cone of Batur itself stands testament to this violence. The crescent-shaped lake on the south-eastern part of the caldera was created by a massive eruption about 23,000 years ago. As the volcano literally blew its top, its original height of over 4,000 metres above sea level was halved to its present, modest equivalent of 1,717 metres.
Lakeview Restaurant on the lip of the caldera commands a fine view of Batur, Abang and Lake Batur nestled in between. Its owners have creatively designed an open terrace where customers can feast on both breakfast and pleasing volcanic views, for a minimum order of 50,000 rupiahs per person. The crowd at this more upmarket establishment comprised mostly Westerners, with the local tourists frequenting the less heralded roadside environs elsewhere on the edge of the caldera.
Below: 50,000-rupiah views of the caldera
We returned by the same road, and made a brief visit to this coffee agro-tourism set-up just before the village of Tegellalang. We were promised good views there. A short tour past caged civets, baskets of kopi luwak beans in various stages of processing ended at a tasting station, where we disappointed our self-appointed guide by steadfastly refusing to buy anything. There were good views indeed, of yet more rice terraces just beyond the tasting station.
Below: expensive, no, expansive views beyond caffeinated civet poo
More rice terraces awaited at Tegellalang, just minutes south of the agro-tourism set-up. Tegellalang sees more visitors compared to Jatiluwih owing to its better accessibility, being just under an hour north of Ubud. The Jatiluwih terraces stretch across a wide valley and are a more imposing sight. Those at Tegellalang occupied a narrower gorge, but are nonetheless impressive. Concrete platforms have been built by the roadside just before the rice terraces begin; these have been colonised by a slew of shops selling kitschy Balinese art and crafts.
Below: the Tegellalang terraces
I'm far from over-romanticising the karmic cycles of destruction and renewals which Balinese history seems to go through. I also acknowledge the over-ambitious attempt to over-simplify Balinese culture by adhering to this destruction-creation duality. Yet it is hard not to admire the Balinese. Theirs is a fraught paradise full of pained memories - the independence struggle in which Balinese fought and died for both sides, sporadic eruptions which led to mass displacement of Balinese villagers, the "anti-communist" killings which engulfed Indonesia following the fall of Sukarno, a growing water shortage, even the Bali bombings a decade or so ago which momentarily paralyzed tourism on the island.
Each time the Balinese have picked up the pieces and rebuilt their lives. Most times, they still manage to smile.
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