Emirates launches direct flight to beautiful Bali

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  Cycle down the path cutting through the Gunur Batur volcano in Bali’s central mountainous area. iStock

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  Balinese dancers enact a scene from the Ramayana in the Kecak ceremony. There is a daily show at Bali's Uluwatu temple. iStockphoto.com

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  The Nusa Dua beach extends across several five-star hotels, including the Melia and Sofitel. Courtesy: Melia Bali

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  The pool at Melia Bali hotel in Nusa Dua. Courtesy: Melia Bali

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  The Premium Lagoon Access Suite Room at Melia Bali. Courtesy: Melia Bali

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  The balcony of the ground-floor rooms at the Melia is a mere step up from the lagoon-style pool. Courtesy: Melia Bali

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  The reception area at Melia Bali has plenty of seating and live music at the lobby bar. Courtesy: Melia Bali

The popular Indonesian resort island marks the Dubai-based carrier's 146th destination globally and its 18th in South East Asia. The inaugural flight, which I took on June 3, along with 422 other passengers, took a little over eight hours to reach Ngurah Rai International Airport in Denpasar. Now, I don't handle long flights as well as I, and most of my travel companions, might like. But I couldn't feel less like my usual grumpy self in the two-class Boeing777-300ER thanks to Emirates's famously varied entertainment system, roomy seats, well-spread meals, snacks and drinks, and super-attentive staff. And this direct option sure beats breaking journey at Jakarta, which was a must until just two weeks ago, to get from the UAE to Bali, where getting greeted with garlands right off the plane is not unusual.
It is only when I am bedecked with sweet-smelling frangipani for a third time in two days on my first trip to the "island of gods" that it dawns on me - symbolic offerings, ­infectious grins and genuinely gracious hospitality are the way of life in this tourist-favoured hotspot.
The split-level lobby of the Meliá Bali in Nusa Dua is buzzing when we check in at 10pm. Guests wander in from the beach or dinner at one of the hotel's many excellent restaurants, or out towards a taxi waiting to take them to one of the island's more night-savvy spots. The upscale Nusa Dua area is an insulated peninsula of five-star hotels - just what I need tonight, a moonlit dip in the lagoon-style pool a mere step down from the balcony of my king suite, and a plush bed to sink into.
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Nasi goreng tastes surprisingly delicious for breakfast. The Indonesian stir-fried rice dish is accompanied by cold cuts, hot eggs, sushi, pancakes, fresh fruit and breads. Despite its gargantuan size, the property is incredibly pretty by day - all leafy alcoves, wooden beams, lotus-filled ponds and dozens, perhaps hundreds of statues. I find I recognise the deities and demons from the Hindu mythological tales I grew up with, from the ­elephant and monkey gods Ganesha and Hanuman to Arjuna, the mighty marksman from the epic Mahabharata.
Our guide from Abbey Travel, is called Dena, a pint-size man who takes the cliché of the smiling Balinese to endearing proportions. He tells us about the religious blend unique to Bali, where the principles of ­Hinduism were ­integrated with the local culture. The result is not so much a focus on idol worship, although the island probably has more temples than tourists, but rather on good deeds, karma, the balance of ­energies and a true acceptance of unity in diversity.
The Barong dance, which we catch in the Denpasar area that morning, is a good indication of this. An hour-long performance, it depicts the ­immortal battle ­between a good spirit called ­Barong and a monster called Rangda. While the two often clash, neither can defeat the other; their fight remains unended. This ties in with the Hindu philosophy of universal balance - a recognition that good and evil must coexist, much like the ­Chinese symbol of yin and yang.
While the performance felt crude in places, it's worth ­attending if only for the show put on by an enthusiastic makeshift orchestra - a dozen or so men in colourful sarongs on flutes, drums and cymbals. The ­music is sonorous, jubilant, ­rising and falling in tandem with the ­antics on stage and just as it ­enters trance territory, the spell is ­broken as if by the ringing of a thousand temple bells. Manic but melodious.
Lunch is at Bebik Bengil, literally "dirty duck diner", the name inspired by the restaurant's first guests from the neighbouring rice field one rainy day in 1990. As with most entranceways on the island, the restaurant has deceptively small doors - an ­ancient architectural choice meant to promote patience, as only one person can pass through at a time. To this day, the doors of even the most elaborate homes in Bali are no wider than one metre. Once inside, we follow a winding tree-lined path with life-size statues and water installations. Unfortunately, all the treehouse tables with stepladder access are taken, so we plonk ourselves in a wooden-shed-like arena under a ceiling fan. "Use your fingers," suggests the menu, and I do just that as I sample the signature crispy duck dish with rice and fiery sambal sauce for 125,000 rupiah (Dh35).
The batik market is our next stop, where we observe local women, smiles in place, hand-painting intricate wax ­patterns on bedsheets, clothing and shoes - an exacting process. ­Batik designs are considered auspicious in Indonesia, and there are set patterns for specific occasions - from childbirth and weddings to the ceremonial casting of batik into a ­volcano for good luck. I buy a pair of scarlet and gold handmade slippers with an exaggerated toe for 85,000 rupiah (Dh24). Prices may be fixed in the batik ­shopping ­centre, but they are up for much debate and discussion in the main market at Ubud. The streets are lined with open-air stalls selling elaborate kites and bronzed Buddhas, painted puppets and the entire pantheon of Hindu gods, sarongs and "I heart Bali" souvenirs. Channel your most persistent inner ­haggler, and you could get a 100,000 ­rupiah wood carving for 30,000 (Dh9).
Jimbaran Bay is the first beach I set foot on in Bali. A relaxed alternative to Kuta, but not as ­secluded as Nusa Dua, Jimbaran is a crescent-shaped stretch of sun, sea and sand, fronted by a string of seafood warungs, at one of which we feast upon a platter of fish, prawns, crab, clams and squid, fresh from that morning's haul. And there, with my feet sinking into the cool sand, ­observing the laser lights from the party islands competing with the stars overhead, the thumping music not quite drowning out the waves, I am content.
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Day two sees us making the three-hour journey from Nusa Dua to Batur. Bali's central mountainous area is home to the active Gunung Batur volcano, which is located between two calderas and is constantly letting off steam - an awe-inspiring sight. An exhilarating two-hour downhill cycle ride has stirred up the appetite for the soul-heating soto ayam (chicken soup), which we relish at the area's famous Pulu Mujung Warung. A quick stop at a nearby coffee plantation to sample and buy packets of Bali's famous Robusta coffee, brought by traders from the neighbouring island of Lombok, and we are on the road again.
There are 20,000 official temples in Bali. Dena informs us that each house, shop, restaurant and hotel has its own temple, or pura, and each village has three public puras for special occasions.
While the ancient environs of Pura Besakih and the rugged beauty of Tanah Lot have ­inspired many an artist, it was Uluwatu's famous sunset that fired up my imagination - it was here that the flamboyant ­Javanese priest Nirartha ­attained moksha, freedom from earthly desires. Clad in a purple sarong (the colour said to ward off evil sea spirits), I joined the throngs of visitors, believers and monkeys on the circuitous route that takes in ancient sculptures of the Hindu gods Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva, and ends in an amphi­theatre that has daily performances of Bali's famous Kecak and fire dance. Telling the tale of the Hindu epic Ramayana, the show involves a group of men hissing, humming and chanting - a chaka chaka sound - continuously for a little more than 30 minutes. The vibrations, which encircle the resplendent performers representing the mythical figures of Rama, Sita, Hanuman and the demon Ravana, stay with me long after they are gone.
That evening, my senses alive with the high-energy performance of the Kecak singers, I walk along the cobbled path lining the beach, all the way from the Meliá through the Laguna and Westin hotels to the newly opened Sofitel. A quick stop on the way back at the Laguna's seafront restaurant with a live singer results in an unexpected but wholly pleasant discovery - jamun, a refreshing drink made of ginger, honey, parsley and tamarind. I sleep.
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An 11.45pm flight means we have the whole day to explore the area surrounding the Meliá. After a quick swim, I duck out to Bali Collection, a shopping arcade that's a five-minute walk from the hotel through a shaded woody area with gambolling squirrels and massive banyan trees. Fixed prices here, too, but oh-so-cheap. I end up finding half my summer wardrobe - well-cut shorts, cute tees, dangly earrings, jewel-toned scarves and sarongs - for US$100 (Dh358). After a meal of crab in cream cheese with a fried bun ($6; Dh22), I cut back across the path I came from only to notice a flight of stairs I had missed before.
A young girl materialises on the top stair and beckons me inside. She hands me a ticket - welcome to the Museum Pasifika, it reads. A museum in the middle of ­nowhere must not be very good, I think. I am wrong. The 11-room repository is an art connoisseur's delight - it displays the works of some of the world's most ­important creators, primarily expats who arrived in Bali only to stay on for weeks, months, even years. From the charcoal drawings of Emilio Ambron to stone sculptures from the former kingdom of Champa, the collection is interesting and thoughtful. Despite the inspired wardrobe and indulgent meal, it is the best Dh20 I have spent that day.
Or perhaps not, for it's time for my Balinese massage next at the Meliá's Yhi Spa with the delightful Sudi. Bliss does come in a bottle, I discover, especially when it contains lemongrass, mandarin and nutmeg.
It's time to fly just when you're having fun and I make to check out. But not before the hotel priest performs a ritual ­blessing ceremony and I leave with a heavy heart and yet another bracelet of scented plumeria. As I lay back in my seat, I think of the many plans I had made and discarded. The three-day ­itinerary may not have included the boutiques of Seminyak, the revelries of Kuta or surfing lessons at Sanur, but knowing that these are now only an eight-hour flight away puts a Balinese-length smile on my face.
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