Go off road beyond Bali’s tourist traps to the Tabanan region in a string of Vintage Land Rovers

Bali is overdeveloped. Ruined by mass tourism. Overcooked. Done.

The headlines are rather relentless and anyone who’s ever spent two or three hours stuck in the horrendous traffic between the airport and Canggu, Ubud or Uluwatu might be inclined to agree.

But the densely urbanised areas where most tourists stay are concentrated in the south and occupy only 10-15 per cent of Bali’s landmass. Beyond them lies another world where the gentle rhythms of rural life continue as they have for generations; where people live in harmony with the environment, the smiles are genuine, and the tourists don’t outnumber locals.

You can find many such places throughout Tabanan, a regency (government district) in the central west of the island and which is named for one of Bali’s eight historical kingdoms.

Slightly larger than Singapore, Tabanan is Bali’s rice bowl — 27 per cent of the region is carpeted in rice terraces fed by centuries-old “subak” (co-operative irrigation channels).

That’s not to say it’s off the beaten track. It’s just an hour’s drive from Denpasar.

Most visitors to Tabanan rarely venture past popular attractions like Ulun Danu Beratan, a lakeside temple in the northern highlands. The most recognised and photographed site in all of Bali, the 11-tiered temple (fun fact ahead) also appears on Indonesia’s 50,000 rupiah banknote.

There’s also the UNESCO World Heritage-listed Jatiluwih rice fields, a dreamlike place pockmarked with guesthouses, souvenir stands, art studios and restaurants, and the popular Tanah Lot sea temple on the Tabanan coast.

But that’s mostly where the Tabanan crowds begin and end. With only a smattering of hotels and luxury villas, the black-sand beaches on the regency’s coastline remain mostly empty and untouched.

“Bali is crowded with tourists,” says former restaurateur and hotelier-turned-tour-guide Agung Wijaya of Bali Rover Safari Tours. “But most of the tourism is concentrated in Ubud and the south. And don’t forget, Bali is a big island — a lot of it has no tourism at all.”

Agung formed Bali Rover Safari Tours with his friends (who are not related), architect Made Suta Wijaya and spare-parts supplier Kadek Arta Wijaya, at the height of the COVID-19 pandemic in 2021.

With time on their hands the three sketched out a simple business model: introduce small groups of tourists to the green heartland of Tabanan. Their UVP? The ultimate symbol of four-wheel adventure — vintage Land Rovers.

Made had four vehicles in different states of disrepair at his family estate in Tabanan City. Kadek had the mechanical know-how and access to imported spare parts required to make the Land Rovers roadworthy again.

“In the 1970s, my father was a doctor for the health department who used to drive around remote parts of Bali treating villagers,” Made says. “Back then, the roads were terrible, so UNESCO offered to donate a car. They gave him a choice of a Jeep CJ7, Toyota LandCruiser FJ40 or Land Rover Series 3. He chose the Land Rover because it consumed less fuel and the suspension was much better, which meant fewer flat tyres. From an engineering perspective, Land Rovers are also quite primitive; they’re relatively easy to repair. And Land Rovers have big personalities. It’s not like being in a normal car. It’s an experience. An adventure.”

For ROAM’s tour, Made chooses a 1961 Land Rover Apache, delightfully attired in British Racing Green. The dashboard is a piece of art in itself, riddled with gauges, fuses and switches, including a working siren.

“When I was a kid, my father always got angry with me when I turned on the siren,” Made recalls.

Within minutes of leaving Tabanan City, the landscape transitions into lush green countryside. Residential streets, concrete buildings and the noise of traffic and human activity fade away, replaced by small villages and jungle canopies interspersed with coconut plantations.

The further we drive and the higher the road climbs, the narrower and looser the driving surfaces become. We cross rickety wooden bridges. The air becomes cool and brisk. Mist hangs over the lower slopes of Mt Batukaru, its peak hidden in the clouds. We soon reach rice terraces rippling across the hillsides.

Farmers grow more than just rice in Tabanan. The regency is rich with coffee, cacao and vanilla pod plantations, while jackfruit, banana flowers, mangosteen and other fruits grow wild along the roadsides.

We pick the most low-lying of these by simply reaching our hands through the windows of our car: black mulberries, wild strawberries and “salak”, or snake fruit. We wash them down with coconut milk, hacked open with a machete by a farmer we meet on the road.

In the late afternoon we stop at a roadside temple where a Hindu ceremony is taking place. As the only tourist within kilometres, I’m somewhat of an oddity, and warmly welcomed by worshippers sporting ceremonial attire — layered wrapped cloths, sashes, brocade blouses made from cotton, batik prints and handwoven silk highlighted with metallic gold or silver. Their prayers echo through chambers of moss-covered stones beset with statues of demons and gods, while pyramids of fluorescent pandan sweets and piles of orange marigold blossoms add splashes of colour.

The roads aren’t in the best shape, often just dirt tracks, though at one point we find ourselves cruising along a new two-lane thoroughfare as well constructed and scenic as those of the Great Ocean Road or other popular driving destinations in Australia. With no other industries to speak of bar small-scale agriculture, it appears to have been built to facilitate access for construction projects.

Made agrees.

“Before they built this road, this area was much more exciting to travel through in the Land Rover. But now anyone can come here, and why would they build these roads if not to attract investors who want to build big hotels and villas in the rice fields?”

He points to a Mediterranean-style villa set in a gully below the road — a harbinger of what Made fears could be many more to come.

“This is the rice basket of Bali and we must protect it,” he says. “If Tabanan is taken over by hotels and the locals sell all their rice fields, Bali will have to import rice. For a culture founded on rice production, that would be disastrous.”

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