The Dreaded Bali Dog

Someone once said, “Call someplace paradise, then kiss it goodbye.” This is a line from a Don Henley song, but wonder if it hasn't been said before. I disagree, but understand the message. Indeed, Bali is the best example of places I have visited where the authorities have managed to contain the depredations of rampant tourism and preserve the island's fragile, beautiful culture.

Bali is almost always referred to as “paradise” by tourist / travel agencies, travel guidebooks as well as by the Balinese themselves. In many ways, Bali does fit the idyllic profile of a "Shangril-a": the beaches are quite beautiful. The people are gentle, friendly and absolutely devoted to their spirituality. The women are, by in large, feminine and lovely in their brightly colored sarongs. The rice fields and terraces are arguably among the most beautiful in Asia.

Of course the almost never-ending temple festivals and richly diverse dance performances are, for me, one of the high points of visiting Bali. One could go on and on, waxing lyrical about the sublime vistas of volcanoes and palm-fringed lagoons, but you get the idea. This is not to suggest that the ravages of development and years of tourism (about 1 million tourists visit this small island every year!) haven’t taken their toll. My first visit to Bali was in February of 1985.

I spent the first few days in the ghetto of Kuta Beach; a Sodom and Gomorrah place renowned for its bacchanals; a place where Australians go "to do and to be undone", to drink themselves half to death and to destroy themselves on surfboards. Think of Kuta as the Cancun of the East Indies. Yet I found the rest of the island pristine. Over the past 23 years development and tourism have had an obvious impact. Yet these modern encroachments are limited to the southern-most part of Bali.

One especially nasty feature of Bali- one that has nothing to do with tourism, and one that offers a strange counterpoint to Bali as "paradise" is the ubiquitous Bali dog. Imagine, if you can, a hybrid between the common wharf rat and the mangiest dog you have ever seen; their color ranging from a mottled brown, to a dirty gray to a spotty white- or a combination of all 3. I remember them well from my first visit to Bali; roaming the streets of Kuta in packs, occasionally snapping at your trouser legs, or your bare ankles, looking rabid and malevolent.

Every household in the countryside has at least one of these chimerical beasts that act as guard dogs; very effective, I am sure. Cerberus comes to mind. You see these creatures mostly lying down in the middle of the roads, the very paradigm of lethargy; or skulking around menacingly, the females with pendulous teats swaying, indicating that they have young out there somewhere waiting their turn. As you approach them in your car they get up and move almost at the last instant before impact, as if they are reluctantly doing you some huge favor (like sparing you the task of sponging their remains off your fender).

You also see them rummaging through trash heaps, sometimes chomping on such delicacies as small packages of tomato ketchup. You almost pity them until you realize that they are, for the most part, well looked after in spite of their wretched appearance. And any shred of pity vanishes once you surprise one on a dark street, trying to protect their “dinner”, little plot of land, pups or whatever. Perhaps one of the most fantastic Balinese mythological characters, one that figures prominently in their legends and dance performances is the witch,

She’s really quite something to behold, with her bulging eyes, insanely long, crooked teeth, lolling tongue, horrifying mane of filthy hair, with her necklace of human entrails and appetite for eating children. The only way of rendering her even more ghastly would be if she were depicted walking one of these Bali dogs. Watch out for them, when in Bali.