Bali is changing. If you’ve scrolled through TikTok or Instagram lately, you’ve probably seen the "expectation vs. reality" videos—the ones where a serene infinity pool shot cuts to a line of two hundred people waiting for the same photo, or a sunset beach scene reveals a literal mountain of plastic washed up on the shore. People keep asking what happened in Bali, and the answer isn't a single event. It’s a messy, complicated collision of over-tourism, a post-pandemic identity crisis, and a local government finally trying to claw back some control over an island that feels like it’s slipping away.
It's crowded. Like, really crowded.
Last year, the Ngurah Rai International Airport saw record-breaking numbers, surpassing 20 million passengers. For an island that’s only about 5,780 square kilometers, that is a massive amount of human pressure. You used to be able to zip from Seminyak to Canggu in fifteen minutes. Now? You’re lucky if you make it in forty-five while breathing in a thick cloud of scooter exhaust. The infrastructure is screaming.
The Canggu Problem and the Shift in Vibe
What happened in Bali is most visible in Canggu. Ten years ago, this was a quiet outpost for surfers and digital nomads who wanted to hide from the chaos of Kuta. Today, it’s the epicenter of the "new Bali," a jungle of concrete beach clubs, high-end boutiques, and some of the worst traffic congestion in Southeast Asia.
The "vibe" has shifted from spiritual exploration to high-end partying. Massive clubs like Atlas Beach Fest and Finns now dominate the coastline. While these businesses bring in staggering amounts of tax revenue, they’ve fundamentally altered the landscape. Noise complaints from locals and long-term expats have skyrocketed. There’s a palpable tension between the traditional Balinese way of life—rooted in Tri Hita Karana (harmony between people, nature, and the divine)—and the relentless pursuit of the tourist dollar.
Honestly, it's a bit heartbreaking for the regulars. You talk to people who have lived there for a decade, and they’ll tell you they don't recognize their own neighborhoods. Paddy fields are being paved over at an alarming rate to build "aesthetic" villas that look great on Pinterest but do nothing for the local water table.
✨ Don't miss: Magnolia Fort Worth Texas: Why This Street Still Defines the Near Southside
Bad Tourists and the Great Crackdown
We have to talk about the behavior. Social media has created a specific type of visitor who treats the island like a theme park rather than a sovereign province with deep religious roots. In the last couple of years, the news has been full of "naughty tourists"—a term the local media uses frequently.
There were the influencers posing nude in front of sacred 700-year-old banyan trees. There were the people dancing disrespectfully at temples. Then there’s the traffic issue. If you've been, you know: tourists on scooters without helmets, without licenses, and often without shirts, weaving through traffic and causing accidents.
Governor Wayan Koster didn't take it lightly. The provincial government started deporting people at a record clip. They even proposed a ban on tourists renting motorbikes altogether, though enforcement of that has been spotty and controversial because it would gut the income of thousands of small local rental shops.
The New Tourist Levy
In early 2024, the government implemented a 150,000 IDR (roughly $10 USD) tourist tax for every international visitor. The goal? To fund waste management and preserve Balinese culture. Whether that money actually makes it to the trash-choked rivers is a topic of heated debate in local warungs, but it’s a clear signal that the "cheap and easy" era of Bali is being phased out in favor of "quality tourism."
The Environmental Cost Nobody Wants to Face
Water is disappearing. It’s a literal crisis.
🔗 Read more: Why Molly Butler Lodge & Restaurant is Still the Heart of Greer After a Century
Tourism consumes about 65% of the island's freshwater. While luxury resorts have lush gardens and overflowing pools, local farmers in the central highlands are struggling to irrigate their subak—the UNESCO-protected traditional irrigation systems. When the water table drops, seawater seeps in, a process called saline intrusion. This is happening right now in southern Bali, making the groundwater undrinkable.
Then there’s the trash.
Every monsoon season, "trash season" hits the west-facing beaches like Kuta and Legian. Tons of plastic bottles, food wrappers, and discarded sandals wash up from the ocean, much of it coming from neighboring islands like Java, but a significant portion is Bali’s own struggle with waste management. The Suwung Landfill, the island’s largest dump, has been "at capacity" for years and frequently catches fire, sending toxic smoke over the tourist hubs.
Is Bali Still Worth It?
This sounds bleak, but the reality of what happened in Bali is nuanced. The island isn't "ruined," but the old Bali is harder to find. You have to work for it now.
If you stay in the southern bubble (Kuta, Seminyak, Canggu), you get the chaos. But if you head north toward Munduk or east toward Sidemen, you still find the Bali people fell in love with forty years ago. There are still misty mornings over volcanic ridges, still incredible ceremonies where entire villages process to the sea in white lace and sarongs, and still some of the most genuinely hospitable people on the planet.
💡 You might also like: 3000 Yen to USD: What Your Money Actually Buys in Japan Today
The island is in a state of flux. It’s trying to figure out how to be a global party destination and a sacred Hindu enclave at the same time. These two identities don't always play nice together.
What You Should Do Instead
If you’re planning a trip and worried about the current state of the island, stop looking at the popular "Top 10" lists on TikTok. They are usually just advertisements.
- Get out of the south. Seriously. Spend two days in Canggu if you must, then get out. Sidemen offers incredible trekking and rice paddy views without the thousand-person crowds of Tegallalang.
- Respect the temples. This isn't optional. Wear a sarong, don't climb on things, and remember that these are active places of worship, not just backdrops for your "main character" moment.
- Be water-conscious. Short showers matter here more than they might back home.
- Hire a local driver. Instead of renting a scooter and contributing to the traffic madness (and risking your life), hire a local Balinese driver. It’s affordable, it puts money directly into a family’s pocket, and you get an expert guide who knows the shortcuts.
- Check the calendar. Avoid the peak "holiday" seasons of July, August, and late December if you want any semblance of peace.
Bali is a victim of its own success. The world found out how beautiful it was, and the world showed up all at once. What happened in Bali is a cautionary tale of what happens when tourism growth outpaces infrastructure, but the island’s soul is surprisingly resilient. It’s still there, tucked away in the mountain villages and the quiet morning offerings, waiting for the tourists who are willing to look past the beach clubs.
To truly understand the current state of the island, one must look at the "Bali Bonanza" report from local NGOs which highlights that while GDP grows, the actual wealth gap between the tourism moguls and the rural farmers is widening. Supporting smaller, locally-owned guesthouses over massive international chains is one of the few ways travelers can ensure their money actually helps the people who call this place home.
The next few years will be a tipping point. With the new "Golden Visa" and "Digital Nomad" visas, the population of long-term foreign residents is set to explode. How the Balinese government handles the resulting demand for land and resources will determine if the island remains a paradise or becomes a cautionary museum of what used to be. For now, go with low expectations for the traffic and high respect for the culture, and you’ll likely still have a transformative experience.