In the space of a generation, five-star resorts and
high-end eateries transformed what was once a tranquil
fishing village into a world-class tourist town.
Jonathan Evans finds that Jimbaran has succeeded in
raising organic living to the level of art
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THE GEMS
OF JIMBARAN
J
imbaran hugs the south-
western coast of Bali like the
island’s forlorn, forgotten
offspring. Its modest size
makes it easily overlooked
compared to the gleaming cliffside
resorts of neighboring Uluwatu, yet
its quintessentially local feel is exactly
what makes it so enticing. A far cry
from the oppressive touting and
conspicuous consumption on display
in Seminyak, it offers little in the way
of bespoke cocktails, vintage bicycle-
bedecked artisanal coffee shops or
designer-label boutiques. You’ll barely
even find the chi-chi beachside cafés
and rural villas that are increasingly
strewn across up-and-coming coastal
village Canggu. And Kuta? This area
has as much appeal to a beer-swilling
teen night-clubber as the Sahara would
to a holidaymaking Eskimo.
It’s a far more traditional industry,
fishing, that predominates here: indeed,
Jimbaran remains better known
for its seafood restaurants than its
ample beachfront or the more recent
resort developments. The fish market,
Bali’s second-largest, should feature
prominently on the must-see list of
any self-respecting pescetarian, or any
visitor seeking insights into the island’s
community life. And quite apart from
its cultural cachet, it’s something of a
sensory assault — all the more so if you
drop by at around 7.30am, just after the
morning catch has been hauled in and
set up for sale.
You’ll find all the familiar edible
ocean dwellers here — giant tuna
strung up high on hooks, salmon,
fifty shades of snapper — and a broad
selection of multi-hued tropical
favorites including rainbow runner,
trevally and an alarmingly high number
of sharks. Even if you don’t make a
purchase, vendors are happy to pose
for photos alongside their displays;
incurable selfie addicts, meanwhile,
will relish the chance for a mouth-
agape photo-op next to these finned
wonders who in death wear a look
of permanent disgruntlement, as if
astonished that a net-slinging boatman
