A few days after the Balinese day of silence “Nyepi” (when everyone stays at home and is not allowed to use fire, light, or electricity), I met a young Russian family. The mother asked me, “Now that you’ve been living in Bali for 35 years, what are the most drastic changes you’ve seen?” I thought for a moment, and in my mind’s eye I saw a country road with a few bemo minibuses winding their way through the typical scenery of green fields and forests of varying shades. And without thinking, the answer came: “The number of vehicles on the roads.”
I added by way of explanation: “Visually speaking, the biggest change is the number of motorcycles, cars, buses, and trucks struggling to make their way through the narrow streets.” And I saw in fast motion how buildings shot up out of the ground… and the amount of stones, concrete, bricks, and roofs that came with the vehicles… Building materials being transported in all directions on these small roads.
That’s the visual change, what you see when you drive through Bali. But there’s also a mental change: I now live with the third generation. Those who were my first friends have died. Their children, whom I knew when they were still in school, are now the ones in charge in offices, town halls, notary offices, and shops. And the people who weren’t even born when I started living in Bali are now the ones who ask me for work, show up on Tinder, meet me in restaurants, and guide me as sales managers through resorts I’m inspecting for events. This third generation has turned its gaze (figuratively speaking) away from the ocean, the rice fields, the clouds, and the mountains—towards the constant view of their cell phones, just 30 cm in front of their eyes. They literally spend their lives with their smartphones, as if they were a physical extension of their bodies. (Perhaps a future generation will even grow a third hand so they can operate the info box continuously.)
I have repeatedly stood with locals somewhere and pointed to something in the distance that interests me. For example:
“Look: the hills emerging from the rain clouds on the horizon, that’s the coast of Java.”
Response: “Where?”
“Look just above the sea horizon… can you see the hills sticking out?”
“Oh, those aren’t clouds?”
“No, that’s the eastern tip of Java.”
Or:
“Have you seen that the Batur volcano has been spewing smoke for a few days?”
Answer: “Yes, I saw pictures on TikTok.”
“But you can see the smoke in the sky!”
“Oh, really?”
Perhaps the most drastic change in Bali over the last 35 years is not the tourist villas or the congested traffic, but globalization. Before 2000, people spent their evenings in small groups, sitting in the balai, the young people playing cards, listening to music, drinking local beer (tuak) or sitting on the beach. They talked to each other (mostly small talk or village gossip), but they interacted with each other. They wore sarongs and T-shirts. They didn’t think about “followers” or Photoshop for their Insta posts. There were no selfies and no posts because there was no internet to follow. The girls only wore makeup for temple ceremonies, when they wore their festive traditional clothing.
Today, in 2025, all women and girls use expensive makeup, wear global fashion, and constantly hold their smartphones in their hands—even when riding motorcycles, climbing rocks on the beach, going to bed, and using the toilet. Their gaze is reduced to 30 cm, both thumbs scrolling incessantly. Men and women drive cars with one hand on the steering wheel and the other on their cell phones – even when they’re not talking on the phone. Construction workers stick their smartphones in their back pockets or lay them next to the cement mixer to listen to local pop music while hammering and drilling.
The information emanating from these smartphones is globalized topics, global tastes, global advertising for global products. What they see on TikTok, Instagram, Facebook, and local platforms is not very “Balinese,” not necessarily Indonesian. Perhaps in the Indonesian language—but the content and message are global.
That is the biggest influence, the biggest change. People change with what they hear and see every day. Deep down, in their beliefs, they are still superstitious, religious, believe in fate, black magic, and “wrong deeds” that lead to accidents—but in their way of life, they are losing the sacred value: the serenity and beauty of the Balinese spirit.
