The Cliffs Across the Strait

A day on Nusa Penida's west coast, from the early boat out of Sanur to the edge of a cliff most people have already seen in photographs.

Words by Ishaan Rebello Nusa Penida, Bali · 6 min read

The car comes while it is still dark, and that is not the driver being overcautious. The ferries to Nusa Penida leave Sanur early, the crossing is shared, and a boat that sails on schedule sails without anyone still sitting in traffic on the bypass. Your hotel has packed breakfast into a paper box if you asked for it the night before, which you should have, because nothing on the harbour front is open yet that you would want to eat. The driver has your name on his sheet. He tells you to keep your shoes somewhere you can reach them.

Sanur at that hour is a beach without its promenade crowd: a long row of boats nosed into the sand, and a line of people with day bags working out which boat is theirs. For most of these crossings there is no jetty. You take your shoes off, roll your trousers up and wade the last few metres out to the steps at the back of the boat, where a crew member takes your bag and then your hand. It is the first moment of the day that feels like travel rather than transport.

The crossing takes somewhere between thirty and forty-five minutes, depending on the sea. The strait between Bali and Nusa Penida is deep and moves fast, and on a lively morning the bow slams hard enough that the people who chose the back rows, where the ride is smoother, look quietly pleased with themselves. Then the island comes up out of the haze, higher and greener than you expected, with pale cliffs along the water and nothing built taller than a palm tree.

Sanur beach at sunrise, with the volcanoes of Bali across the water — Sanur at first light. For most crossings there is no jetty: shoes off, trousers rolled, and a hand up onto the back of the boat.

Kelingking

A second driver is waiting on the Penida side, because the land part of the day is private and the car from Bali does not cross. The roads are the reason. Nusa Penida has been paving itself steadily for years, but a lot of its roads are still one lane wide, broken at the edges and steep in places that would make a mainland driver slow down and think. Your driver does not slow down and think. He has done this route most days of the season, and he knows every pothole on it.

Kelingking comes first, because it fills up fastest. You walk the last stretch from the car park along a path lined with stalls selling coconuts and hats, and then the ground simply stops. Below you, a long spine of headland runs out into the sea, green along its top and falling away in bare rock on both sides, and beyond it a curve of white sand sits at the foot of the cliff with nobody on it. Everyone says the headland looks like a T-rex. It does look like a T-rex.

There is a path down to that beach, and some people take it. It is steep, partly handrail and partly root, and in the heat of the middle of the day the climb back up is serious; the tour is built around the viewpoint rather than the descent, and most people are glad of that once they have looked down it. Entry is paid at the site by scanning a QR code. Your driver will point you at the right one, but he does not pay it for you.

Everyone says the headland looks like a T-rex. It does. That stops mattering the moment you are standing at the edge of it.

The Kelingking headland on Nusa Penida seen from the clifftop viewpoint — Kelingking from the viewpoint. The path down to the sand is real, steep, and optional.

Broken Beach and the Billabong

Broken Beach is a short drive along the coast on one of those roads, and it is not really a beach at all. It is a round bay of blue water almost completely enclosed by cliff, and the sea gets in through a single arch on one side, where the roof of a cave collapsed long ago. A path runs right around the rim. On a calm day the water inside is very still and very clear, and people stand on top of the arch watching the swell push in underneath their feet.

If you walk the rim slowly and watch the open water beyond the arch, you will sometimes see large dark shapes turning just under the surface. These are manta rays, which feed along this coast, and nobody can promise them to you. When they do appear, whoever sees them first tends to go completely silent and point, which is how everybody else knows to look.

Angel's Billabong is a few minutes' walk away: a natural pool in flat dark rock at the very edge of the ocean, filled with water so clear it looks as though there is nothing in it. At low tide and in a small swell it is exactly what the photographs promise. At high tide, or when the sea is up, waves come straight over the lip of the rock into the pool, and people have been badly hurt there. Your driver will tell you whether it is a day for getting in or a day for looking. Take his word for it either way.

Broken Beach on Nusa Penida, a round bay enclosed by cliffs with a sea arch — Broken Beach. The sea gets in through one arch, where the roof of a cave fell in a very long time ago.

Lunch, and the boat back

Lunch is Indian, which surprises people on an island this far from anywhere. It is there because a good share of the people who do this tour would rather eat dal, rice and a curry they recognise after a morning of heat and steps than work through a menu they cannot read. It is served at a local restaurant on the island, it is not fancy, and after the morning you have had it is exactly right.

The afternoon ferry leaves from the same stretch of beach you landed on. You wade out again, the boat turns for Bali, and most people are asleep within ten minutes in spite of the slamming. Ahead of you the whole line of the Bali coast is laid out along the water, and on a clear afternoon the volcanoes stand behind it. It is the view people forget to photograph, because by now they are too tired to lift the phone.

The Bali driver is waiting on the sand at Sanur when you come in, holding the same sheet with your name on it. It is a long day. It is also the day most people pick when they are asked, at the end of the trip, which single thing they would do again.

Angel's Billabong at low tide is exactly what the photographs promise. At high tide the sea comes over the rock, and the driver's call is the only one that counts.

Back at the hotel there is salt on everything, and sand in the day bag that will still be there when you pack to fly home. Shower first. Then go through the photographs and try to work out how a cliff that size fitted onto a phone screen at all.