What should I avoid in Bali?

Skip Kuta Beach entirely. The sand is grey-brown and littered with plastic wrappers, the surf breaks close to shore in a way that's more washing machine than wave, and every thirty seconds someone tries to sell you a sarong, a massage, or a surfboard rental at triple the going rate. The whole strip smells like sunscreen and two-stroke exhaust from the motorbikes parked on the sidewalk. Kuta was the backpacker hub in the 1990s; it never evolved. If you want a south Bali beach, Padang Padang is twenty minutes further on a scooter and the water is actually clear. Seminyak's beach is marginally better but the traffic getting there — a 2km crawl on Jalan Raya Seminyak that can take forty-five minutes at sunset — might not be worth it.

The Tegallalang rice terraces north of Ubud have become a photo-op factory. You'll pay IDR 25,000 at the entrance, then get hit with three more 'donation' requests as you walk down the steps, each manned by someone in a high-vis vest pointing at a laminated sign. The terraces themselves are genuinely beautiful — the bright green tiers catch the morning mist in a way that justifies the fuss — but the Instagram swing operators, the drink sellers, and the sheer crowd density by 10am turn it into a theme park. Go at 7am or skip it for Jatiluwih, which is a UNESCO site an hour west, wider, quieter, and costs IDR 40,000 with no secondary shakedowns. The rice paddies at Jatiluwih stretch far enough that you can hear the irrigation channels trickling without a selfie stick in your peripheral vision.

Money changers on Jalan Legian and around Kuta Square are the single most common scam in Bali. The routine: a calculator shows the correct amount, the clerk counts your rupiah out slowly, then palms two 100,000 notes during a quick recount while chatting you up. Some shops use rigged calculators that subtract a hidden percentage. Change money at Bank Central Asia (BCA) ATMs or official exchange counters inside Circle K or Indomaret — the rate is within 1% of the interbank rate and nobody handles your cash. Taxi scams run a close second. Bluebird is the only metered taxi company worth trusting; their cars are a specific shade of light blue with a bird logo on the door. Everything else at the airport arrivals curb quotes a 'fixed price' that's two to four times the meter fare. Grab works everywhere except inside the airport terminal compound, where the taxi mafia has territorial rights — walk past the parking garage to the main road and order from there.

The temple dress code catches people off guard. Pura Besakih, Tirta Empul, Uluwatu — all require a sarong and sash. Rental sarongs at the entrance are damp, smell like mildew, and cost IDR 50,000 that you won't get back despite what the attendant says. Buy one at any Ubud market for IDR 30,000 and carry it in your bag. Worth noting: Uluwatu's monkeys are not cute photo props. They'll grab your sunglasses, phone, or water bottle and a handler will appear to 'negotiate' its return for IDR 100,000. Wear nothing dangling and keep your phone in a zipped pocket. The monkeys at Sacred Monkey Forest in Ubud are slightly less aggressive but the same rule applies — food in your hand means scratches on your arm.

Bali's wet season runs roughly November through March, and 'wet' means two-hour downpours that flood the roads in Denpasar and turn the beach drain-offs at Canggu a muddy brown. The heat sits around 30–33°C with humidity that makes your clothes stick to your skin within ten minutes of stepping outside. That said, wet season also means fewer crowds and hotel rates drop 30–40%. The real weather hazard is the undertow at beaches without lifeguards — Echo Beach in Canggu and parts of Nusa Dua have rip currents that pull hard, and drownings happen every season. If the red flag is up, stay out. No sunset photo is worth it.