Another day, another boatload of excited but tired passengers from Bali arrive on the island. The transfer boat pulls up alongside the floating jetty and the newcomers stand up to peer over the edge, wide-eyed with amazement. Before they even step off the boat, they can spot red and yellow and bright blue tropical fish in the crystal-clear water below. They are visibly dazzled by the wow factor of the sparkling turquoise ocean. It’s totally what they’ve seen on their socials, in all the reels the algorithm has been feeding them for months. It’s the tropical oasis they’ve dreamt of. A world away from the knee-deep, cold, brown water of the gloomy beaches where they’ve come from. Even the Mediterranean Sea doesn’t compare to the clarity and colour of the water here.
The newcomers drag their 25kg suitcases up the long jetty, weighed down with goodness knows what is essential for a two week jaunt in south-east asia. Three or four pairs of shoes for dinners on the beach, some jeans and jackets just-in-case, laptops, bags full of make-up made for cold climates, first-aid boxes with an assortment of medicines because, you know, you never know, they’re going ‘off the beaten track’ and lord knows people on tiny Indonesian islands might not have heard of bandaid plasters, or imodium, or insect repellent.
So here they are, they’ve finally arrived! Here starts their dream Robinson Crusoe experience. That ‘stranded on a deserted island’ vibe. Visions of reggae guys with dreadlocks sitting under grass-roofed huts gently strumming guitars while they gaze at a warm ocean and orange sunsets. Coconut trees that sway in the sea breeze. Peace. Tranquillity.
But within minutes, the smiles on the first couple flip upside-down.
Because, oh no, it’s rather hot isn’t it? Too hot to walk the 10 or 15 minutes inland to their accommodation, and there’s no motorised transport on the island (which is one of its main drawcards). Alas! A small horse-cart for two sits waiting on the path and a horseman offers to take the couple.
Today that couple may be grateful for the ride and appreciate the novelty and the cultural differences. But many will fall into two other categories. The first category came in search of a quiet place with no transport, but suddenly they’re confronted by the prospect of using a horse to drag them to their hotel. It’s too hot. Animals shouldn’t be ‘exploited’. The ponies are too skinny (they’re actually in good working condition, unlike most overweight horses they’ve seen back home, but let’s not let the truth interfere with a common perspective).
They forget that until relatively recently in the history of development, horses in their countries used to work the land and provide transport too. Horses still work in tourist hotspots like Rome and Vienna. And they turn a blind eye to the widespread ‘exploitation’ in ‘developed’ countries where horses are used simply for entertainment and gambling. But that’s another story.
These tourists boycott the working horses and thus deprive a local of money to feed his family and put his kids through school. Instead they walk dragging their heavy suitcases, getting grumpier by the minute and sweating profusely, and arrive at their hotels in bad moods. The local staff will then have to work doubly hard to flip those frowns upside down.
While those guests post a complaint on Facebook about the poor horses, they don’t think twice about lying on sunbeds, drinking cold beer and cocktails in infinity pools, eating to their heart’s content and resting in luxurious rooms that were all carried there, bit by bit, on horse carts.
The other category is probably worse. The people that don’t think at all about animal welfare, and instead complain loudly about the cost when the horsemen try to offer two horse carts to a group of four people. These “tourons”* insist on all four of them hopping in one small carriage, then watch while the horseman (who’s too polite to argue or too shy to face confrontation) hoists their four 25kg suitcases and other bags onto the top of the cart. As they head off, they video-selfie themselves all the way along the road, blissfully unaware that the tiny pony is heaving under the strain of its insanely overloaded carriage. And then they complain online that the horseman is greedy and tried to fleece them.
And so they all, the good, the bad, the ugly and the weird, arrive at their accommodation. The first night of their ‘Robinson Crusoe’ experience.
But instead of being happy with the dream of simple bamboo huts and coconut fields and summer breezes, with delicious tropical fruits and local meals, it turns out what they actually want in that deserted island narrative are fluffy beach towels and hair dryers. And pizza.
When I first arrived on this tiny island nearly 10 years ago I dropped my bags and headed straight out to explore. I walked the 90 mins around the island even though I was nursing a sutured wound in the bottom of my foot. These days people go into their room, draw the curtains and turn up the air conditioner to hibernate for the afternoon and recover from their two hour boat trip here.
For all the info out there on social media, it seems many of them haven’t a clue what they’re coming to.
Gili Meno island is a part of Lombok, the next big island along from Bali in the massive Indonesian archipelago. It’s very close to the equator, and so the weather is always warm. It is never jacket and jeans weather. Significantly, it’s a muslim island in the world’s most populated muslim country, and a country where religion plays an overt role in every part of life.
Most tourists island-hop here from Bali, which happens to be the only majority-Hindu island in Indo. Some of them don’t realise that the Gili islands are not Bali. Some of them don’t even realise that Bali is part of Indonesia and not a different country! Many are astonished when they realise, soon after they arrive, that there’s a small mosque here. And then they moan, endlessly, about the loud call-to-prayer that rings out regularly across the island.
Most visitors are city people, and it turns out they’re scared of the beautiful geckos and averse to dark nights and unlit roads. They don’t like when there’s leaves in their romantic, open air bathrooms.
They don’t realise roosters crow all the time and not just at dawn, and they don’t know that the moon cycles cause tides. Some don’t even know what tides are… and so they complain when at low tide there’s exposed rock and coral and there’s no way to go snorkelling directly from the beach. Because that’s not the dream the algorithm fed them.
They complain about the rubbish, which is awful, but they don’t think to ask about it, nor learn that life here is very different to ‘back home’ and there’s no government rubbish collection. They just complain about it, online.
Most of Meno falls asleep by around 9.30pm. But European tourists siesta late, and then while we sit and watch the golden sun sink behind Mt Agung on distant Bali, they start to doll themselves up. Think 20 minute showers and hair dryers. A truck load of perfume. It’s 9pm when they finally come out of their rooms, make-up already melting, a blended waft of CK and Chanel trailing behind them, overwhelming the scent of the frangipani flowers in the garden. She’s in a gold-sequined, sprayed-on mini dress and strappy heels. He’s in white chinos and loafers or, worse, knee length shorts and that most curious of footwear fashions known to man – sliders and socks. Out of their hotels they walk, straight onto the island paths, their white socks and varnished toenails immediately bathed in a cloud of thin black dust.
Yes, it’s a tropical island, but also yes, it has a long dry season each year when the island becomes like the outback of Australia: a dustbowl. Dry season happens to coincide with high season, and so from July to October, the European vacationers complain about the dust on a tiny island that still has no water supply. I guess the Gram didn’t show them that side of the picture.
They complain about noisy children waking them up from their honeymoon slumber, whilst staying on a family friendly island in a bustling Asian country where locals revere children and include them in every part of their lively communal life.
They stay in dive resorts so they can be right on the beach, but complain about the wet paths and the facilities being ‘too dive centric’.
They complain their pillows are too hard. Or their pillows are too soft. They complain about the noise from the parties on the neighbouring island, or they walk around Meno carrying speakers that pump out urban beats everyone else must endure.
They complain about early checkouts. And late check-ins. About little piles of gecko poo on top of their bed sheets and mosquitoes if it rains and flies around the village cows. They complain about their hotel location – which on its listing online and on Google maps clearly states it is 300 metres from the beach – because it is not on the beachfront.
They complain it’s too busy at the most famous snorkelling spot on the Instagram trail, or that there’s not enough action and just too boring, or that it’s too windy and wavy to get in for a swim, or too hot at midday.
They walk around the traditional local villages in the skimpiest g-string bikinis, ignoring the massive new signs on every street and corner asking tourists to please respect local customs and not walk around the villages in bikinis. ‘Please at least cover up with a sarong’, the signs say clearly, and are clearly ignored.
Somewhat more off, they go into a restaurant wearing their g-string bikinis with a T-shirt over the top that only reaches halfway down their bottom, so when you are behind them it totally looks like they have no pants on. At all. Which is charming when they walk past your table at breakfast time.
Oh I could pepper this rant with a million SMHs and LOLs.
To be fair, some visitors do want to connect with locals and have a laugh with them. But then they just don’t get it when they ask a local, with all good and completely naive intentions, ‘Have you ever been to Berlin?’.
Berlin!? I mean honestly, did they not get taught maths and realise that the waiter, who receives about 5 euros per day for his salary, and who probably supports a very large extended family on the mainland, will never-in-a-flying-fit be able to afford a passport, let alone a flight to Europe? And even if he did save up the money, the likelihood that he’d be granted a visa is almost zero?
Some tourons sit and smoke cigarettes with the staff at their hotel. “It’s no wonder Indo people smoke so much given how cheap cigarettes are compared to where we come from!” they say. I’d like a dollar for everytime I’ve heard that said. Again, not doing the currency exchange maths, they don’t figure out that a packet of cigarettes here also costs at least a quarter of a daily salary. Thank goodness locals have thick skin and have learnt no to just smile sweetly and ignore such ignorant comments.
Gen Zers and millennials strut around on the water’s edge or the edge of pools with their ‘insta-husbands’ as they squeeze their boobs forwards, and poke their sand-covered butt cheeks backwards in the most provocative poses. Lips pouting. Shot at from every angle. For hours and hours. And hours. While the local women in hijabs watch bemused and local men try not to stare. Close shots too, of both the bums and the boobs. Their boob jobbed, booty enhanced, lip jobbed bodies. It seems it’s all about the tropical body, rather than the tropical experience. For sure, self-love and sexiness is healthy and really important, but is that what’s happening here? Doing it for the ‘gram?
A decade ago tourists still arrived to places like this with backpacks or flash-packs. A lonely planet in their hands. They’d either ventured into the ‘remote unknown’ after seeing signs in Bali. Or they’d heard about it in hostels while they travelled South-East Asia. They came for quiet and guitar playing local vibes and chilled moments. They came to engage in cultural exchange and to learn how locals climb coconut trees and what they fish. They sat outside the local warungs and chatted with the Ibu-Ibu. They relished the nasi goreng and olah-olah. They joined the locals for ceremonies and weddings and simple home meals and hospitality.
When they came they arrived on the beach without bookings, willing to explore and find a place that was a good fit for them. Of course now everything is done online and sometimes people even book more than a year in advance. And they all make their choice based largely on review scores. And even though Google and AI have replaced the Lonely Planet and replaced conversations with strangers, they’ve also reduced people’s ability to cope with uncertainty and adventure. Many tourists even need the hosts in hotels here to hold their hands, metaphorically, every step of the way from their house in Europe to the islands.
A decade ago there weren’t even bicycles. Everyone walked. Horse-carts mostly only carried supplies. Now all the locals and expats fly around the island on electric scooters, and tourists ruin bicycles by trying to ride them through soft sand on the beach.
I used to do all my laundry, including towels and sheets, in a bucket. Now people give bad reviews if sheets are anything but starched and perfectly white. And they moan about having to pay one euro per kg for a local lady to scrub and dry and iron their sweaty clothes.
Most places only had cold showers not long ago, but visitors write bad reviews now if the water isn’t instantly hot, which means hotels need to pay extra to connect to stronger electricity supply.
Back then wifi was intermittent, there was still an internet-cafe and black outs were common. When tourists weren’t in the water they played card games or read books. Now the wifi must be perfect and super fast so visitors can ‘work’ (so much so that they often message hotels before booking to check that the wifi upload speeds are fast enough). Whenever they’re not in the water they stare at screens. Locals, too, have swapped guitars for screens.
Is the chilled island vibe, the deserted island dream, completely lost? Or has it just morphed into something else… changed along with the rest of the world?
I know I’ve highlighted the moaning and negatives to paint a picture here. And I’ve ignored the many beautiful people who come with open hearts and minds, who are easy going and laid back, who make valuable connections and who cherish their island getaway. But sadly I am actually totally understating; the moaning touron has become a very common character here. They are the bane of every hotel owner’s life and a blight on this tropical paradise.
It’s because people don’t usually moan face-to-face, in open conversations that may cultivate mutual understanding, kindness and solutions – they moan in online reviews, as they sit in the airport back in Bali, tapping away on their keyboards.
Hospitality is now entirely driven by the pressure of online reviews, and the amount of people that readily write damaging reviews is increasing exponentially, meaning the mechanics and essence of hospitality has changed significantly.
Hotels and even small homestays are in a perpetual cycle of needing to increase the facilities and luxury they offer, to meet the increasing demands of guests, which on a remote island in a developing nation comes at a high cost. And in return for bending over backwards they receive an increasing amount of poor reviews and complaints about the most trivial things, or things that are out of their control, by people who seem impossible to please.
The obnoxious tourist has always existed. There’s nothing new in that. And perhaps things have just changed here because it’s become more popular, more famous – beautiful destinations often get ruined by tourism – and because of the power of the internet and social media.
But obnoxious tourists used to be a minority here. Most people were good natured and fun and happy to be on holiday on a tropical island. Now, it seems the percentages have reversed, and most people are not. In the opinion of most business owners here, the amount of complaining, demanding, rude and difficult tourists has increased significantly since the pandemic. This has been a big surprise and disappointment for me.
I thought the pandemic would change people for the better. I thought after the world paused, and after it went through so much shock and fear and loss, it would regroup with more consciousness, more gratitude, more connection. It really doesn’t need to be said that people who can holiday on tropical islands are privileged and lucky – they can afford the time, money and freedom to ‘hop’ on a plane and travel to the other side of the world, without a thought to the cheap visa people from their country can receive without question, and spend time in a warm country with postcard sunsets and cheaper-than-chips cocktails and 30 metre-visibility-scuba dives. To sleep on plush beds and swim in gorgeous pools and enjoy cold beers. To chill. To enjoy some well deserved time out. Time to reflect, rest, recharge and grow. Time to have fun.
But it seems that it does need to be said. It seems a large part of the world has gone soft. And Covid didn’t shake us up like we originally thought it would—materialistic habits and entitled behaviours didn’t disappear or decrease; the moaning has only become louder.
I keep hearing things are improving out there in the ‘western’ developed world. That the new generations are more ‘woke’ and that they’ve got this. From what we see here of young visitors to the island, it doesn’t seem like it.
I’ve only touched the surface of the amount of moaning and ignorance witnessed daily here. There’s a potential for a full blog about every example above and many more stories of the uglier tourists. I just hope my words might encourage people lucky enough to be able to travel to remember the importance of practising gratitude, to be more present, to chill and smile some more.
I wonder, too, if the moaning is just a sad symptom of damaged societies, and that the tourists who spend part of their annual holiday here do actually enjoy their time, despite their habitual moaning. When their short holiday is over and they’re back home, stuck in their cold, grey, busy lives, many of them start rehashing posts with their perfect shots of their perfect holiday. They go back to scrolling reels and pics of beaches where the water is crystal clear and the days are always sunny, and they share to the online world that they’re stressed in their job, and they’re longing to be right back here in paradise.
* I didn’t make up the word touron; that credit goes to a friend who’s wittier than me. She’s frustrated by tourons, daily.
PS to my friends who’ve been here, and all the other beautiful visitors to the island over the years, I love you!
PPS thank you to all the beautiful, caring, thoughtful and kind people that do come here.
Absolutely brilliant..!! they need those signs regarding seriously skimpy bikinis etc on Gili Trawangan also. Don’t get me wrong, on Scarboro beach or cottesloe beach in Perth, i say bring it on, i’m all for it. But not on an island that is predominantly muslim. you MUST show respect to their culture. everything you said in your article is SPOT ON.! In Bali some of the tourons can’t understand why they are made to put a sarong on before entering the temples, they reckon they’re bikinis are fine, NO RESPECT whatsoever..!!
Thanks for reading Jay! I agree, when in Rome and all that. Skimpy bikinis and going topless is fine in some places but not great here. But especially walking around in them in the villages (and temples in Bali, like you say, which happens an awful lot). I saw a group of people from a mediterranean country walking through the tiny muslim cemetery here once in g-strings and budgie smugglers. Omgosh, honestly. No respect at all :(. Thanks again for checking out my little blog!
I just read this opinion piece about tourists visiting Gili Air, and honestly, it felt pretty rude and presumptuous. My family and I recently spent some incredible time there, and I wanted to share a different perspective.
Tourists are a mix of wonderful people from all over the world, each with their own reasons for traveling. We came to Gili Air to experience sea turtles in their natural environment (as opposed to the ones under rehabilitation that my husband works with as a volunteer aquarium diver) and to enjoy quiet, vehicle-free living while spending time together as a family. Living on a top-rated US beach, we’re naturally conscious about respecting the environment.
We happily lugged our lugged to our accommodation because it didn’t feel right to use horses, but supported dozens of local businesses in other ways. Over Ramadan, when the workers from Lombok get some time off to spend with their own families, it was beautiful sharing laughs and stories with locals whose kids ran around popping firecrackers with our son.
Generalizing tourists as “obnoxious” risks pushing away those who want to make a difference when they travel. We weren’t the only tourists cleaning trash off the beach and removing plastic from those teal waters, so I’d say most of us want to experience Gili Air’s magic while being respectful and mindful.
Consider educating visitors on what’s being done to protect the island’s beautiful horses and other animals. This fosters sustainable and respectful tourism.
A more respectful narrative around tourism, one that recognizes the good that many tourists bring while also addressing the genuine concerns that locals may have, ensures that destinations like Gili Air continue to thrive and remain welcoming to those who wish to appreciate their beauty and culture.
Hi Holly, thank you so much for visiting my little blog and reading my “Rant”! Oh the irony; I’ve written a piece about tourists who complain online and you’ve done exactly that on my blog! Eeeeek.
But seriously, it’s wonderful to hear that you care about this destination and thank you so much for you as a family doing your bit on Gili Air. My blog is about Gili Meno – each island has its own virtues and problems, they are quite unique but for sure my blog can apply to all the Gilis.
You are right. For sure there are beautiful people who come here as well! And I did write that in the blog.
Holly, I’ve lived here for 9 years and connected with hundreds of visitors. Many come as visitors and leave as friends. Years ago I thought about writing a book about the beautiful visitors I met here, the gifts they gave, the warm connections we made, how they enriched my life and the island. But from what I see, and what many local and foreign business owners are witnessing here, sadly the percentage of guests that are like that has notably diminished. People like you seem to be becoming the exception rather than the rule 🙁
My blog is a personal opinion and yes, this particular blog was a rant. I don’t believe it’s presumptious at all; it’s the voice of frustrated residents all over the island.
But for sure, I think I should edit it to include another ‘PS’ on the bottom, to also thank all the beautiful, caring, thoughtful and kind people that do come here :). And you’ve rekindled a seed within me, to maybe one day write a blog about the good people who come here and contribute value and kindness! If you have a look at some of my other blogs I have written quite a bit more about my life here 🙂
Thanks so much for reading and your feedback Holly!
Thankyou SO much for this article!
We live in a small town on the coast of South Africa, and face similar issues, and are going to be holidaying for the first time ever on Gili Trawangan soon, and this helps us pack light, make informed decisions and have a great insight into not becoming a touron ❤️
Thank you so much for coming to my blog and for your comments Annie, I really appreciate that. And thank you also for taking my writings on board for your coming visit to Gili T. Have a wonderful holiday!