Ubud Was the Quiet I Didn't Know I Needed (Then I Waved at the Wrong Monkey)

August 15, 20268 min read

I'd always thought I'd love a pet monkey. Small, clever, a little mischievous — what's not to like? Then I said hello to one in Ubud, and about four seconds later I understood exactly why you don't wave at monkeys like they're old friends.

It turned out to be the loudest moment of my whole time there, in a place built almost entirely around the opposite.

This was the third stop on a two-week Bali trip with a friend — a week learning to surf in Kuta, a few days island-hopping through the Gili Islands, and then inland to Ubud. Each stop had its own completely different energy, which made Ubud feel like even more of a contrast than it might have on its own.

Kuta had been alive — crowded, energetic, always something happening, even if you were just sitting at a café table with an arak cocktail, watching the street go by. The Gilis had been still, the particular stillness of an island with no roads and nowhere urgent to be. Ubud was neither of those. It was slower on purpose — cafés one after another, quiet music drifting out of them, artist shops lining the streets with woodcarvings and paintings spilling out onto the pavement, green in every direction instead of blue, and a sense of culture and ritual sitting just under the surface of an ordinary afternoon. After the energy of Kuta and the stillness of the islands, Ubud asked for something different again, and it took me a day or so to figure out how to give it that.

Kuta was alive. The Gilis were still. Ubud asked me to slow down.

Traveller inspecting hand-carved Balinese masks in an Ubud shop — Inspecting the hand-carved masks · Hanoman Street

A family and dog outside a small craft shop on an Ubud street — Everyday pace on the curb

An artisan boutique with a turquoise roof and hanging lanterns in Ubud — Artisan boutiques and hanging lanterns

Somewhere in that first slow day, on someone's insistence that it was "a must," we did a kopi luwak tasting — the famously strange, famously expensive coffee made from beans a civet has already eaten and passed. I went in expecting to just be polite about it. I actually liked it.

A man crushing roasted kopi luwak coffee beans by hand in a stone mortar — Crushed by hand

Kopi luwak beans and tasting jars displayed at Teba Sari in Bali — The beans and tasting jars at Teba Sari

A tasting flight of Balinese coffees and teas in glass cups — The tasting flight · unexpectedly good

Streets Full of Ceremony

We happened to be there at the right time, though we didn't know it yet. Late August into September, it turns out, is a common season for odalan — temple anniversary ceremonies that happen on a rolling calendar at temples all across Bali, sometimes several at once, sometimes different temples on different weeks. The streets were suddenly full of it: women carrying offering baskets on their heads, everyone in traditional dress, gamelan music somewhere close by, a whole community out celebrating something real.

This wasn't a show put on for tourists — it was a genuine celebration, and we'd simply arrived in time to walk straight into the middle of it. We stood off to the side and watched, a little starstruck, taking it in without really needing it narrated to us. Some things don't require an explanation to land.

Balinese women carrying offering baskets during an odalan procession in Ubud — Odalan procession · offering baskets in the street

Men dressed in white praying at a Balinese temple gate — Prayers at the temple gate

Two travellers standing with Balinese pecalang village guards — With the local Pecalang guards

The Monkey Forest Humbled Me

I love animals. I had, genuinely, this soft idea that a monkey would make a lovely pet — small, clever, a little mischievous. The Sacred Monkey Forest Sanctuary didn't exactly ruin that idea, but it did complicate it.

(You can book a Sacred Monkey Forest Sanctuary ticket and guided tour on GetYourGuide)

Inside, the monkeys are curious and completely unbothered by you — right up until they think you might have food. Rustle a paper bag, and you'll have one bounding straight over, absolutely certain you're holding a snack and absolutely determined to be right about it. It's more funny than alarming, honestly. They're clearly the ones in charge of the place, not you, and once you accept that, it's an easy, interesting walk through the trees.

The moment that actually shook me happened afterward, once we'd already left the forest itself. There was a monkey sitting up on a branch above the path, and I did what felt like the friendly, obvious thing — I waved and said hello. She was not interested in being greeted. She bared her teeth and started making noise, loud enough and sudden enough that I had zero dignity about how fast I stepped back. It was over in a few seconds, and she stayed exactly where she was, entirely unbothered, while I stood there a little rattled by my own attempt at manners.

I said hello. She was not interested in being greeted.

A mossy stone dragon bridge beneath banyan trees in the Ubud Monkey Forest — Dragon bridge under the banyans

A traveller crouching to greet a macaque in the Ubud Monkey Forest — I said hello · before she bared her teeth

A long-tailed macaque sitting on a mossy wall in the Ubud Monkey Forest — Unbothered, until you rustle a bag

It's a small, funny story now, more than a decade later — but in the moment, that one small monkey made her position on the matter extremely clear.

Rice Terraces, Temples, and the First Time I'd Seen Anything Like It

From Ubud, the day trips out were their own reward. The rice terraces were the first I'd ever seen in my life — that specific, layered green, cut into the hillside in a way that looked almost too deliberate to be farmland, more like landscaping than agriculture. I hadn't expected to be so struck by something so simple as rice, but there it was.

(There's a Taman Ayun, Jatiluwih, Ulun Danu & Monkey Forest day trip on GetYourGuide covering both temples in one trip)

Two temples from that day still stand out clearly. The first was Pura Taman Ayun, a royal water temple ringed by a wide moat full of lily pads, its tiered black roofs reflected in the water alongside bright red tropical flowers. The second was Pura Ulun Danu Bratan, further out in the cooler mountain highlands near Bedugul — a temple that appears to float right on the edge of a lake, its tallest tower eleven storeys of stacked black thatch rising straight up against the mist and the hills behind it. Stone frog statues guarded the jetty out to it.

Neither temple had Uluwatu's cliffside drama. They had something quieter instead — the kind of place that makes you stop talking without anyone telling you to. If I had to pick one single memory from my whole time in Ubud, it's standing on that jetty at Ulun Danu Bratan, looking up at eleven tiers of roof against the clouds — not the monkeys, not the cafés, just that.

Eleven tiers of black roof, straight up into the mist. I just stood there.

Layered green rice terraces near Ubud, Bali — Tegalalang · layered green into the hills

A traveller at Pura Taman Ayun with tiered meru towers behind — Pura Taman Ayun · the royal water temple

A traveller beside Pura Ulun Danu Bratan on Lake Beratan — Pura Ulun Danu Bratan · eleven tiers into the mist

The Dance, the Dinner, and the Bali Everyone Pictures

One evening we went to a traditional Balinese dance performance with dinner — the kind of thing that's clearly built for tourists, and I don't say that as a criticism. It's the Bali people picture before they've even been: the costumes, the sharp, precise hand movements, the gamelan, the firelight. It felt like stepping straight into the postcard version of the island, and honestly, sometimes that's exactly what you want one evening of your trip to be.

(You can book the Kecak Dance and Royal Balinese Dinner on GetYourGuide)

The details stayed with me more than the plot of the dance itself, if I'm honest — the architecture of the venue, the carved details on every surface, colours and patterns that didn't look like anything from home. It was a completely different register from the islands we'd just come from, and I needed both to feel like I'd actually seen Bali rather than just one slice of it.

A Balinese Legong dancer in traditional gold costume performing at night — Legong dancer · sharp, precise, and completely captivating

Ubud was the last new place on the trip. After this, the loop closed — back to Kuta for two final days before flying home, which somehow felt like exactly the right way to end it.

Frequently Asked Questions

How many days do you need in Ubud?

Two to three days is usually enough to see the Monkey Forest, a rice terrace, and a temple or two without rushing. Longer if you want to actually slow down between them, which is kind of the point of Ubud anyway.

Is the Ubud Monkey Forest safe to visit?

Generally yes. The monkeys are used to visitors and mostly interested in food, not confrontation — but the sanctuary's own guidelines are clear on this: avoid direct eye contact, don't touch or feed them, keep bags and valuables secured, and don't wave or gesture, since sudden movement can read as a challenge. I found that out the slightly embarrassing way.

What is Odalan, and might I see one?

Odalan is a Balinese temple anniversary ceremony, held on a rolling calendar at individual temples rather than a fixed island-wide date. Timing isn't predictable, but with thousands of temples across Bali, stumbling into one isn't unusual — especially outside the more built-up tourist areas.