The arrival in Kertasari felt different from every other village or town we’d passed through on the long drive west. It looked like the jewel in the crown — still quiet, still tropical, but somehow regal. Not remote or hidden, just untouched in a way that felt deliberate. The place wasn’t rushing to show itself. It was being unveiled slowly, as if it already knew its worth.

What struck me first was the cleanliness and calm. The bay sat protected inside a long reef, the water perfectly still, the sand unmarked by crowds. For a place so beautiful and easy to reach, it was remarkable how few people there were.

It was late afternoon when we reached our accommodation. My partner and I sat on the edge of the sandy path in front of our villa, watching the light turn orange. A local man appeared in the distance, riding a scooter down the same path. Even from a hundred metres away, I could see his grin. He waved, nodded once as he passed, and then it was quiet again. Just the sea, the heat, and the slow rhythm of the evening.

After hours of travel, I couldn’t wait to get in the ocean. I slipped into the bay as the sun fell lower, the water warm and smooth as silk. It felt like washing off more than a day’s journey — it felt like shedding the pace of everywhere else. “Hello Kertasari,” I thought, “I think I’m in the right place.”

We walked the beach afterwards, not looking for anything. The beauty was already everywhere — palms leaning toward the sea, fishing boats drawn up on the sand, the air still soft with salt. Then, without realising, we’d walked into a village. Not beside the beach, on it. Houses, children, chickens — all right there on the sand. My first thought was, you lucky buggers. My second was that I didn’t know where the beach ended and the village began. Then I realised that’s the point — there isn’t a line. That’s what makes Kertasari different.

As the light faded, the feeling was quiet curiosity, not excitement. No celebration, no high fives. Just a quiet “wow” and the thought that tomorrow would bring more to see, slowly.

The next morning confirmed it. The same stillness. The same bright sea. The same pace — slow, deliberate, and full.

If I could tell travellers one thing about Kertasari, it would be this: be patient. Explore quietly. Stay a few days if you can, longer if you’re able. Don’t come here expecting anything. This part of Indonesia doesn’t work on our schedule — and that’s exactly why it feels like paradise.