THE palm fronds dance against the bright blue sky. The sun beats down with all its zest. Underneath your feet is the softest of sands, a pure powder. From the distance, a well-dressed man shimmies up to your side; his looks are Balinese, his clothes Western. He says he is at your service and asks you to call him Edgar.
Such is the semi-surrealism of the Nusa Dua enclave in Bali, which ever since its conception in the 1980s has attracted two things - the smart clickety-clack footsteps of well-heeled tourists and the derision of Lonely Planet-type travellers. The former fall for the area's glittering string of grand hotels - the Amanusa, the Grand Hyatt Bali, the Balé, the recently-opened St Regis Bali - that promise top-notch service and seclusion. The latter bemoan the region's commercialism and its isolation from the true, charming hustle and bustle of Bali.
No doubt about it, Nusa Dua is not where you go if you want to rub shoulders with flower-sellers or navigate amid the mad honk-honk of motorcycles and scooters. It is where you head for if you want perfect peace and quiet, cuisine cooked by world-class chefs and wet towels brought to you as soon as a prickle of sweat appears on your brow. Not a bad life, if you can get it.
It isn't as though you're completely barred from the action and festivities of Bali, either. The artistic centre of Ubud - with its cultural shows, literary festivals, handicraft stores and temples - is about an hour's drive away, and so makes an excellent day trip.
The more spiritually inclined would also want to visit Uluwatu Temple, about 20 minutes away from Nusa Dua and one of Bali's six directional temples. This southernmost holy site, situated on a cliff, is famous not only for its striking views of the coast, but also its monkeys. Scampering all around the temple grounds, the cheeky primates will grab your spectacles or engage in a tug-of-war for your camera, if you're not careful.
Still, the ethos of every luxury resort is to be a self-contained universe where all your needs are met, so be prepared to feel somewhat cut off from the riotous world. This is the perfect place to go if you really dig security and privacy, or if you are a jaded movie star hoping to escape the paparazzi. (Quite a few global celebrities have chosen the Nusa area as their playground.)
Theoretically you won't, if you're staying in one of the prime properties of Nusa, have to lift a finger or stray from their grounds. The St Regis resort, for instance, besides the usual trappings of spa, fitness centre and clothes boutique - has a wedding chapel and residences replete with their own living rooms, libraries and kitchens. The staff will glide to and fro like elegant spectres bearing food, beverages, nail clippers - anything you may conceivably want. For an extra fee, you can hire a personal butler to be at your service 24/7. Which brings us back to our Indonesian manservant Edgar.
We have come to associate the butler with such a specific sub-culture - Anglo-Saxon upper-crust - that it can be odd to see it in a completely different context. What we may have, at the St Regis resort in Bali, is the Clash of the Great Service Cultures.
It is not for the want of earnestness, sincerity, or effort on the part of the butlers, for goodness knows the Balinese are second to none when it comes to hospitality. It could be that the hotel has superimposed one great tradition of service - the British sense of restraint, discretion, hierarchy and efficiency - over another - the Balinese tendency toward being emotional, charming, communal and friendly. One tradition aims to make you more effective. The other wants to make you more relaxed.
The effect is a sometimes puzzling, though not displeasing, jumble. The butlers are all given Western first names - indeed, the names of famous butlers in literature, film and real life - such as Edgar, Spencer and Wilson. One butler admitted to a guest that he would have preferred to use his own, Indonesian, name.
The hotel's chief butler Tony Sharp explained that these were "stage names" that helped the service staff get into their butler personas. The European names also helped shield the Balinese sensitivity from any criticisms or perceived rudeness from guests, he added.
Overall the hotel runs smoothly, as it should, given its published rates ranging from US$750 (S$1130) (for a suite) to US$8,500 (for its Strand Residence) per night. But, given that the butlers have had to leap from one hospitality culture to another in a relatively short period of time, the service can swing from over-zealousness on the one hand, to shyness and lack of initiative on the other.
During a weekend stay at the resort, for instance, one guest complained that her butler had decided to screen her calls without her asking. A friend from her home country had tried to call her one evening, but her butler had refused access, saying that she was asleep (she wasn't).
Another guest asked her butler to explain how her bedside alarm clock worked, a question which seemed to leave him stumped. Compounding the situation was the fact that he appeared too nervous and embarrassed to admit he didn't know how to set the clock. After fumbling with the device for several minutes, he said the alarm was ready but told her to request a wake-up call from the receptionist, just in case. She later discovered that the clock was not set properly.
Still, one may ask - who needs an alarm clock in Bali? Why go there if you want to stick to a strict regimen, instead of lazing your day away, like any sane holiday-maker would?
The same may be asked of the butler service - is the hotel over-jigging something that didn't need to be re-set in the first place? Bali is one of the most naturally winsome places on earth. Perhaps there's no point tinkering with paradise.
