Bali Handara Golf Club

Some places leave a mark on you not because of a single hole or a memorable shot, but because they expand your idea of what golf can be. Bali Handara Golf Club did exactly that for me. To this day, it stands as one of the most exotic and immersive golf experiences of my travels—and I don’t use that word lightly.

Set within a volcanic caldera and resting beside a serene mountain lake, Handara feels almost hidden from the modern world. You don’t stumble upon this place by accident. You arrive deliberately, winding your way upward into cooler air, where mist drifts through the trees and the landscape feels both ancient and alive. Golf here isn’t an intrusion; it’s a guest.

I was assigned to photograph both the course and hotel for Golf Resorts of the World, a project I worked on with George Peper of Golf Magazine. From a professional standpoint, the assignment was everything I could have hoped for—dramatic setting, layered light, and a sense of place that photographs beautifully. But what stayed with me went far beyond the images.

Designed by Peter Thompson, the course unfolds gently across the caldera floor, using the land’s natural contours rather than reshaping them. The holes feel grounded and thoughtful, framed by towering trees and distant hills that seem to hold the entire property in a quiet embrace. There’s a calm here that’s hard to describe until you’ve felt it—a stillness that encourages you to slow your pace and pay attention.

What I remember most vividly, though, isn’t a green or a fairway. It’s the people. I watched groups of women bent at the waist, carefully cutting grass by hand with small scythes, wicker baskets strapped to their backs and slowly filling with clippings. There was no rush, no machinery, no noise—just rhythm and intention. It was humbling. In that moment, golf maintenance wasn’t a background operation; it was part of the cultural fabric of the place. The course existed because of human care, not industrial force.

Knowing how special Bali was, I hired a driver for several days—something I rarely did at the time—because I wanted to see as much as possible. That decision paid off in ways I couldn’t have anticipated. I visited waterfalls tucked deep in the jungle, ancient temples heavy with incense and history, black-sand beaches, rice terraces carved into hillsides like works of art, and distant volcanoes rising against the horizon. Everywhere I went, beauty felt effortless.

And then there was the food. Bali spoiled me. Some of the finest meals I’ve ever had came from modest kitchens and open-air settings, where flavors were bold, balanced, and unforgettable. Even now, years later, those tastes come back as vividly as the images.

Golf at Handara was memorable, yes—but Bali itself was transformative. It’s one of those places where culture, landscape, spirituality, and daily life are inseparable. You don’t just visit Bali; you experience it with all your senses. The island leaves you changed, whether you expect it or not.

This image represents that experience for me: golf set in a place you might never expect it, woven gently into a landscape shaped by fire, water, and tradition. Bali is paradise in the truest sense of the word. And if you’re a traveling golfer—someone who believes the game is as much about discovery as it is about score—I can’t recommend Bali Handara highly enough.