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Bali is more than a holiday destination—it’s the kind of place that pierces deep into your soul. It happened to me. I lived and studied there in my early twenties and even now, more than a decade later, I still consider it my exotic home. Memories and images from that magical island are forever etched in my mind: bathing in a stream while staying in a remote village; young girls dancing in a trance over hot coals; the hypnotic sounds of the kecak dance, where more than a hundred men make music with their chanting voices.

During my two years on Bali I came to speak the language, but I never fully learned everything there is to know about the island’s complex culture, though its theatrical, semi-animist Hinduism was the closest I came to embracing a religion not my own. Every day, it seemed, the Balinese celebrated something different, giving thanks to the gods with colorful offerings, mesmerizing gamelan music and sensual dances. The Balinese believe in avoiding extremes and instead consciously try to maintain a perfect equilibrium between good and evil. That balance is visible even in the way they walk: during religious ceremonies village women gracefully carry heavy towers of offerings on their heads, sometimes without the support of their hands.

Of course it’s possible for a traveler to come to Bali without encountering any of this. The island has two faces: its modern self, heavily focused on tourism and the resort clusters on the island’s southern part; and its authentic self, which exists behind the scenes. Bali has been savvy enough to offer myriad ideas of paradise. In the south are sprawling clifftop villas and smart restaurants; yoga centers and eco-lodges are spread among the emerald rice fields around the more centrally located Ubud; and in the untrampled north, chic hideaways now draw a new class of adventurers who are keen on exploring Bali’s last frontier, despite the U.S. State Department warning advising Americans against travel to Indonesia.