About Me: Barefoot in Indonesia

Hey there, fellow wanderers! I’m Jack, the guy who can’t seem to keep his shoes on whenever Indonesia’s sandy shores, jungle paths, or volcanic slopes call my name. Barefoot in Indonesia isn’t just a blog—it’s the chronicle of my decade-long love affair with this archipelago of endless surprises, where I’ve left footprints (literal ones) across islands that most guidebooks barely mention.

How It All Began: Finding Home in the Unexpected

My story with Indonesia wasn’t planned. It started in 2015 with what was supposed to be a two-week vacation to Bali—the classic first-timer’s choice. I was 27, burned out from a marketing job in Melbourne that had me staring at spreadsheets instead of sunsets, and desperate for something different. I still remember my first morning in Ubud—waking up to the sound of gamelan music floating through my homestay window, the smell of incense and frangipani flowers, and the sight of an elderly woman placing canang sari offerings outside my door. She smiled at me—this disheveled foreigner with bed hair—and somehow that smile carried a message: “Slow down. You’re exactly where you need to be.”

Those two weeks turned into a month. One month became three. I called my boss from a crackling phone line in a warung in Uluwatu to quit my job. Something about Indonesia had grabbed hold of me—perhaps it was the perfect chaos of it all, the way ancient traditions existed alongside modern life, or how complete strangers invited me into their homes for coffee and conversation. Whatever it was, I wasn’t ready to leave.

I started scribbling notes in a weathered journal—observations about village life in Munduk, conversations with a silversmith in Celuk, the feeling of surfing my first real wave at Kuta Beach (followed by drinking salt water and making an absolute fool of myself). These notes eventually became blog posts, typed out in beachside cafes with sand still between my toes.

Why “Barefoot”?

The name came to me during a trek through Sumatra’s Bukit Lawang rainforest. My expensive hiking boots had given me blisters the size of rupiah coins, and my guide—a man named Darma who could spot orangutans from impossible distances—noticed me wincing. “Sometimes,” he said, “the path feels better when there’s nothing between you and it.”

Later that afternoon, after crossing a shallow river, I didn’t bother putting my boots back on. The mud squished between my toes, the fallen leaves tickled my soles, and suddenly I was experiencing the jungle differently—not as a tourist taking snapshots, but as someone actually feeling the place. That’s when I realized what my approach to travel should be: barefoot. Unfiltered. Direct contact with the earth and its stories.

It’s also a nod to Indonesia itself—a place where many locals kick off their sandals before entering homes, temples, or even some small restaurants. Going barefoot here is both a sign of respect and an act of connection.

From Corporate Cubicles to Island Hopping

Before Indonesia rewired my brain, I was your typical corporate drone with a decent salary and zero passion. Marketing analytics for retail brands paid the bills but left me daydreaming about elsewhere during endless Monday meetings. I’d traveled before—the usual backpacking stint through Europe after university, a package tour to Thailand, weekend trips around Australia—but always with an itinerary, a return ticket, and a suitcase with wheels.

Indonesia taught me to travel differently. My first impromptu journey happened when I met a Dutch photographer in a Yogyakarta hostel who was heading to Borobudur for sunrise. “Want to come?” he asked, as if suggesting coffee next door rather than a 4 AM motorcycle ride to an ancient Buddhist temple. I said yes, and that simple decision—to follow curiosity rather than plans—changed everything.

Soon I was taking ferries to islands I couldn’t pronounce, scribbling location names from conversations with locals, and finding myself in places where tourists were so rare that children would touch my arm to see if I was real. I started documenting these adventures out of necessity—partly to remember the details, partly because friends back home kept asking for recommendations, and partly because these experiences felt too magical not to share.

The blog began as a hobby—typo-filled posts uploaded whenever I found reliable WiFi. But as readership grew, I realized I had accidentally stumbled into a new career. Travel publications started reaching out, asking for Indonesia content. A hotel in Flores invited me to stay in exchange for an honest review. A diving company in Komodo wanted me to document their conservation efforts.

Seven years later, what started as random journal entries has evolved into a comprehensive resource with over 300 articles, detailed guides to 27 Indonesian islands, and a community of readers who share my obsession with this country’s endless corners.

My Approach: Slow Travel, Deep Connections

I’m not interested in checking places off a list or racing through destinations. My favorite experiences have come from staying put—spending two weeks in a tiny Torajan village learning about their funeral ceremonies, returning to the same warung in Canggu so often that the owner’s kids now call me “Om Jack” (Uncle Jack), or volunteering at a sea turtle conservation project in Derawan long enough to watch hatchlings I helped protect make their way to the ocean.

This slow approach has led to some of my most treasured moments: being invited to a traditional wedding in Sumba where I was dressed in full ceremonial attire (and looked absolutely ridiculous); learning to play the suling (bamboo flute) from an elderly musician in Bandung (I’m still terrible); or spending three days helping a family harvest rice in Tetebatu, my urban hands blistering within hours while local grandmothers worked tirelessly without complaint.

These aren’t experiences you can have when rushing from one Instagram spot to another. They require time, humility, and a willingness to look foolish—especially when attempting to speak Bahasa Indonesia, which I do with the grammatical finesse of a five-year-old (though a very enthusiastic one).

The Heart of Barefoot in Indonesia

My blog isn’t just about beautiful beaches and iconic temples (though Indonesia has plenty of both). It’s about the stories behind places—the Balinese environmental activists fighting to preserve sacred forests, the young chefs reinventing traditional cuisines in Jakarta’s bustling neighborhoods, the indigenous communities maintaining their identity in rapidly changing landscapes.

I believe travel writing should be honest about both the magic and the messiness. I’ll tell you about the breathtaking majesty of Komodo National Park, but also about the uncomfortable debate surrounding tourism development there. I’ll rave about the perfect waves of Lombok, but also discuss how local communities are navigating the influx of surf tourism.

Some of my most popular content has come from my biggest disasters—like the time I misunderstood directions in Bahasa and ended up in the wrong village on Flores, missing a much-anticipated festival but instead spending three days with a family of ikat weavers who taught me more about local culture than any festival could have. Or when food poisoning from a street vendor’s questionable chicken satay left me bedridden in a tiny homestay in Makassar, where the owner’s grandmother treated me with traditional herbal remedies while telling me stories about South Sulawesi’s maritime history.

What You’ll Find on My Blog

If you’re looking for luxury resort reviews or tips on finding the “most Instagrammable” spots, you might want to look elsewhere. But if you’re curious about:

How to spend time with the Mentawai people of western Sumatra without disrupting their way of life
Which family-run warungs in Labuan Bajo serve the best grilled fish (hint: it’s the one with the wobbly plastic chairs and no English menu)
Where to witness Bali’s spiritual traditions away from tourist crowds
How to navigate Java’s train system with nothing but broken Bahasa and a smile
Which remote beaches in Maluku might make you believe you’re the first human to set foot there

…then we’re going to get along just fine.

My content falls into a few categories that reflect my approach to exploring Indonesia:

Cultural Deep Dives: From witnessing the buffalo sacrifice ceremonies of Tana Toraja to understanding the complex etiquette of a traditional Javanese royal wedding, these pieces explore Indonesia’s cultural heritage with respect and nuance.

Off-Grid Adventures: Detailed guides to places that require effort to reach—like the three-day boat journey to the Banda Islands or the muddy jungle trek to see hornbills in Kalimantan—complete with honest assessments of whether the journey’s worth it (spoiler: it usually is).

Food Explorations: Because you haven’t really experienced Indonesia until you’ve eaten your way through it—from mapping the subtle regional differences in rendang recipes to finding the best bakso cart in Yogyakarta by following local students after class.

Practical Survival Guides: Hard-won advice on everything from navigating motorcycle rental scams in Lombok to understanding the complex ferry schedules of the Nusa Tenggara islands (which seem to operate on a timetable best described as “it leaves when it’s full or when the captain feels like it”).

Environmental Stories: Indonesia faces critical conservation challenges, and I highlight initiatives making a difference—like the coral restoration projects in Wakatobi or community-based orangutan protection in Bukit Lawang.

My Promise to You

Every place I write about, I’ve been there—usually multiple times. Every restaurant recommendation comes from my own happy stomach (or occasionally, from hard lessons about food safety). Every suggested hike has been completed with my own two feet (sometimes embarrassingly slowly behind local guides who practically skipped up mountains while I wheezed along).

I don’t accept paid placements or write glowing reviews in exchange for freebies. When I do occasionally collaborate with local businesses or tourism boards, I’m transparent about it and maintain editorial independence. My most valuable currency is the trust of readers who’ve booked a three-day trek or traveled to a remote island based solely on my word that it’s worth it.

A Few Personal Quirks

When not exploring Indonesia’s far-flung corners, I’m a devoted coffee snob who can wax poetic about the differences between Acehnese, Torajan, and Balinese beans. I’m an embarrassingly bad surfer despite hundreds of hours in the water. I have an irrational fear of monitor lizards after one decided my beach towel in Komodo looked like prime real estate and refused to leave.

I collect traditional textiles from different islands—not as souvenirs but as physical reminders of the stories and techniques behind them. My apartment in Bali (my base when not traveling) has walls adorned with hand-woven fabrics, each representing friendships formed and cultural knowledge shared.

I’m pathologically incapable of packing light despite years of island-hopping. Somehow, I always convince myself I need four books, a snorkel mask “just in case,” and enough notebooks to document the fall of an empire rather than a two-week trip.

Why Indonesia Keeps Me Coming Back

After visiting 53 countries, I chose to focus on Indonesia for a simple reason: you could spend a lifetime exploring these 17,000+ islands and still discover something new each day. The cultural diversity is staggering—from the matrilineal Minangkabau society of West Sumatra to the complex caste systems of Bali, from the seafaring traditions of the Bugis people to the animist beliefs still practiced in Papua’s highlands.

Indonesia humbles me daily. Just when I think I understand a place, a conversation with a local reveals layers I’d missed entirely. Each island has its own language, culinary traditions, artistic expressions, and worldview. The archipelago isn’t just a collection of tropical paradises—it’s a masterclass in human diversity and adaptability.

What keeps me here is the genuine warmth of connections. Like the time my motorbike broke down on a rural road in Flores, and within minutes, three families had emerged from nearby houses—one to help fix the bike, one to offer me coffee, and one simply to provide company and conversation while the repairs happened. Or the fisherman in Alor who took me out on his boat after I expressed interest in his traditional methods, spending an entire day showing me spots his family had fished for generations, refusing any payment except sharing a meal from our catch.

Let’s Explore Together

Whether you’re planning your first trip to Indonesia or returning for the dozenth time, looking to lounge on perfect beaches or trek through remote jungles, I hope Barefoot in Indonesia helps you experience this country more deeply. The greatest compliment readers give me isn’t “your photos are beautiful” but “we followed your advice and had an experience we’ll remember forever.”

Drop me a message through the contact form if you have questions about planning your Indonesian adventure. Follow along on Instagram (@BarefootIndonesia) for daily glimpses into my current explorations, or sign up for my monthly newsletter where I share stories too personal for the blog—like the time I accidentally attended a cockfight in Bali or got roped into judging a village beauty pageant in Central Java.

Indonesia has given me countless gifts: perspective, friendship, purpose, and stories worth telling. Through this blog, I hope to pass some of those gifts along to you.

With sandy toes and an always-full passport,
Jack