Bali has lost more than 6,500 hectares of rice fields in the past five years, a decline of over 9%, according to the Bali national land agency. The centuries-old subak irrigation system, recognized by UNESCO as a world heritage site in 2012, is under threat as tourism consumes more than 65% of the island's fresh water.
Farmers see water disappear
I Putu Partayasa, a 52-year-old farmer known as Parta, squats at the edge of a rice terrace and pushes his fingers into the soil. They come up dry. His field has water; his neighbor's does not. “We have a big problem in the dry season,” he says. “Fifteen years ago, we have water every day. But today it's getting less.” Parta earns about 1.5 million Indonesian rupiah a month (£62) and has farmed this land his entire life. “Companies take our water,” he says, “and bring it to the tourism places.” He gestures at the terraces below, a patchwork of green and brown that was once all green. “The forest is getting smaller. The springs are drying.”
Subak system under pressure
Parta belongs to a subak, the water-sharing cooperative that has governed Balinese irrigation since the ninth century. Members meet in temple courtyards to decide when water flows, who receives it, and in what order. Offerings are made to the water goddess Dewi Danu, and water is viewed not as a resource but as a gift to be shared. However, a 2018 Transnational Institute report estimated Bali had already shed nearly a quarter of its agricultural land as tourism grew by 330% in the previous 25 years.
Rice fields are not only income—they are water infrastructure. A paddy slows runoff, stores water and recharges the aquifer below. When it is sealed under concrete, that function is permanently gone. Many of Parta's neighbors have already sold their land, and his children have no interest in farming.
Canggu: from paddies to concrete
In Canggu, farmland has declined by 60% while land under development has increased by 69%. The Canggu Shortcut, a lane cut between rice paddies, is now gridlocked with scooters, digital nomads, influencers, and fitness enthusiasts. Rice fields that stood not long ago are now concrete, lined with tattoo studios, co-working spaces and restaurants. Bali recorded more than 16 million tourists in 2024, four times its permanent population.
Groundwater crisis and seawater intrusion
In southern Bali, groundwater extraction has pushed aquifers beyond sustainable levels in many areas, according to research by IDEP's Bali water protection programme and local hydrologists. Coastal wells are turning brackish as seawater moves inland. The IDEP Foundation declared Bali to be in water crisis in 2018 and has since found seawater intrusion in at least six of the island's nine districts.
Kadek Siska, 35, lives in Uluwatu with her mother. Many mornings begin with the same question: is there water today? Their house is connected to the government's public water network, PDAM. On a good day, water moves through the pipes for an hour. “My mom leaves the taps on so we can hear it,” Siska says. “And then we stand by and fill everything we have.” If the station runs dry, they call water trucks. A 5,000-litre delivery costs about 350,000 rupiah, and drinking water purchased separately can erode a tenth of the household's income.
Tourism's water consumption dwarfs locals'
IDEP estimates that a tourist in a resort uses 2,000-4,000 litres a day for pools, gardens, laundry and hotel operations, while the average Balinese resident gets by on 30-50. A few minutes from Siska's house, a luxury resort receives eight to ten water trucks daily, each carrying about 5,000 litres, meaning up to 50,000 litres can be delivered to a single property daily—enough to supply Siska's household for nearly a year. “Of course there is jealousy,” Siska says. “But what else can they do?”
Water trucks and illegal borewells
Following the trucks leads to the Jimbaran neighbourhood, where a borewell in a family compound pumps water into dozens of waiting tank trucks. The owner holds a government permit from Jakarta. An operator buys the water wholesale and resells it by the truckload to hotels and villas. No one is responsible for what happens to the aquifer below. IDEP staff say their research suggests there are about 10,000 water businesses in Bali, roughly half of which operate illegally or without proper permits.
The Bali provincial government said any commercial groundwater extraction required a permit, and borewells designated for household or personal use “are not permitted to be traded or repurposed for the commercial/industrial sector.” The province did not provide a figure for how many licensed groundwater or tanker-water businesses currently operate, adding that inspections and enforcement over the past five years had fallen under central government authority.
Calls for moratorium on hotels
Niluh Djelantik, a shoe designer, social media influencer and a senator for Bali in Indonesia's regional representative council (DPD), wants a moratorium on new hotel construction and enforcement of groundwater extraction rules. “When you build a hotel, you have to provide water for thousands of people,” she says. “The revenue of Bali tourism comes from the sweat of the people. They don't need another stress.” She notes that what dismantled protections was replacing community consultation with a national online permitting system that lets investors apply remotely. “In the past, before you start, you need to ask your neighbours. Now developers can build right next to your house without asking.”
Water priest resists development
In the hills above Munduk, Rudi Pak, 49, a water priest, rises before dawn to make offerings—flowers, rice, a small cup of coffee set aside for God. He is responsible for a waterfall and guardian of the Balinese-Hindu philosophy Tri Hita Karana: the relationship between humans, God and nature. Developers have offered to buy his land for 1 billion rupiah per 100 square metres, from the waterfall up the steep hills to his family's home. His daughter Tarisa translates: “We will not sell it because we want to preserve it for the next generation. We already live here as the fourth generation. We will keep this for the next.” Rudi looks out across the hills. “Because this is my land,” he says. “This is still green.”
