Ubud is often called the “art capital” of Bali, and in many ways, it lives up to the title. Of course, this being Bali, you’ll still find the trappings of tourism—well-heeled tech bros lounging with their laptops in overpriced cafés, and the inevitable waves of Instagram-seekers, hunting for that perfect shot of their smoothie bowl. But if you scratch the surface, step away from the main strip, and wander just a little further, Ubud begins to reveal something far more beautiful and enduring.

This is a place where craftsmanship is still alive in its purest form. I found myself drifting into small workshops tucked behind family compounds—statue carvers chiseling away at volcanic stone, their hands steady and sure, repeating skills passed down for generations. There were woodcarvers too, shaping doors and windows with such intricate patterns it felt like the wood itself was telling a story. In another corner, glassblowers leaned over the fire, coaxing glowing orbs into delicate vessels with the kind of quiet patience you only learn after years of practice.

And then, everywhere, there were statues. Some standing proudly in temple courtyards, others tucked into gardens, half-hidden by vines and moss. The ones that caught me most were the weathered ones—faces softened by time, green with moss and damp, like they had been sleeping there for centuries, waiting for someone to notice them again. It felt almost like walking through the ruins of a forgotten civilization, except here, the tradition is very much alive.

Ubud also has its own rhythm. Despite the crowds, the pace is slower, more reflective. You can sip on a strong Balinese coffee at a roadside stall and simply watch as scooters buzz past, offerings are laid out in front of temples, and the smell of incense drifts into the air. It’s a reminder that, beyond the yoga retreats and digital nomad cafés, Ubud is still a living, breathing center of Balinese culture.

For me, walking through Ubud wasn’t just sightseeing. It was about stepping into a place where art isn’t just something sold in galleries—it’s life itself, embedded in stone, wood, fire, and ritual. And to be able to see it, to feel it, even just for a little while, is something I feel deeply lucky to have crossed off my list.