A DontBeThatTourist Story
They Said Flip-Flops Were Fine… They Were Wrong.
The “Easy” Bali waterfall hike that had me questioning every life decision.
Never trust someone else’s definition of an “easy hike.” I learned that lesson the hard way in Bali, hiking to Fiji & Sekumpul Waterfalls.
Expectation vs. Reality
We Were Told It Was Easy
I’ve made peace with hiking—as long as there’s something spectacular to see, or something amazing to eat, at the end.
I don’t avoid hiking because I’m out of shape. I avoid it because years of dance, stunt cheerleading, figure skating, and downhill skiing weren’t exactly kind to my ankles.
So while everyone else is admiring the view, I’m usually staring at the ground, watching every root, every loose rock, and every uneven step—trying to avoid becoming that tourist who has to be airlifted off a trail with a broken ankle.
Our tour organizer assured our group this hike was easy. And when I say our group, I mean women of all ages—including one in her seventies who’d recently had knee surgery.
We were told we’d ride motorbikes to the trailhead and then enjoy a nice, flat, level walk to the waterfalls.
Totally fine.
Perfect. I thought, “I can do easy.”
Looking back, that should’ve been my first clue.
The Descent
The Ride to the Trailhead
The motorbike ride ended up being one of my favorite parts of the day. We zipped past a few homes, waved to smiling locals, and rode alongside beautiful rice terraces. It felt like an adventure before the adventure.
Then we arrived at the trailhead. The hike started downhill. Normally, that’s the part people celebrate.
I had the opposite reaction.
At first, it wasn’t bad. The trail was a wide dirt path, and I remember thinking, “Maybe they were right. Maybe this really is an easy hike.”
Then the dirt path ended…
…and the first nearly vertical staircase came into view.
That was the moment I realized the word “easy” had been doing a lot of heavy lifting.
Our definitions of “easy” were very, very different.
What they forgot to mention were the steps— steps that came up to my knees.
Most were rough stone steps. Some sections had wooden steps where Mother Nature had washed away the trail. Others were simply uneven dirt paths waiting to test your balance. Woven between them were just enough exposed tree roots to keep my ankles on high alert.
And then there was the fact that “flat and level” apparently included a whole lot of climbing to get back out.
Every time I thought we’d reached the last staircase, another one appeared. Just when we thought we were finally getting close…
Then we started hearing rushing water.
The False Alarms
Finally… The Waterfalls?
After what felt like an endless descent, we started hearing rushing water.
Nope. Just another waterfall.
A little farther, we heard another one.
Also no. Apparently, the jungle likes to build suspense.
Every time we heard rushing water, I convinced myself we’d finally made it.
Every time…
There was another turn. Another waterfall.
Finally, we reached a small shelter where the trail split.
Fiji Waterfall
The One I Almost Experienced From a Distance
Before we even started the hike, I’d asked if I should just put my swimsuit on at the trailhead.
“No,” they said. “You can change down below.”
Once we reached the shelter, I figured it was finally time. Instead, the guides told us not to change yet. We weren’t swimming at Fiji Waterfall. We’d swim after visiting Sekumpul.
Seemed logical.
Until I realized nobody had mentioned that getting to the best viewpoints at Fiji meant walking through the waterfall’s spray. Not a little mist. Enough to soak the only dry clothes I’d brought for the hike back out.
So instead of getting right up close, I stayed back.
It honestly didn’t seem like a big deal. We were going to swim at Sekumpul anyway. I figured I’d save getting completely soaked for the second waterfall.
But if I’m being honest… I was disappointed.
This didn’t feel like me. I’m usually the first one saying, “Let’s go.”
Instead…
I was letting a little water stand between me and adventure.
Eventually, I looked at the waterfall one more time…
With the help of one of our young local guides, I carefully made my way out to one of the viewpoints. Not into the waterfall. Just close enough to experience it.
And I’m so glad I did.
The photo ended up being one of my favorites from the entire trip.
Looking back, I still wish I’d just worn my swimsuit from the trailhead.
I’d much rather hike out in damp clothes than spend the rest of the trip wishing I’d gotten a little closer.
Sekumpul Waterfall
The One We Actually Swam In
Now it was finally time to change into our swimsuits. Trying to peel sweaty clothes—and let’s be honest, sweaty undergarments—off your body in tropical humidity deserves its own Olympic event. Eventually, I won. Suit on. Mission accomplished.
Since we knew we’d be hiking back out in those clothes, I laid everything out to dry while we swam. In my defense, I thought I’d found the perfect hidden spot. There was a little ledge behind some bushes where I carefully draped my skirt—and yes, my thong—so they could dry.
What I didn’t realize was that there was a walking path on the other side of those bushes.
At this point, our group split up. Some of the women looked at the stairs we’d eventually have to climb back out and wisely decided they’d seen enough adventure for one day. They headed back early, hoping the extra time would make the climb a little more manageable.
The rest of us were off to Sekumpul Waterfall. The guides assured us it was just a short walk. By now, I wasn’t exactly taking their word for it. It wasn’t exactly “over the river and through the woods…” It was through the river and into the jungle.
Somewhere along the way, my roommate, Jenni, decided she’d join us after all. Unfortunately, the trail had other plans. At one point she lost a flip-flop in the stream.
Thankfully, one of our young local guides retrieved it before it disappeared downstream. Jenni took that as the sign she’d been looking for. She turned around, headed back to wait for us, and unknowingly secured herself a front-row seat for what would later become the hike from hell.
The rest of us kept going, and honestly, I’m really glad we did. Sekumpul was absolutely beautiful. For a moment, everything else disappeared.
Standing beneath the waterfall and feeling the power of the water crashing down around us made every complaint about getting there fade into the background.
For a little while, we weren’t thinking about the hike. We were just a group of women laughing, taking ridiculous photos and videos, and soaking in a place we’ll probably never forget. Everyone forgot about the stairs, the humidity, and the hike we still had ahead of us.
We were just a group of women laughing in a waterfall in the middle of the Balinese jungle.
Then it was time to head back.
And that’s when things got interesting.
The Way Back
The Hike From Hell
Now it was time to pay back every IOU we had collected on the way down.
Nobody said it out loud, but I think every single one of us was staring at those stairs, mentally preparing for what was about to happen. The women who had headed back early? Brilliant.
The rest of us had chosen one more waterfall, and now it was time to pay back every IOU we had collected on the way down.
Before we started climbing, I looked at my clothes. Still damp. My swimsuit? Dry enough. I threw my sarong around my waist and figured I would be fine.
I had never hiked in a swimsuit before—and I probably never will again.
I started with a sarong… and somewhere along the way even that gave up.
By the end, it had migrated to my shoulders, and I was hiking up the trail in all my swimsuit glory. The climb started slowly, then got slower. Before long, our little group naturally spread out—not because anyone wanted to hike alone, but because the stairs had other plans.
One guide stayed toward the front while another hung back with whoever needed a little extra encouragement.
Because I take a beta blocker, my heart does not always get the memo that we are climbing. My legs start the hike immediately. My lungs usually RSVP about ten minutes later.
Then it started raining. At first, it actually felt kind of nice—until I realized rain and muddy trails do not exactly make the best combination, especially when you are wearing flip-flops.
my footing… or my dignity?
My footing.
I was far more concerned about breaking an ankle—or knocking out a few teeth—than I was about looking graceful. There were more than a few moments when my inner “I’ve got this” started quietly packing its bags.
But somehow, I kept climbing. One step, then another, then another. Eventually, I made it back to the top.
Second. Somehow.
Every part of me wanted to collapse. Instead, I walked straight to the edge of the trail because I knew what it felt like to still be down there.
For a while, it was just me at the edge of the trail—cheering, clapping, watching, and waiting for the next familiar face to appear.
The trail was quiet. All I could hear was the rain.
Then my nose politely informed me we had reached a new phase of the adventure. Now, to be fair, I have a ridiculously good sense of smell. I may have been the only one who noticed, but I was not about to take any chances.
It was still raining, so while I kept cheering everyone on, I wandered out into the downpour and quietly tried to wash a little of the “effort” away.
Meanwhile, the Balinese men who had driven us down on their motorbikes— young, old, and every age in between—stood under the shelter watching this soaking-wet American woman in a swimsuit cheer on her friends while apparently giving herself a rain shower.
I am still not convinced they knew what to make of me… or whether they thought they had just witnessed some sort of strange American bathing ritual.
Eventually, the trail was not quiet anymore. One by one, the women I had spent the day laughing with started coming into view, and every single one of them looked exhausted. So I cheered louder.
One by one, everyone made it—some under their own power, and one with a whole lot of help from our incredible local guides, who practically carried her through the final stretch.
Nobody was rushed.
Nobody was left behind.
Looking back, I do not think any of us realized just how hard our local guides were working until we watched them help every single one of us make it back out.
One woman in our group had recently had knee surgery. She took one look at the trailhead that morning, smiled, and said, “Nope.”
She might have been the smartest one there.
The Verdict
Would I Do It Again?
People always ask, “Was it worth it?”
If you’d asked me halfway up those stairs, my answer probably would’ve involved a few words my mother wouldn’t appreciate. If you’d asked while I was peeling sweaty clothes off in tropical humidity? Definitely no. While my thong was apparently entertaining passing hikers? Also no.
But ask me now, and the answer is different.
I don’t remember exactly how many stairs there were or how many times I stopped to catch my breath. I remember laughing under a waterfall. I remember cheering every woman over that final climb. I remember the kindness of our local guides.
I remember a group of women who started the day as travelers and finished it as teammates.
Most of all, I remember the laughter—the laughter we shared and the laughter we created for each other. That’s what I’ll carry home.
Because if there’s one thing travel has taught me, it’s that the best souvenirs aren’t the ones you buy. They’re the moments that make everyone around you smile.
And if I can be even a small part of creating those moments, that’s a trip I’ll never regret.
What I’d Do Differently
If I could do it all over again…
- I’d wear my swimsuit from the hotel.
- I’d leave the flip-flops for the beach and wear proper hiking shoes.
- I’d bring more water than I thought I’d need.
- I’d get close enough to Fiji Waterfall the first time instead of worrying about my dry clothes.
- I’d do my own research before accepting someone else’s definition of an “easy hike.”
One thing I wouldn’t change? The people. The laughter. Or saying yes to the adventure in the first place—even if my ankles still haven’t fully forgiven me.
Then again, I’m also the same person who willingly got on a plane to Indonesia, hiked out of a jungle in a swimsuit, accidentally displayed my laundry to passing hikers, and apparently performed a mysterious American rain-bathing ritual.
So maybe don’t trust my judgment.
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Never let someone else’s version of “easy” determine what you pack.
Research the trail. Read recent reviews. Check the elevation. Look at recent photos. Know your abilities—not someone else’s expectations.
An adventure doesn’t have to be easy to become one of your favorite memories. Just make sure you’re dressed for it.
Especially if your sarong decides to quit halfway through.
Turns out… I paid back every one of those IOUs.
I’d Love to Hear Your Story
Have you done the Sekumpul and Fiji Waterfalls hike? Did you think it was “easy”?
Or have you ever been on a trip that turned out to be far more challenging than expected—but became one of your favorite memories anyway?
I’d genuinely love to hear your story in the comments.
DontBeThatTourist Travel Smarter. Laugh Harder. Explore Deeper. Live Kinder.