Bali's history and culture are like an onion, and peeling through her many layers — of history, geography and culture — is a good way to turn a tropical jaunt into a rewarding exploration of the unique character of this island.

There is the top layer: holiday tourism, most loudly exemplified by the brash energy of Kuta, like a little Bangkok on the white sand beaches of southern Bali. This is where the newest Bali lives: desperate to remain an international tourism destination, where young, handsome local surfers are dreadlocked, tattooed and ready to regale visitors with Jack Johnson. This scene, a sort of Australian Cancun, turns off some people. Others take it for what it is: they figure the world needs some Cancuns, and better to keep this one on the isolated southern cape of the island. And in any case, there is no better place to see the Balinese capacity for open friendliness mix with Western shore-leave hedonism into a bright explosion of unending fun.

For those wanting a slightly (sometimes deathly) quieter version of this experience, Lovina in the north is far more secluded, although it can feel like the end of the world during low season. In Lovina you can see the next layer of Bali past international tourism: her connection to greater Indonesia, personified in the haunting call to prayer from a mosque, and in the distance, the dark hills of Eastern Java.

Past the beach, both figuratively and literally as you head inland to the arts capital of Ubud, is cultural tourism. And Balinese culture is an onion in and of itself, a unique gem that has been created from the accruing influences of the Javanese, Indian Hindus and, before any of these outsiders, a deeply native animism, or worship of local spirits.

So as tourists shuffle to watch the intricate local dances performed in the jungle temple plazas of Ubud palace and it surrounding villages, they are seeing, in some ways, the most Indian of epics: the Ramayana, the story of Prince Rama's search for his kidnapped wife Sita. Even here, Balinese innovation exists on top of seemingly deeply traditional practices. In each performance, a clown-ish character keeps the audience laughing, and while in old days he may have addressed the crowd in low Balinese, today he cracks joke in deliberately exaggerated Indonesian English.

But peel again, past the obviously Hindu Gods and evidence of India, to an even older Balinese religion. In each village in Bali there is a pura dalem, or Temple of the Dead, and here statues of the Black Lady dance in the burial grounds. In India, and ostensibly here, the Black Lady is Shiva's wife, the goddess Durga or, in her more angry incarnation, Kali, but in Bali she has been transposed with native spirits into a long-tongued, wild-eyed monster with dagger claws who eats children (and is often portrayed doing as such in each Temple of the Dead). In the Barong dance, Rangda, a witch aspect of Kali, is defeated by the Barong, a local nature spirit with roots far older than Balinese Hinduism. When you watch this drama play out in any number of tourist venues in Bali, you are witnessing a clash of cultures between India and Indonesia that is thousands of years old.

And always waiting is the beach, its surfers and cheap local beer. They are the top layer of the Balinese onion, but remember that under all the tattoos, surf wax, mosques and even Hindu temples, Bali is still the abode of some old jungle spirits.