Steep steps lead from the infinity edge pool at Mick's Place through a shanty of warungs and basic lodgings to a small patch of sand on Bingin Beach. This time of year with the onshore wind and frequent rain most of the places are closed and the beach is empty, but as soon as a ray of sunlight streaks through and the waves turn on, Bingin attracts surfers like iron filings to a magnet.
There are no building regulations and most of the shacks, precariously clinging to the cliff, are squatting in the fragile green belt. Signage is crude, septic systems are dubious and rubbish disposal deplorable. Still, Bingin holds a certain charm, the Bali that young surfer's dream and boast about; a cheap bed on a bamboo mat, nasi goreng and Bintang three times a day, cheap massage, bad music, reef breaks and hot bikini babes.