By K&P 
Left towards Virgin Beach – a large sign reflects the sun and dazzles oncoming traffic. But to reach the “black sister” of Virgin Beach, you go straight, this isn’t mentioned anywhere. The road runs alongside a hill – a high cliff that separates these two spots.
A picturesque side road, with a hill and cliff on the left, and rice fields on the right. Everything looks nice in the sunlight, even the cemetery along the way. Overgrown temporary graves, bamboo obituaries, umbrellas over the graves, and stones instead of soil, because that’s how the will states or because it’s easier to dig up when the time of Naben arrives.
After the next turn, a small village, chickens cross the road without hurry, like sacred cows, and dogs lazily lie in the middle of the street. After the next turn, the ocean comes into view, at the end of a long stretch of straight road.
Nice stone sculptures by the empty parking lot, and there’s no vendor in the small local shop – he lives behind the booth, taking a nap on a wooden beach hut, which is even quite nice for a change. The scooter that pulls up wakes him, but he doesn’t get up, just opens his eye, glancing at the noisy newcomers.
The black volcanic beach doesn’t invite you to lie on it, it’s so hot that it’s hard to stand barefoot. Large waves come unusually close to the shore because the depth increases sharply here, making it possible to dive headfirst right from the beach. The steep drop causes the waves to rise, and the bottom is made of small, round stones that shift underfoot. After just one step into the water, you’re submerged up to your neck. Waves push you onto the shore and then quickly pull back into the ocean, creating an uncomfortable feeling of unease. No one swims here because no one is here. There are no tourists, no one enjoys the beach on the black volcanic sand, only fishermen. On the long, one-kilometer stretch, they have plenty of space to themselves and fish without crowds.
Hood on their heads and long sleeves, gloves like winter ones, an additional bamboo umbrella on their head – a round, conical canopy that offers great protection from both rain and sun. A strong cast to throw the line from the beach, several meters into the sea. At the end of the line, a piece of metal resembling a fish or a real one on a hook, as the bobber wouldn’t be visible in these waves. Their black feet and bodies, dressed in tight clothing, resemble ninjas. They fish from the shore, sometimes even from the shallow water, but not here. A distinctive pack of cigarettes pinned to their conical hat so they don’t get wet, and a cigarette in their mouth because their hands are busy. They’re said to also know traditional fishing techniques from the stone cliffs and sometimes wear hats with brims.
The white local canoes contrast with the black sand, showing it’s a fishing area. They are placed one next to the other, far from the waterline, and they’re light enough to carry. Near the cliff that separates this beach from the white sister of Virgin Beach, there are distinctive black roofs made from palm fronds. This temple-like architecture is barely visible but hard to miss. Surrounded by a several hundred-meter-high hill, amidst coconut palms, it draws attention from afar.
Not much happens in Bug Bug, there are no tourists, the sign pointing to Virgin Beach does its job, and most people go left. Virgin is beautiful, touristy, while its black sister is a local spot, with the volcanic sand adding mystery. Large waves rolling far up the beach turn into white foam, creating a unique effect on the black sand. Fishermen and sleeping vendors on the empty parking lot, a large open space, beautiful distant views of Lombok and Penida, and a small islet near the shore. Local canoes and a small charming temple where fishermen make offerings before heading out to sea.