You step out of the air‑conditioned car into a humid ribbon of jungle and a river that seems to dare you forward. The first stairs drop quickly, handrail splintered by years of sandals, and the sound of Kanto Lampo’s curtain of water swells until the basalt wall resolves into a sheet of white. By noon you’ll be ducking into the cool canyon of Tukad Cepung where sunlight punches through the lip of the gorge like a spotlight—beads of light catching spray that smells faintly of wet stone. The day finishes with a slow walk across Tegalalang’s layered fields, terraces stepping away from you in a geometry that was engineered long before modern surveying.