Discover the best time of year, based on historical climate, temperature, and precipitation.
The best weather in Bali is from June, July, August. — consistent weather climate
🌦Humid
| Score | 49 | 50 | 51 | 55 | 78 | 79 | 81 | 82 | 75 | 62 | 51 | 50 |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| Climate | Rainy | Rainy | Rainy | Rainy | Humid | Humid | Humid | Pleasant | Humid | Rainy | Rainy | Rainy |
| Temperature | 21–26°C | 21–27°C | 21–27°C | 21–27°C | 21–27°C | 20–26°C | 19–26°C | 19–26°C | 19–27°C | 20–28°C | 21–27°C | 21–27°C |
| Feels like | 24–31°C | 24–32°C | 24–32°C | 24–32°C | 23–32°C | 22–30°C | 21–29°C | 21–30°C | 21–31°C | 23–32°C | 24–33°C | 24–32°C |
| Precipitation | 393mm 30 days | 417mm 30 days | 379mm 28 days | 263mm 22 days | 114mm 16 days | 105mm 15 days | 83mm 14 days | 77mm 15 days | 136mm 15 days | 204mm 20 days | 351mm 24 days | 412mm 30 days |
| Sunshine | 5.2h ☀︎ 41% | 5.4h ☀︎ 44% | 6.4h ☀︎ 53% | 8.0h ☀︎ 67% | 9.7h ☀︎ 83% | 9.0h ☀︎ 78% | 9.1h ☀︎ 78% | 9.5h ☀︎ 80% | 10.1h ☀︎ 83% | 9.3h ☀︎ 75% | 7.3h ☀︎ 58% | 5.4h ☀︎ 43% |
| Wind | W · 10 km/h | NW · 10 km/h | E · 9 km/h | E · 9 km/h | SE · 10 km/h | SE · 11 km/h | SE · 12 km/h | SE · 12 km/h | SE · 12 km/h | SE · 11 km/h | SE · 9 km/h | S · 10 km/h |
| Humidity (%) | 92% | 93% | 92% | 90% | 88% | 88% | 87% | 86% | 85% | 86% | 90% | 92% |
| Day length | 12.5h | 12.4h | 12.1h | 11.9h | 11.7h | 11.6h | 11.7h | 11.8h | 12.1h | 12.3h | 12.5h | 12.6h |
Bali's Hindu New Year is unlike any other holiday: the entire island falls silent for 24 hours, with no flights, lights…
This month-long celebration in Denpasar showcases traditional Balinese dance, gamelan music, and handicrafts through dai…
This literary festival brings authors, poets, and thinkers from around the world to Ubud's cafes, galleries, and rice-fi…
Bali's tourist calendar is wildly inverted: visitors flood the island during the humid, rain-drenched deluge of March and April, while the genuinely dry, breezy weather of July and August sees the crowds quietly thin out.
Most travelers assume an equatorial paradise delivers reliable sunshine whenever the vacation itch strikes, but Bali plays by a stubborn monsoon script that tourists routinely ignore. The island's cultural soul—steeped in Balinese Hinduism, village gamelan rhythms, and intricate temple offerings—draws travelers inland toward the forested ravines of Ubud or south toward the coastlines framing the Indian Ocean. Yet when you choose to arrive determines whether you spend your days breathing clean, trade-wind air on offshore cliffs or trapped under corrugated roofs waiting out violent tropical downpours.
This is Bali at its absolute finest, and curiously, when visitor traffic drops away from the fever pitch of earlier months. South-easterly trade winds sweep up from Australia, scrubbing the haze from the horizon and dropping apparent temperatures to a remarkably gentle register. You can walk the terraced hillsides of Ubud in the middle of the afternoon without drowning in humidity, and the sea crossings to Nusa Lembongan and Nusa Ceningan settle into blue, wind-rippled water rather than torrential swells.
Rainfall dwindles to faint, fleeting whispers that barely wet the pavement before evaporating. In Denpasar, the Bali Arts Festival fills outdoor amphitheatres through July with costumed drama, shadow puppetry, and thunderous gamelan orchestras under dependable night skies. Everything from scootering back roads to climbing temple staircases feels effortless in this window, making the dip in visitor numbers feel like an unearned luxury.
The switch flips decisively in May. The brutal humidity of the early year breaks, the sky cracks open into expansive blue vaults, and sunshine hours surge. The rice paddies are emerald green, recharged by months of rain, yet the deluge ceases, replaced by steady afternoon breezes that keep coastal afternoons comfortable.
Crowds remain high through these months as travelers chase the start of guaranteed surf and clear skies. Evenings begin to cool down enough to make open-air dining and night markets along the coast genuinely comfortable. By late June, the Bali Arts Festival gets underway in Denpasar, drawing culturally curious onlookers into the heart of the provincial capital for vivid street pageants without the threat of rain washing out the processions.
September extends the glory of the dry months with ten hours of sunshine a day and relaxed, unhurried beaches. The island feels settled and uncrowded. By October, atmospheric moisture begins to build, but precipitation arrives primarily in late-afternoon thundershowers rather than gray, day-long sheets.
October also belongs to the literary crowd. The Ubud Writers & Readers Festival gathers thinkers, poets, and storytellers into village courtyards, cafes, and open pavilions overlooking the ravines of Ubud. Moving between scattered venues on foot is easy and warm, with the approaching monsoon announcing itself only in the scent of damp earth and evening lightning flickering across the inland ridges.
When the monsoon settles over the Lesser Sunda Islands, it does not do so gently. Rainfall spikes aggressively, dropping hundreds of millimetres of water in intense, gutter-flooding downpours. The air turns thick and soupy, with apparent temperatures hovering in the low thirties even when the sun is entirely blotted out by slate-colored clouds.
Dirt paths wash out, the seas churning toward Nusa Penida turn treacherous, and debris washes up onto southern beaches with the shifting winds. While sudden sunshine will occasionally puncture the gray, outdoor exploration becomes an exercise in dodging squalls. Unless you are content spending your days secluded in an inland villa listening to the relentless rhythm of water striking palm fronds, this is the time to stay away.
Here lies Bali's great contradiction. March and April represent the busiest stretch of the entire year, with visitors arriving in droves just as the tail end of the monsoon traps the island in oppressive, suffocating heat. The ground is saturated, the atmosphere clings like a hot towel, and intense downpours still strike regularly, disrupting plans with little warning.
The draw in March is cultural rather than climatic: Nyepi, the Balinese Day of Silence. The night before Nyepi erupts with the Ogoh-ogoh parade, as neighborhood youths haul grotesque papier-mache effigies through village intersections to banish malevolent spirits, amidst chaotic drumming and torchlight. At dawn, the island shuts down completely—no flights land, no vehicles move, no fires are lit, and silence reigns for twenty-four hours under warm, brooding skies. It is a spellbinding experience, but by April, the crowds linger on despite sticky, sweltering days that make physical exertion feel punishing.