Inside the hellhole of a Bali prison

Australian Paul Conibeer who is prison in Bali's Kerobokan prison. Source: Supplied

THE guards at Bali's feared Kerobokan prison look at me with only mild interest, the only white man in a huddled group of chattering visitors with a plastic bag full of groceries at my feet. The air is humid as only Bali can be. Sweat a constant companion, along with a few nerves. I'm about to go and meet a man who I've never met, who doesn't know I'm coming. A man who has quite a story to tell….

I got here a few weeks ago to shoot a documentary. Stepping off the plane is an experience in itself. A prickle of sweat confirms my arrival as I'm drowned in close to one hundred per cent humidity and stifling heat. Long queues of bored passengers, customs as basic as it gets. You have a passport and money, and Bali wants you to use both.

It's by far Australia's favourite holiday destination. Close to one million of us are expected to file through Denpasar airport this year, battle the hectic traffic and the street hawkers, and stand on those magnificent beaches framed by waves that every surfer dreams of. Hotels can be cheap, beer is even cheaper, and everything and anything can be bought on the street.

But we are not alone in our love of this place. When you add domestic tourists with international, Bali is flooded yearly with eight million people, a number that's twice its population. Many feel that a growing desperation for the tourist dollar, fuelled by the chasm of disparity between the Rupiah and just about any other currency, has changed a place with a reputation of being one of the friendliest destinations on earth.

Consider this. In 2012 an Australian died in Bali every nine days. That's almost one a week. A lot of it is from misadventure like motorbike accidents, or drug overdoses, but there is also a long list of murders. Add to this the number of assaults, rapes, and robberies, and Bali has a dark side that's not advertised in the brochures.

One of the cases we pursued was that of Queensland surfer Mark Ovenden. His body was found next to his scooter down a dirt track. His injuries were severe. Even though his motorbike was upright, it was originally passed off as a road accident. That was until the coroners report came in. Mark died of strangulation, his oesophagus had been crushed. But by now, the evidence had been handled by many people, the crime scene contaminated. His family was told police are working on it. That was more than two years ago.

We walked into Denpasar police station, and were directed to a small dank room out the back. We were there to collect his belongings on behalf of the family and to try and get some answers. We were not expecting what happened next.

All of Marks remaining worldly possessions, a camera, shoes, wallet, ID, a laptop, were stuffed into two shoeboxes. Written on the top in permanent marker was his name, the detective in charge and the date it was brought in. This was the extent of the filing system. The lead detective signed it over to us, and that was that.

Knives from inside the prison. Source: Supplied

But before we left I asked him where they were with the case. There is no case, he replied. Mark died of natural causes.

In disbelief I pointed out the coroners report, he looked at the file again. Some time passed before he eventually told me, yes, yes, actually we are still looking for the suspects.

No they're not, and it doesn't take a detective to work that out. Marks family will most likely never find out who murdered their son so brutally and left him to die on a dirt road, and his case is not an isolated one. We looked into three equally mysterious deaths. They all had the same hallmarks. Severe injuries, obvious suspicions coupled with police incompetence or complete inaction. In some cases family members were openly told they would need to pay the police to get things done.

Sometimes however, Australians are to blame for the trouble they find themselves in. The temptations are simply far too strong, especially to the party crowd.

They are drawn to the temples of excess that populate Kuta with flashing lights and competing sound systems that blare distorted music into next week. The pubs and clubs are legendary. Foam parties, rooftop bars, and barman who will never tell you you've had enough. Many of these places are either owned, or run by security teams connected to the many gangs that have carved up Kuta. We looked into a story where the security teams themselves are the ones spiking drinks, ripping people off, handing out gang bashings, and worse.

Fuelling all this is what you can buy on the street. Lets start with what's legal, pseudoephedrine, otherwise known as speed, and hallucinogenic mushrooms which, incredibly, you can buy in milkshake form. Then there's the other stuff. Cocaine, ecstasy, and ice. We walked the streets with hidden cameras, and caught the dealers offering, cajoling, showing handfuls of their product. At times following us aggressively, promising low prices like we were bartering for a Bintang T-shirt. Add this to copious amounts of alcohol and it's no wonder the hospitals here do a roaring trade with banged up Australian's. In the time we were there, we saw numerous patients with black eyes, broken noses, a split lip that required more than 20 stitches from a king hit.

The ages of those flooding the streets are mostly young and about to get younger. The Gold Coast, once the mecca for schoolies week, has cleaned up its act so much, has come down so hard on hell raising kids, last year saw a record number head to Bali. No pesky door checks for smuggled booze, no tedious lines to scrutinise I.D. no barman telling you, you can only order a few shots at a time. Just hit the go button, and hope you get home. With some luck the spirits won't be laced with the local and sometimes deadly vodka known as Arak, or like a recent survey found, ethanol. Apparently it works just as well in your blood stream as it does in your car, except it's an accident waiting to happen.

And while Bali can seem like a place without rules, without boundaries, if you do find yourself on the wrong side of the law, you'll find out just how wrong you are. Indonesian law is not like it is back home. It's a different legal system, harsh laws, and even harsher penalties. Just ask Schapelle Corby, or any member of the Bali nine, or the families of the ten drug smugglers that have either been executed, or due to be, this year alone. Each will be tied to a post, alone, on a remote island, in the dark, waiting for the orders from the firing squad in standing front of them.

You know the big names, but it might surprise you to find out there are close to 20 Australians behind the razor wire at Kerobokan prison, otherwise known as Hotel K, although it's unlike any hotel I've ever been to.

After more than two hours, finally the guard at the gate yells out my number in Bahasa and an Indonesian woman next to me shoves me forward, I head through the metal door and into a small room packed with guards, I hand over the grubby plastic card with my number on it, and my mobile phone. Two of them start rummage through my bag of groceries. I ask them about their day, but no one responds. Another man pats me down and sends me on my way with a toothy grin.

The visitor's area is nothing but a square concrete floor with a corrugated iron roof. The temperature is stifling, and not helped by the number of people inside. Visitors mixing with inmates, who come and go as they please. The men with wives and girlfriends try and take the corners and the walls. Larger groups get pushed to the middle. There are reed matts if you're lucky. The concentrated noise of people talking is deafening. I can make out some members of the Bali Nine. Andrew Chan is sitting in a prayer circle holding hands.

I palm some rupiah to one of the guards. "Paul" I say. "Aussie Paul". "He's a friend of mine". Its some time before a confused face appears. He looks in better shape than I thought he'd be. Friendly, a little weather beaten, wary. I shake his hand, we sit down on the concrete and I explain why I'm here.

Paul Conibeer who is in Bali's notorious Kerobokan prison Source: Supplied

Paul Conibeer's case defies belief. He's just spent one year in Kerobokan prison, eating handfuls of rice at meal times, and bunking down shoulder to shoulder with hundreds of Indonesians on concrete floors, for what amounts to an unpaid hotel bill in Kuta.

A dispute over that bill, led to police involvement, and once he was in custody he claims police demanded bribe money to release him, a figure that escalated to a point where he simply couldn't pay. He took a chance on the legal system, and it came down hard. One year in Kerobokan.

Using a smuggled mobile phone Paul has documented his time behind the walls. The drugs, the weapons, the wild parties, the brutal enforcement of prison rules. The men murdered before his eyes.

Previously the only look inside these walls has been stage managed by prison guards. Painting, dancing, family time. Paul's account, backed up by photos and video, is the real hotel K. A look behind the scenes through the eyes of an Australian inmate just trying to survive. It is at times, hard to comprehend that such a place exists.

Don't get me wrong. As a keen surfer I love Indonesia. Have travelled there more than half a dozen times. Bali, Nusa Lembongan, Lombok, Sumbawa, Sumatra, Nias. It's a beautiful place with beautiful people. And the documentary that airs this Sunday tells the whole story of the place they call the island of the gods, not just the dangers. And Australians are not totally blameless either. You only need to spend a few days in Kuta to realise that drunk and out of control Aussies are contributing to the problem. The Balinese are generally a gentle people with a spiritual and religious culture. Marauding groups of loud obnoxious boozed up Aussies don't help their opinion of us and could be partly responsible for what appears to be a growing malevolence towards us.

What is certain is the statistics and numbers don't lie. It's become a dangerous place for travelling Australians. Murders and rapes that go unsolved, assaults and robberies that leave people disfigured and scarred. A place where magic mushrooms and speed are perfectly legal, but a justice system that will sentence you to 20 years jail for a bag of weed. A place where, like it or not, police corruption is part of the system, and Australian authorities have very little influence. This, despite an increase in the money we give them, to well over 600 million dollars a year.

It's long been our playground, our favourite holiday destination, but have we loved this place too much? To me it's still paradise, it's just that now, I see a lot more than the surf and the palm trees.

Bali - The Dark Side of Paradise

Tonight at 8.30pm, Channel Nine

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