On the Alas taro exploration, a local naturalist will offer a glimpse into Bali’s rich traditions and farming practices. Photo / Supplied
With a world as big as ours, returning to the same destination again and again seems wasteful, if not boring. Yet it’s hard to resist another trip somewhere guaranteed to leave you feeling deeply well, physically and mentally, writes Sarah Pollok.
For me, Ubud in Bali is such a place. Part of it is the forced slowness of walking everywhere rather than sitting in traffic or at a desk, made easier by a stubbornly balmy climate. An abundance of plant-based dishes, yoga studios and affordable massages certainly contribute to the deep sense of equanimity.
However, one key element is impossible to see but omnipresent nonetheless: the nation’s spirituality.
To borrow a phrase from Celtic spirituality, Bali is full of “thin places”, where the veil between physical and supernatural feels paper-thin. Their world is an enchanted one, where spirits are invisible but sentient, and mysticism hangs heavy in the air like incense smoke.
Almost 90% of the population is Balinese Hindu, a unique blend of Buddhism, Hinduism and indigenous beliefs. You can see it in the small palm leaf offerings scattered along cracked paths and thousands of ornate statues standing watch above or behind entranceways. It’s in locals’ gentle, kind disposition, modest sashes and skirts and without erring too far into the ‘woo woo’, it never fails to produce an expansiveness and serenity in my chest.
Quiet and unassuming, it’s also a side of Bali easily missed in spots that buzz and thrum with busy shops and bustling streets.
Our desire to unwind and relax, but also enjoy these ‘thin places’, is one Anantara Ubud understands. Opened 40 minutes drive north of Ubud in November 2024, the resort has worked closely with tiny rural communities, hyper-local businesses and spiritual leaders to curate experiences that offer a glimpse into the mystical and remedial.
One experience is Anantara’s ‘Journey of Sound Healing’; a private sound session that promises to harmonise my energy and restore inner balance (sign me up). While sound healing isn’t indigenous to Bali, I later learn that music and sound are key components of many Balinese healing ceremonies.
Walking into the large carpeted room, wall-to-ceiling windows reveal a lush wall of jungle, dappling the soft light streaming in. In the centre, three yoga mats with towels and eye pillows form a semi-circle around a large rug covered with at least two dozen instruments whose origins span the globe. There is a bowl from Bali and Koshi Wind Chimes from China, seven singing bowls from Delhi and a didgeridoo from Australia, explains Dewi Indra Yan, a Balinese sound healing practitioner, who kneels behind the mini-orchestra.
Once seated, she explains how certain instruments relate to one of our seven chakras (energy centres) and how the vibrations and frequencies created can shift one’s brainwave activity from an active beta state to a calmer alpha state, or if we’re lucky, a deeply meditative ‘theta’ state.
Initial curiosities answered, we lay our heads by the instruments, adjust eye pillows and wait for Dewi to begin. The following hour is both slow and quick, time like a dollop of honey as we lie in darkness, the sensory deprivation and stillness amplifying the sounds. A large drum beaten over my body hollows out my stomach, while a dried tree branch and rain stick really do sound like water pattering around me. Certain singing bowls pushed towards my head turn intense, their sonorous tune swinging around my brain, nauseating and grounding. Eventually, I reach a moment of complete physical relaxation, my muscles melting into the mat below, sounds rippling through my body in little shakes. Harmonising and restoring? Not much more than a meditation session, but utterly fascinating nonetheless and I step out into the evening with a sleepy kind of calm.
A curiosity for the unknown gets me into many unexpected places, and tossing rice into a brick pit full of fire, in front of a wall of terrifying masked figures, was one of the top five.
The Agni Yajna fire ceremony is yet another experience guests have the honour of experiencing, thanks to the intimate relationships Anantara has cultivated with local people. Entering the village one warm, dark evening, we follow a thread of chimes tinking through the area to a small concrete pavilion where several figures sit around a fire flickering from a brick-laden hole in the ground. There are a trio of priests, dressed in white robes and the high priest Idha Guru, clothed in a black and white kamen (a sarong-like garment wrapped around the waist up to the chest). Rudraksa tree bracelets stack both his meaty wrists, while a heavy amulet made from Rudraksa sits over his chest, to draw spirit energy.
Shoes off and translated introductions made, we settle cross-legged around the fire and place palms to chest as the guru recites a welcome prayer while feeding a log to the fire. A small ceremony is done daily but Agni Yajna occurs once every 15 days, during the full and new moon, to build connection with the gods for favour and cleanse the self and surrounding energy.
The next hour is a carefully structured mess of prayer, music and mantras before the ever-growing fire.
Music is near constant as the priests use tinny bells, thick drums and at one point a conch shell, to create a cacophonous, rhythmic melody. Absentmindedly, I sway to the beat, eyes fixed on the flames that leap and ripple as we’re handed dishes of rice, sunflower seeds and beans we’re instructed to toss into the fire at various intervals as we chant “Swaha”. Reciting foreign chants can feel unnerving (especially when combined with jarring music and a wall of alarming masks depicting Hindu gods), yet the phrase is simply a blend of two Sanskrit words meaning “heavens” and “to accept”; a fitting phrase in this instance.
My face begins to sweat from the heat and my foot turns numb as more items are sacrificed to the flames; milk from a white cow and palm oil, little pillows of rice and more sunflower seeds. Idha Guru closes with prayers to Ganesh, Laksmi, and Shiva to protect us all and the universe (just the little things) and the ceremony pulls to a close.
We delight in the freedom to shuffle our legs, shaking out the pins and needles, yet the air remains heavy with significance and we linger around the fire a while. Religious or not, throwing up prayers into the heavens (or, in this instance, down into a fiery pit) does something to you, inviting a sense of connectedness with one another and the world we find ourselves in.
Melukat water purification ceremony
Participate in a moving purification ceremony at Mengening Temple, an ancient sanctuary hidden in Seresada Village.
Alas taro exploration
Led by a local naturalist, you’ll gain a glimpse into Bali’s rich traditions and farming practices by venturing deep into off-the-beaten-track villages.
Balinese Mepijet
This traditional Balinese treatment uses locally made ginger oil from Jamusara herbalists and of Balinese and Javanese massage techniques for relaxation and is offered at Anantara’s spa.
New Zealand Herald travelled as a guest of Anantara Resorts Bali.