The humidity hangs thick in the air, a heavy rain having just passed over us, but my blessings run deep and cool and liquid this morning.
Led by a guide, I make my way under more than a dozen spouts, the joy of wading into the fresh flow superseded only by the pleasures of purification.
“This holy spring,” my guide says quietly, “it is the source of life.”
And there’s certainly no doubt, at this moment, I feel rather alive.
I’m at Tirta Empul — the Holy Spring Temple — on the quiet side of Bali. Often known for rollicking beaches and wild parties, this tropical Indonesian island has a less-explored quiet side, a spiritual oasis near its highland hub, Ubud.
Basing myself at Mandapa, a Ritz-Carlton Reserve that feels like a hidden kingdom (bound by the rushing Ayung River and surrounded by 360 degrees of lush cliffs and hills), I will explore the core, seeking to find peace, comfort, and perhaps a little self-discovery.
Built back in the 10th century, Tirta Empul, a Hindu temple, is dedicated to the god, Vishnu. The day begins with prayers — thanks for the blessings in our lives — before we proceed to the waters, which, I’m told, cleanse many things.
“They clean mind, body and spirit. And they clean away nightmares — from years ago, not just from last night.”
I proceed under 13 different stupas, cooling down whilst wishing for 13 different things.
I emerge feeling refreshed and ready to explore, getting a great overview by cruising out on winding little two-lane roads in the back of one of Mandapa’s fleet of vintage cars. The clouds again threaten to split open with rain, I dare the skies by keeping the top down on my 1971 Volkswagen 181, winding through rice fields busy with the harvest.
Stopping at a bustling spot overlooking green terraces — arguably Ubud’s biggest tourist attraction — we sip a cup of kopi luwat, often called “the world’s most expensive coffee.” Made with coffee cherries eaten and partially digested (and defecated) by a civet, a sort of tree-dwelling wild cat, the cup is rich and strong, good fuel for the rest of the day.
Never strong in the arts and crafts — I rarely rated more than a “nice try” with any primary-school projects — I take a tour of the many artisans in the area. At the Mas Carving Center, I watch big blocks of mahogany, imported from Java, as well as ebony and sandalwood being transformed into Garuda, and Buddha, as well as dolphins and tigers and lions, learning that the those created by masters fetch the highest price — a status that can take dozens of years of hard work to achieve.
And while I didn’t carve, I got my hands dirty at a place called Batik Bali, where I’m given a tour by the family that owns and runs this workshop. Most identified with the Indonesian island of Java, this form of fabric art follows a complex process of sketching out a pattern by pencil, then applying hot wax in ornate patterns with an instrument called a canting.
“With many colours, one piece can take as long as one week,” they tell me. I don’t fully understand the process, but I’m willing to give it a crack, taking up the canting with a shaky hand. The result is predictably terrible, the design recalling some of my worst little-kid efforts, but the family is unfailingly encouraging, telling me “good! good!” as it becomes abundantly clear that in fact, it is not good at all.
And on my last day on the island, I decide to visit some of the area’s most famous local residents at the Monkey Forest. It’s a bit of a stretch for me, given the fact that I’ve been rather terrified of simians since being bitten by an ape during a tour of Gibraltar, but I’m willing to give it a go, taking a deep breath before being surrounded by some of the Forest’s 700 monkeys. Before entering, I ask the local guide if they bite. “Not anymore,” he says, somewhat unhelpfully.
As we walk in, he continues with a list of instructions — don’t run away from these animals, and never look them in the eye, which they’ll often view as a challenge. Things begin poorly — confronted by one large, male monkey, I almost back into another one, who has crept up behind me. But I proceed safely from there, running a gauntlet of (it must be said, unfailingly friendly, or at least disinterested) simians, up and down the paths of the forest. I arrive at the end relieved, and feeling like I’d summoned a little extra inner strength — and perhaps drawn upon a wish I had made earlier, standing under those holy waters.
Stay: A trip to Mandapa, a Ritz-Carlton Reserve will be one in sync with your spiritual, peaceful, tropical surroundings. Each one, two or three bedroom villa includes a private swimming pool and 24-hour butler service. Yoga classes are taught on platforms amongst the rice paddies, bicycles are available to explore the area, and the spa includes Balinese treatments in a serene, riverside space.
Fly: Cathay Pacific provides service to Bali from both Vancouver and Toronto, with just a single connection in Hong Kong. Their business class cabin features fully lie-flat beds and top-notch food, wine and service — essential to battle the jet lag and enjoy the long journey.
