Bali: Purify & Beautify (5/5)

I put on my sarong and tie the sash around my waist. It’s 6am and I’m off to the beach for my Purification Bath. The sacred water – which includes water from Tirta Empul – had already been prepared yesterday evening and left to infuse overnight. I’ll be ‘bathed’ in it this morning.

Pic by Marcus Wong

I head to the beach and … it … was … cold … and … l … don’t … like … cold. I hurry down to find Fauzi and Waya, the priest, waiting. I’m to bathe in the sea first. “You can just wet your head, face and feet if you wish, but it’s better if you take the plunge and get completely soaked,” Fauzi tells me.

Being kiasu (I was Singaporean in a past life), of course I want the maximum benefit from the ritual, so I go all the way nearly freeze to bits. I get out of the sea, shivering.

Pic by Marcus Wong

Back on the beach, Waya tells me to stand facing him, hands held together in a praying position and close my eyes. I do. Then I feel the first scoop of icy cold water splash down the top of my head, drenching my already soaked body. I’m so cold, it might as well have been a bucket load of ice! Chanting softly, Waya continues to scoop water from the pot and pour it on me. On and on he goes … he will do this till the water in the pot finishes. The thing is, it’s one BIG pot. I try to be yogi-like and think pure thoughts but all I can think is that I just may pengsan from hypothermia.

After about 15 scoops, the pot is empty. Waya tells me to open my eyes. There are flowers on my head, shoulders and arms, and all over the ground where I’m standing. He places a magnolia behind my right ear and a generous pinch of grains in my hands. “Place a few grains between your brows,” he says. “This is to keep you seeing only good things. Place a few grains in between your collarbone so that your heart radiates goodness. And swallow a few grains so that you only speak good things.” I’m not sure about that last one but I eagerly swallow half a dozen grains – a little supernatural help can’t hurt.

I’m bundled up in a big fluffy towel and sent back to my villa. I smell yummy. I take a quick shower and head out to breakfast – need a full stomach for my Final Day Facial & Hair Treatment ma.

I start off with the Mesipat facial, a traditional Balinese beautification ritual which involves sandalwood and tamarind leaves. The face is exfoliated with grains of rice and massaged with mini floral pouches.

Then, there is the Mekramas hair treatment where my scalp is massaged with coconut oil and candlenut. After the massage, a mixture of hibiscus leaves and aloe vera is applied onto my hair and my head wrapped in banana leaf and secured with bits of ‘lidi’ – just like a packet of nasi lemak, only bigger. Walking out, my heads feels about 10 pounds overweight.

This is my headgear, taken off after 15 minutes … kan I dah kata macam sebungkus nasi lemak?

… and the result of my hibiscus-leaves-and-aloe-vera treated hair: ta-da! A python-like coil on the top of my head. It’s so sturdy even a bout of semi-violent shaking doesn’t upset the do.

It takes me 30 minutes to shower and pack. Our plan is to drop by Ubud on our way to the airport. So, the earlier we get there, the more time we (by we, I mean me) have to browse around (by browse , I mean shop). After making our goodbye and thank you rounds at the spa, we arrive in Ubud with 1.5 hours to wander around aimlessly. Which is exactly what I do. By myself.

I’m not very good at doing things on my own. I don’t like it. It makes me nervous. Whether this is an indication of some deeper psychological childhood-related disorder, I will explore in another post. For now, I’m alone in Ubud and not liking it terribly much. Not until I make my first purchase (a bright red pair of fisherman pants!), after which I feel a lot more relaxed and … less lonely. I wonder what says about my mental/emotional state?

I’m walking along the road and except for the occasional calls offering taxi service, nobody bothers me or pesters me to buy stuff, which is a definite plus in my books. Situated in the middle of the island, in the midst of rice paddies, Ubud is Bali’s cultural capital and has been so for over 100 years.

With three main streets, the central town area is made up of what appears to be hundreds of tiny little stores – from artsy coves selling beautiful paintings to workshop-type holes peddling sculptures to kitschy souvenir stores …

… there are chic little boutiques and shops displaying beach dresses, sarongs, kaftans and fisherman pants by the truckload …

… all tossed in with quaint little cafés, restaurants, guesthouses and B&Bs – each with a distinct personality of its own.

I’m walking on the sidewalk, which is no more than a mere 2 feet wide. There are plenty of loose bricks, holes and uneven steps, so I trip every now and then. I can imagine walking around at night – better watch your step! There are also dogs everywhere. They don’t really bother you although the idea of a big black dog and his hyperactive friends jogging along at your heels can be unnerving.

By 5pm, it’s time to leave for the airport. The roads are clear, so we get there with time to spare. Which isn’t an entirely good thing cos the airport is – sadly – boring. There are too many souvenir shops and not enough F&B outlets. Next to none, in fact. So instead of relaxing in a café and waiting over a cup of steaming coffee, we wind up sitting restlessly on a steel bench for over an hour.

Out of boredom, I go shopping and I use the term ‘shopping’ loosely. I buy a packet of prawn crackers, two boxes of Pocky chocolate sticks and a pack of Pringles. I know. Five days of fresh fruit juices and organic food shot straight to hell. I bite into a prawn cracker. It doesn’t taste good. I’m bored, so I eat it anyway.

Just when we’re about to board the flight, an announcement comes: flight will be delayed. $$@%$@#$%^&#%WTF!!! So much for the purification bath, huh? I spend a few minutes cursing at Air Asia before opening up my pack of Pringles. I bite into a potato crisp. It doesn’t taste good. I’m bored, so I eat it anyway.

We finally board an hour later. It’s boring on the flight too, which is why I while away the time eating Pocky and feeling sorry for the flight attendants. I know Air Asia is a low-cost carrier and all that but I simply can’t get over the whole selling of food/drinks and cenderamata onboard. It’s just tacky, like operating a pasar malam 30,000 feet in the air. Why would anyone would buy Oreo cookies or Maggi mee or whatever while on the plane? The only thing to buy I’d buy (and only cos they confiscated my water bottle earlier) is water. And that’s already sold out. Hey!!!

Seriously, the purification bath from this morning isn’t working.

I buy iced tea instead. It doesn’t taste good but I drink it anyway cos I’m thirsty. Now, back to why I feel sorry for the flight attendants: they’re peddlers of tacky crap. I mean, selling a cup of Milo or Kit Kat is kesian enough; they also have to hawk Air Asia merchandise (hence the tacky crap).

“Any food or drinks (or tacky crap) to purchase,” they drone, vacant looks on their faces. With any purchase, the attendants then take money and give change from a red plastic pouch. Like hawkers. And if people order hot drinks, they mechanically slice off the top of the sachet, pour hot water into a Styrofoam cup and pass it to you, throwing the empty sachet into the makeshift dustbin hanging off the corner of the cart.

And they do all this while clad in tight red uniforms, faces coated with thick makeup, cheeks stamped with bright pink powder, false eyelashes dangling crookedly from tired blue-shadowed lids, bleached hair with untouched roots … and sometimes, they wear a little too much perfume – something you’re unpleasantly reminded of every time they march past you in the aisle.

So yeah, I feel bad for them. They’re flight attendants, not tacky merchandise mongers. I’m beginning to feel what I believe are the first stirrings of … compassion. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this before. It feels … strange and … rather pleasant. Whoa. Maybe the purification bath is working its magic after all.

Bali: Water Babies (4/5)

Continued from Bali: A Life of Devotion (3/5)

Today is water day: first, we’re off to Tulamben for a spot of snorkeling/diving to see the famous US Liberty shipwreck, then to Tirtha Empul to collect a bottle of holy water for a purification ceremony this evening and finally, sail out to the sea to catch the sunset – all before dinner.

We get to Tulamben and meet Katut, a guy at one of the dive shops there. Tanned, stocky and with an infectious beam, he’s to be our guide (well eventually, more like my Guide … and Hand-Holder and Babysitter and Preventor of Death by Snorkeling).

Pic by Marcus Wong

We balance our way down the beach, equipment dangling from our arms. It’s a stone beach – the ground’s covered with smooth egg-shaped grey and black volcanic stones, some bigger than your fist and they’re damn hard to walk on! They roll around viciously. Throw in the waves crashing onto the shore and you can imagine what a feat it is just to get out to sea. Once in the water, we put on our equipment and let me tell you, the waves are fierce! According to Katut, “This is okay already, sometimes even stronger!” Oh, that means the waves not that big la; I’m just a bigger wuss than I thought.

Pic by Marcus Wong

I go underwater with the snorkel but water keeps gushing in. I wind up choking and gulping plenty of salty water. I tell Katut something’s wrong with the snorkel. He tries it out tells me that the snorkel is working just fine. But for some reason, no matter how many times I try, water keeps getting in and I don’t know why. And when I can’t breathe, I get a little … uncomfortable. I can’t help it – you know la, if you can’t breathe, you can like, drown and die. Can you imagine the headline? Tourist Dies In Imaginary Snorkel Malfunction. Oh man, the ignominy will be too much to bear even in the afterlife.

After a while, Katut senses I’m getting uneasy. Doesn’t help that I keep getting knocked over by the waves (I really should eat more meat once in a while). So he holds my hand and we swim out. Cos my snorkel doesn’t work, he tells me to keep my head above water and just hold my breath when I want to go under.

Just a short 30 metres away from the shore, we see a huge school of jackfish. Almond-shaped and coloured a sleek silver, the fish congregate around what I see is the stern of the US Liberty. What a sight! And the ship is just 6 metres below the surface! No wonder Tulamben is known as the safest wreck dive in the world. It’s like having this massive treasure in a huge clear aquarium, just for you to ogle at. Nothing to entangle you, obscure your view, no scary coral on the ground … everything on a clear sandy seabed. The ship is 120 metres long and coated in a rainbow of coral. It looks so deceptively near, you can almost reach out and touch it – even if you’re snorkelling. There are quite a few divers on the seabed and I’m tickled by the continuous streams of bubbles rising up to the water surface. I feel like I’m in a Jacuzzi!

From Tulamben, we head to Tirta Empul, a holy spring water temple and one of the most important ones in Bali. Legend has it that the sacred spring was created by the god Indra to save his forces who’d been poisoned and restore them to immortality. Since its creation in 926 AD, the Balinese have been coming here to bathe in its holy water for spiritual and physical healing. That 1,000-year-old tradition continues today.

The central feature is the rectangular pool where dozens of sarong-clad Balinese bathe and pray.

12 fountains pour forth water from the sacred spring – each one for a particular need or ailment. I go to the edge of the pool and fill up a big bottle with the sacred water and we bring it back to SVRTB.

Pic by Marcus Wong

Once back, we meet up with Waya, the in-house priest at the spa. He’s prepared a big pot of water along with woven plates of flowers, grains of rice soaked in water and burning incense. I sit down cross-legged on the mat beside him as he begins the ritual. There are five different coloured flowers, for north, south, east, west and central. He takes one flower and circles it with the incense while chanting continuously. He tells me he’s praying for blessing, balance, wisdom, goodness, etc … which is great cos I’m usually in short supply of those things.

Pic by Marcus Wong

I sit quietly next to him, watching him and trying to be spiritual. I’m not very good at this (a fact that will be proven once again during the Purification Bath tomorrow at 6am). Instead of reflecting and contemplating and being all meditative, I confess, the primary thought weaving through my head is, I wonder if Marcus is getting some good shots of this? My secondary thought is, I’m getting hungry.

After about 20 minutes, Waya is done. He empties the pot of flower-filled water into another pot, then instructs me to pour the holy water from Tirtha Empul into it too. The pot is closed and canangs along with incense placed on the lid. “We’ll place this at the altar overnight and keep relighting the incense so that it continues to burn until 1am,” he tells me. “So I’ll see you at the beach tomorrow at 6am for the Purification Bath.” I tell him I’ll be there.

The sun is now nearly setting, which means it’s cruise time. We’re ushered down to the beach and helped into the jukong, a traditional Balinese fishing boat. I get in at the front and I’m given a glass of red wine. I wonder how I’m going to be able to drink this while the boat is speeding ahead. I look out at the sea – the currents look big … and scary.

A few men push the jukong out to sea, the engine sputter to life and off we go. It’s a bumpy ride and I think I swallow quite a bit of salty sea water. A few minutes into the journey, I drop my wineglass and it smashes into smithereens on the boat floor. I apologise profusely to the boatman and keep my feet balanced precariously on the side panels of the boat. So much for trying to be sophisticated.

The boat comes to a halt when we get in clear view of the setting sun – a bright red circle hovering in mid-air, suspended between thin fluffy layers of clouds all awash in shades of blue, purple and orange. Because we were told earlier that people have actually seen dolphins at this spot, I’m eagerly scanning the sea for them. No dolphin. I send out happy dolphin thoughts. No dolphin. But we do see the sun set …

… an equally amazing sight. It’s the final farewell of the day’s performance – the bright red circle slowly sinks into the horizon until there’s nothing left but a tiny red speck peeking out just for a few moments before it totally vanishes, leaving the sky empty and the clouds without a companion. I think to myself, “Come on, Willie …” one last time before our boat turns around to head back to the spa. Still no dolphin. Oh well.

After dinner back at the spa, I go to straight to bed. And tonight, just like any night, I’m out like a light. Which is a good thing as I can’t be late for my Purification Bath tomorrow now, can I?

To be continued in Bali: PUrify & Beautofy (5/5) – to be uploaded soon

Bali: A Life Of Devotion (3/5)

Continued from Bali: The Stars Don’t Lie (2/5)

Everything in Bali has a spiritual meaning – the sacred seas, mountains, volcanoes, the paddy fields … nature, along with the gods, are honoured and worshipped. The day-to-day life of the Balinese is about rituals, ceremonies and prayer, and this is evident everywhere in Bali … especially in the month of August: cremation month.

We’re on our way to Ubud – a good two hours away from SVRTB – chugging along the road nicely when we come to a sign that says ‘upacara’ (ceremony). What looks like a couple of hundred men are lining both sides of the narrow road, everyone’s in the same black T-shirt and they all seem to be waiting for something.

We go farther down the road and see a few men fixing up a huge tower – this is the tower that will carry the body of the deceased.

Fauzi tells me, this is a cremation ceremony of several people who’ve passed away in this particular village. The families of the deceased get together, along with the rest of the village, for the cremation ceremony (a prolonged, elaborate ceremony that consumes quite a fair bit of time and money).

The effigies carried by these boys represent the dead.

These women here at the entrance of the village are the family members of the deceased. I think they look beautiful with their colourful costumes and bright umbrellas, offerings in their arms, waiting patiently under the (scorching!!) sun.

We saunter into the village … there are hundreds more people inside, probably waiting for the tower to be fully set up before they all proceed down the road to the temple. Looking at the number of people there are here, this is going to be one grand event!

Two hours later, we’re finally in Ubud, the cultural capital of the island. Now, on the surface, Ubud may look like a small town made up of one long narrow road lined on both sides with little shops. At least that’s my initial impression. But Ubud is really made up of 14 villages (wow!) – something Westi, our guide and local herbs extraordinaire, shows when he leads us into one of the little back lanes. We walk a few metres down a narrow alleyway sandwiched by dull square brick houses when without warning, the alleyway opens up to reveal lush rice terraces, cascading giant steps of the most vivid green you’ve ever seen in your life. Wow.

It’s incredible – just a stone’s throw away from the bustling main street! Idyllic kampong life is alive and well here. I’m walking along behind Westi as he leads us through, pointing out the villagers’ homes, naming the various birds we see along the way, showing us the altars in each paddy field … explaining to us what subak is all about.

Subak is an ancient water irrigation system designed by the holy men hundreds of years ago to resolve disputes over water distribution among the farmers. It’s simple: each subak is headed by a Kelian Subak (a head who’s elected democratically every five years) and consists of between 100 to 300 farming families. Each family has a plot of land and fields are landscaped like terraces so that water flows down unobstructed to each family’s field fairly and equally.

Every member of the subak takes great pride in his field. Your family name is raised (or sullied) by how you maintain your land, your home, your shrine, how you treat animals (obviously, shooting a bird will get you automatically blacklisted!), how involved and supportive you are of other subak members, etc.

Along the way, we meet some farmers, gazing quietly out at their fields. Most farmers are artists and the beauty of the fields moves them to create works of art that Ubud has come to be known for – from paintings to sculptures to music.

We stop at a little shack next to the subak temple – it’s the Subak Juwukmanis community hall. “There’s a meeting held here every month,” Westi tells us. “Everything is decided together – when to plant, when to harvest, when to hold ceremonies, how to fertilise the fields, everything. And it’s great disrespect to be absent without informing the head in person … or just as bad, informing him by sms!”

Tacked up on the wall here is a list of income each family has generated for the month and how much tax they’ll be paying. Accountability is a big thing here!

Being a city person through and through (ie. unspiritual, self-absorbed, work-absorbed, materialistic, wouldn’t be able to pick her neighbours from a line-up, etc), I admire and envy the peaceful, communal spirit of village living. Gazing out at the lush fields sure beats staring at spreadsheets every day. And discussing planting and harvesting times with your fellow subak members sure beats rounds of arguing and finger-pointing with your fellow workmates. There’s just something about working amidst nature; it calms you down, changes you. We need a helluva lot more plants in the office, that’s for sure!!

Pic by Marcus Wong

Unfortunately, as is always the case when a country progresses, the traditional way of living is in danger of becoming extinct. In fact, Westi tells us, there’s not a single subak left in the capital of Denpasar today. That’s quite sad.

We leave Subak Juwukmanis and head to lunch. Somewhere else in Ubud (don’t ask me; I’m directionally challenged), we turn into one of those little lanes in the back again only this time, we come to this sign. How adorable.

From here, it’s a 700 metre walk to Sari Organik, an organic restaurant situated right in the middle of the paddy fields. I’m intrigued.

We walk on a narrow brick path, meeting fellow walkers and motorbikes and of course, doggies along the way. And finally, we see it …

… it’s simply adorable! I love it upon sight. Breezy and light with sunshine streaming in, there are tables and santai areas with oversized throw pillows … and of course, the spectacular view.

Pic by Marcus Wong

This is the first time I’m eating in a paddy field and so far, I love it! And that’s before the food even comes!

And the food is … really good! Hah! And you thought organic food usually sucked.

Pic by Marcus Wong

Back at SVRTB later that day, I get a little lesson in canang making. Canang (or canang sari) is an offering that’s made from yellow palm leaves, several types of flowers and oh-so-fragrant strips of pandan leaves. Canangs are everywhere in Bali – piled high on the altars in temples, on the sidewalk in front of every shop, in shrines at houses, etc.

They’re so pretty, such a loving and delicate art form – an art form that I find, within three minutes into the lesson, that I kinda suck at.

Canangs are made by the women, mostly cos it requires a lot of patience, love and attention to detail. Trained from a young age, every Balinese girl/woman makes these as a form of worship every day, so they’ve all pretty much perfected the art of canang-making. All I can say is, it’s harder than it looks. Despite my obvious physical advantages (ie. I’m a girl and have slim dainty fingers), I succeed only in wasting a lot of palm leaves. I do make one canang but it falls apart the minute I try to put flowers into it.

Pic by Marcus Wong

I don’t stay dejected for long though. Tomorrow’s another big day – snorkeling/diving at Tulamben (obviously me snorkeling, Marcus diving la), a purification ceremony and a sunset watch by boat!

Bali: The Stars Don’t Lie (2/5)

Continued from Bali: Spa Village Resort (1/5)

I bounce out of bed at 5.30am. The sun rises at 5.45am – just enough time for me to clean up and get out to the beach to catch it. When I get out there, I see Marcus already there with his tripod and fancy equipment all set up. I look at my digital point-and-shoot – wah, how to fight like that? I snap a few pics, then give up. Later that night, I pester him to give me his pics so I’ll have some decent ones of the Bali sunrise I’d gotten up so painfully early to see. And here it is.

Pic by Marcus Wong

Aiseh, if I’d known I’d be stealing – um, I mean borrowing – his pics, then no need to get up so early la!!

Pic by Marcus Wong

After breakfast, we’re off to Pura Ulun Danu, a temple built on the Lake Bratan and one of the nine directional temples in Bali. A directional temple, I’m told, is a temple that wards off evil spirits to protect the island.

The Pura Ulun Danu is a beautiful temple. Problem is, after having seen the magnificent, mind-blowingly massive Angkor Wat early this year, every other temple I see now – unless suspended in the air, carried on angels’ wings – somewhat pales in comparison and looks rather diminutive.

But what Pura Ulun Danu lacks in size, it makes up for in spirit and vigour when we see a procession heading towards us – women in colourful figure-skimming kebayas and sarongs, some kebaya tops nothing more than a transparent lacey layer worn over a bustier, an expanse of tanned skin peeking out seductively from beneath … already curvy figures are enhanced by sashes knotted around the waist … a kaleidoscope of vivid ceremonial umbrellas hover above their heads …

… the men are dressed in white shirts, a razzle-dazzle of batik sarongs and udeng (cloth fashioned into a turban) … hand drums hanging from their necks, cymbals in their hands, a gong slung on poles is balanced on their shoulders …

Pic by Marcus Wong

Pic by Marcus Wong

… the marching Balinese gamelan – a flamboyant, lively form of gamelan music with crashing cymbals punctuating an incredibly fast thumping beat – is amazing to see and a joy to listen to.

Apart from the colourful spectacle, what strikes me is how everybody always has a ready smile – even the stern-looking priest when he catches you peeking into the sacred inner part of the temple where visitors aren’t allowed.

After Pura Ulun Danu, we stop off for a quick lunch before popping by a little alfresco café called Puncak Bagus which boasts a fabulous view …

… the Twin Lakes – two serene mountain lakes Buyan and Tamblingan, separated by an ancient forest.

We sit down for hot Balinese coffee and a plate of pisang goreng blanketed in grated cheese and drizzled in chocolate syrup. Being the sugar freak that I am, I love it!

Because it’s ‘winter’ time here in Bali, dark descends pretty quick, so we try to make sure we get back to SVRTB before the sun sets. There’s a stargazing session lined up tonight, so that’s certainly something to hurry back to.

Situated smack in what’s reputed to be the area with the clearest skies in all of Bali, SVRTB is the ideal spot for some serious stargazing. You’ll never see a clearer, more unpolluted sky and once the sun sets, it’s celestial magic. The whole sky turns into a mass of inky blackness, speckled with millions of golden twinkling stars.

The stargazing session takes place in the infinity pool. I lie down on a raft, music plugged into my ears – sounds of a cascading waterfall tinkling against a series of rhythmic bell chimes. It’s very repetitive and therefore, totally hypnotic. All this coupled with the cool night breeze and languid movement around the pool.

And it’s perfectly captured on Marcus’s camera.

Pic by Marcus Wong

PIc by Marcus Wong

I know. I’m blown away too.

To be continued in Bali: A Life Of Devotion (3/5)

Bali: Spa Village Resort (1/5)

Five blissful days of wearing nothing but T-shirt and shorts, feet shod in flip-flops, hair done (or rather, not done) any way you like, no clocks, no wi-fi, fresh air, wide open spaces, crisp clear blue skies, sounds of the ocean a constant … Sure, I am in Bali to work but man, what an office!

Truth be told, I was entirely unprepared for the trip. Working until late Friday night, I was all frazzled and in the totally wrong frame of mind. I hadn’t packed, my flight was 8.30am the next morning and my computer started to go hormonal on me. So yeah, I wasn’t exactly Buddha-like the night before my departure, if you know what I mean.

Once we land the next morning though (we as in me and my photographer Marcus), everything changes. I’m enveloped in a very warm, welcoming bear hug – figuratively, of course – and all of a sudden, I understand why people are drawn to Bali like moths to a flame. And why they keep coming back. For the first time since I got news about this trip couple of weeks back, I’m glad I came.

We meet up with Fauzi, our guide for the next five days and Miasa, our chauffer with the big white smile and twinkly eyes. I ask Fauzi if he personally accompanies all the guests at the spa, he responds with a grin, “Only VVIPs like you.” Ah, I can tell I’m going to be liking it here in Bali very much!

We’re being put up in the Spa Village Resort Tembok Bali (SVRTB), an exclusive spa resort tucked away in the more secluded north-eastern part of the island – somewhere between Tembok village and Tejakula. How far away is SVRTB from the airport? 3.5 hours (!!!) – wah lau damn far. There’s only one road leading to the spa and it’s long, winding and narrow … kinda like travelling to Cameron Highlands. And yep, the cold (not to mention tinge of carsickness) comes along with it too.

On the plus side, the scenery is beautiful. Rice terraces as far as the eye can see … I can certainly understand why artists use them as sources of inspiration. Later on in the trip, we’ll learn about ‘subak’, a unique ancient Balinese water irrigation system developed based on traditional wisdom and the philosophy of harmony between man with man, nature and ultimately, God.

Some 1.5 hours into the journey, we drop by Tirtagangga, a royal water palace built in 1948 by the King of Karangasem, Bali’s last King.

Featuring an interesting mix of Balinese and Chinese architecture, the water complex takes up over one hectare and sits at the foot of the still-active volcanic mountain (and highest point in all of Bali), Gunung Agung.

The complex houses several royal ‘swimming pools’ – ponds that are open to the public for swimming.

This is the Mahabharata pond. I’m proud to announce that unlike the Tourists you see in the pic, I resist the temptation to prance around on the ‘floating’ stepping stones, posing for a pic. Maybe there’s something magical about this ‘palace’ after all – I may have finally reached Camwhore Nirvana. But nah, one look at the rest of my Bali posts and you’ll notice that I slip right back.

According to folklore, this is Bali’s fountain of youth. Locals believe that bathing in the pond at full moon will give you everlasting youth and cure you of disease. That’s so mystical and … creepy at the same time. Do I hear a werewolf howling somewhere?

It’s a long drive and by the time we reach SVRTB, it’s nearly 6pm. Nestled into a spot you won’t notice – no fanfare, just a discreet all-white signage hardly visible from the main road – the spa is truly secluded. We make a sharp turn into a shady tree-lined road so narrow that a small van is the biggest vehicle that can get through. Open the window and you’ll be able to run your fingers along the tree-lined wall as you drive past.

Upon arrival, we get a foot scrub (with black sand from the beach) and a neck and shoulder massage. Then, a tour of the spa resort.

Small, intimate and very exclusive …

… the central feature is the infinity pool and sun deck lined with beach chairs, umbrellas and cream-coloured gazebos.

When I say central feature, I mean the man-made central feature, not the real central feature which is, of course, the black sand beach. The sound of the waves charging up to shore is hypnotic – close your eyes and you can easily drift off just like that. But not now. Not before I see where I’ll be staying.

SVRTB isn’t all that big – in fact, there are only 31 rooms and they’re nice enough to put me up in one of two big villas. Yippie [insert huge exclamation mark here ]

Equipped with my own private gazebo …

… a plunge pool …

… and an ocean view …

… the sliding double doors open up to an airy, spacious sanctuary – a sight that’s anchored by a king-sized bed, appealing enough to ensnare anyone into a euphoric state of narcolepsy. That’s it – I’ve died and gone to Bali heaven.

Of course, there’s a pretty sizable bathroom too … but in the name of all that’s sacred, worldly and sophisticated (read: don’t want to look like jakun who just crawled out from kampong and never see toilet before), I shall refrain from posting them.

July and August are ‘winter’ months in Bali … had I done my research beforehand, I would’ve brought a sweater or two! All I have with me are flimsy tops and shorts. I have one shawl but it doesn’t go with my other clothes, so I decide to freeze instead.

It’s our first night in Bali and there is going to be a kecak performance during dinner. I’ve read about the kecak dance but nothing prepares you for the real thing. I am terribly impressed … love love love it! A group of fifty bare-chested men in sarongs (hello, that’s not why I loved it la wei … okay la, maybe partly) come out onto the lawn – swaying bodies, hands raised in the air, eyes wide and transfixed – to  surround a stake of fire. No stage. No props (the men are the props). No instruments. The fire is the only source of lighting. The scene takes on a shadowy, primitive feel. The whole time, the men are making a synchronous ‘chak-achak-achak’ sound at breakneck pace. I get goose bumps.

Inspired by the clicking sounds of the gecko, kecak is apparently the only dance created solely for the pleasure of visitors to Bali. Based on the Hindu epic, Ramayana, it tells the story of Prince Rama and the heroic rescue of his wife, the lovely Princess Sita, from the clutches of the evil King of Lanka. In all honesty, I hardly pay any attention to the key actors; I’m more bewitched by the chorus of ‘chak-ing’ men – the energy, fieriness and drama … it’s powerful stuff.

It’s amazing how long the performers keep up the chanting – for over an hour. Wow. And to think there are kecak dances where there are 100 or over 150 performers or more … that’s gotta be an awesome sight!

To show my admiration, I get my picture taken with the stars of the show. See, told you Camwhore Nirvana wouldn’t last for long.

After the show, I head back to my villa and waiting for me is a flower bath. I soak in the tub and being in an advanced state of sleepiness, try not to slide into the water. I get out once I start to resemble an old prune, wash up and snuggle into bed – all six giant pillows to myself. I gaze at the long-stemmed bronze fan suspended from the high woven ceiling … the ceiling is softly lit along the edges … the steady whirring of the fan is especially soothing against the sounds of gently crashing waves on the beach outside. There’s a big screen TV but over the next four days, I never turn it on (you’ve gotta be three hundred and sixty different kind of nuts to watch TV in a place like this).

We have a busy schedule ahead of us tomorrow and I can’t wait for morning to come!

To be continued in Bali: The Stars Don’t Lie (2/5)