Santhika Surprises
February 1, 2025
Floating Breakfast & A Farewell to Ubud
It’s been an interesting 24 hours, to say the least.
Yesterday started off slow in its usual way—my last morning in Ubud. I was finally able to cash in on my complimentary floating breakfast at the villa. I opted for just fruit (surprise, surprise), and it was absolutely beautiful. The presentation was stunning, as expected. Everything here has a way of feeling intentional, almost sacred. The breakfast was adorned on a heart-shaped wooden tray, with two waters and perfectly arranged right at the edge of the infinity pool. Clearly designed for honeymooners and couples (which, by the way, I am one million percent coming here for my honeymoon when I get married). I only had a few hours before my car would be arriving, so I decided not to actually have breakfast in the pool and instead packed the fruit into a to-go container for later. (Smart, smart.)
Packing was a bit tedious considering I had acquired a few more things since I arrived, but honestly, it was doable. A lot of the extra stuff was snacks and body care items, so I figured I would use most of it before my next flight. (Speaking of which, I am not super stoked to be traveling back to India in a few weeks for this Thai massage training, but that’s another story.) As I finished up, the skies suddenly opened up, and rain began pouring down in thick, heavy sheets. It felt like a proper Ubud goodbye, a cleansing. But knowing Kali, I also took it as a reminder to release my expectations.
I was really sad to be leaving the villa. Honestly, I would’ve rather stayed there for three weeks than go to this other retreat at this point. But nonetheless, I said my see you soons and took off on the 3+ hour drive up north to Lovina.
A Déjà Vu Stop & The Long Ride to Lovina
The driver was nice, but I needed to check out and be in my own space, so I put in my headphones, finished up my last Ubud blog, and let myself drift in and out of thought. About halfway through the ride, we stopped at a coffee plantation, which—surprise, surprise—was exactly like the one they took me to for my birthday. Literally note for note, from the Lewak coffee to the tasting to the shopping. It was raining and kind of beautiful, but I almost slipped and fell (which, for someone as fragile as me, would not have ended well). The guide was very kind and told me a bit about Bali and its history. He was curious about what I do, and for a second, I hesitated before responding. I’m a yoga instructor, musician, writer… soon-to-be vegan chef and Thai masseuse? The list felt surreal to say out loud.
I took all of the teas, which were way too sweet with the amount of water and added sugar (I didn’t know exactly how much sugar there was in them last time), and threw them all in my Stanley with a bit of diluted water so I could drink them in the car. I was tempted to purchase the butterfly pea sugar-free one, but it was 275,000 IDR, and I figured I had enough tea and extra stuff. (In retrospect, I’m kinda wishing I got it, but too late now.)
Back in the car, we drove another hour and a half or so up the island. At a certain point, we were just going up inclines, then it became very narrow and windy, and I started to feel really nauseous. It was super beautiful—lush landscapes, untouched land, filled with nature exactly the way she intended it to be. It felt like something out of a dream, like I had been here before. Eventually, I had to close my eyes, though, because the motion sickness was so bad.
Arriving at Santhika & First Impressions
We finally arrived at the retreat center, called Santhika. The kind men here were gracious enough to carry my bags (2 suitcases, a duffel, and harmonium). A kind Balinese woman greeted me and took me to a couch nearby, where she presented me with a bowl of fruit in a pineapple wooden bowl as well as a whole coconut with a metal straw in it. I opted to save the fruit for later since I was still really nauseous from the car ride, but I was totally into the coconut water (which, by the way, I can’t believe I convinced myself I hated coconut up until two years ago in San Pancho, because turns out—I freaking love coconut).
I was promptly shown to my room, which was pretty close to the bottom of the staircase. But before I even stepped inside, I noticed something—noise. A lot of it. I’m sensitive to noise, but this was really loud. Music, roosters, people from the street. I asked the woman if it’s always like this, and the off-putting look on her face said it all. She told me there was a karaoke place down the street, and on the weekends, it’s non-stop. She also mentioned that I might be better off staying in the retreat hotel, which is 5 minutes down the road where a lot of other guests stay.
The Room: A Dreamy Space with a Few Nightmares
I proceeded to go into the room anyway. And honestly? It was perfect. Straight out of my childhood imagination—a full bed with a canopy and a dreamcatcher hanging from the ceiling (they do call this place Dream Hill, after all). A bathroom with a tile tub and walls of exposed dirt from the cliff this place is built upon. Pebbles on the floor. It felt like a hermit habitat (there’s an eco-term for places like this that I just can’t put my finger on right now). One of the best parts? The balcony, with a couch where you can see the ocean in the distance.
Another thing, though—caterpillars. Caterpillars everywhere. Since it’s rainy season here in Bali, technically, this is their habitat. Luckily, they’re harmless, but the sheer amount of slippery, hairy insects roaming around everywhere is a bit off-putting, to say the least.
Meeting Nena & An Overwhelming Decision
I was then taken up to see the yoga shala, restaurant, and meet the program manager. When I tell you these stairs are steep, I’m not exaggerating. Almost directly straight up, and lots of them. I had to go slow and be really careful. I can’t imagine climbing this thing at night. Not quite at the top of the steps was the yoga shala—a breathtaking wooden space with views overlooking Northern Bali and the ocean (which ocean? I honestly don’t even know). Then, up another small flight of steps at the very top of Dream Hill was the pool, restaurant, and a big chill-out zone. I’d love to hang out up there, but getting to the top makes me a bit anxious and uneasy.
I met Nena, the retreat manager—really pleasant and beautiful. She gave me my schedule and had me pick my three private healing sessions I’d be attending throughout my 23-day stay in Lovina. I asked about the WiFi, and she had quite a bit of trouble connecting me. Then, she told me that the WiFi downstairs by my room was not working. I freaked out a bit. I didn’t want to use my data, and I wanted to work on my blog. At that moment, I could feel a wave of anxiety and out-of-controlness bubbling to the surface.
No AC, No WiFi & My First Emotional Breakdown
Not to mention—no air conditioning. It was hot and humid, and I could definitely see that becoming a problem. Nena informed me that because I booked the single superior room, I had the option to switch to the hotel down the street, which had AC and was completely quiet. While that sounded tempting, part of the reason I wanted to come here was for the room and the quirky nature of it. Being in a hotel room (which I’ll be in for six weeks during my training in Rishikesh) didn’t sound as inviting.
I started to become overstimulated and broke down in tears—my first (of what I assume will be many) emotional releases at Santhika. At this point, I honestly just wanted to leave. Why can’t anything just go smoothly?
Sensing my overwhelm, Nena offered to take me to see the hotel option. We hopped into the bright orange jeep and drove five minutes down a quiet road to another property. The hotel was peaceful, completely silent except for the soft rustling of palm trees in the breeze. The room had air conditioning, a proper desk, and no noise from the street. It was tempting. But it also lacked the open-air feel, the balcony, the quirky nature of the retreat space that had originally drawn me in. I stood there in the cool, air-conditioned silence and realized that while this space was comfortable, it wasn’t the experience I came here for.
As we drove back, I shared my thoughts with Nena. We ended up chatting for a while—turns out she moved here from Italy and had only been working at the retreat center for a few months. She told me they were planning to start yoga teacher training programs here soon. Something clicked in my mind—maybe this was an opportunity. Maybe I really could make it work living here, working here, and integrating everything I’ve been learning.
She also told me she had just started a blog recently. The synchronicities kept coming. Maybe I was supposed to be here.
Beach BBQ: A Strange Energy in the Air
After my emotional breakdown, I tried to pull myself together. Nena had told me about a beach BBQ that was happening that evening. At first, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to go—I wasn’t exactly in the mood to socialize—but she mentioned that the restaurant was right on the water and had WiFi. That was enough to convince me. If nothing else, I could sit by the ocean, breathe, and work on my blog.
The bright orange jeep, which seemed to be the signature retreat vehicle, came to pick me up. This time, I was joined by four other guests. I was offered shotgun, so I took it, needing some space. The short ride over to the restaurant felt surreal, winding through Lovina’s small roads as the last light of the day began to fade.
The restaurant, which I’m pretty sure is owned by the same people who run the retreat and hotel, was loud and bustling with people. We walked through the main dining area and passed through what felt like three or four different businesses before we reached the actual “restaurant” space closer to the ocean. The setup was stunning—outdoor seating, string lights, and the faint sound of the waves crashing in the distance.
The table was already set, and it looked like something straight out of an Instagram food post. Each meal was carefully arranged on banana leaves—rice, tempeh, vegetables—all aesthetically decorated. I was starving. All I had eaten that day were some pickles, a handful of nuts, and some coconut water. I was ready to devour whatever was in front of me.
There were five of us at the table, but only four guests. The extra seat was for “Anita” (not her real name), a staff member who teaches yoga and facilitates many of the healing sessions at Santhika. From the moment she sat down, it was clear that she was deeply engaged in conversation—with everyone but me.
The Unspoken Exclusion & A Familiar Feeling
I made an effort to speak with the girl next to me, a 20-something traveler from Colorado who had been backpacking for six months. She was here to do the 8-day Balinese massage course, something I had briefly considered doing myself. She was friendly and open, and we exchanged a few words about our travels. But as the conversation carried on, Anita remained locked in conversation with everyone else at the table.
It wasn’t overt. It wasn’t aggressive. But it was there. That quiet, unspoken exclusion.
I had felt this before, in other spaces, with other people. That subtle but undeniable feeling of being on the outside of something. The way someone can make you feel invisible without saying a single negative word to you.
I finished my meal and decided I needed some air. Instead of forcing myself to engage, I walked down to the water, taking off my sandals and sinking my feet into the wet sand. The ocean was calm, and in the distance, there was a small bonfire. Balinese music played softly, and a group of people danced under the moonlight. It was beautiful. It was exactly the kind of real moment I had been craving since arriving in Lovina.
And yet, I still felt unsettled.
Surrendering to the Waves & Hanuman’s Reminder
I found a lounge chair and parked myself there for the next two hours, pulling out my iPad and using the WiFi to upload my blogs. As I typed, I thought about Hanuman.
Hanuman, the fearless warrior of devotion. Hanuman, who leapt across the ocean without doubt, without hesitation, without waiting for permission. Hanuman, who knew his strength even when others doubted him.
It was no coincidence that earlier in the day, one of my yoga students—who we’ll call “Tom”—had sent me a Hanuman song. And the day before, the Brit had sent me reflections on Hanuman’s courage. It was as if the universe was gently nudging me to remember.
I had been feeling invisible. Unseen. Not included. But Hanuman never needed external validation. He just was. His power didn’t come from how others perceived him—it came from his unwavering trust in something greater than himself.
I closed my eyes and listened to the waves. Maybe that was the lesson of this trip. Maybe every minor inconvenience—every challenge, every discomfort, every moment of feeling unseen—was an opportunity to go deeper into my own strength. To sit with the discomfort instead of trying to run from it.
Kali was burning away my attachments. Hanuman was reminding me to leap anyway.
Returning to Dream Hill & The Sacred Messiness of It All
By the time I finished my blogs, it was after 10 PM. The bright orange jeep came to pick me up and drive me back to Dream Hill.
I was overstimulated, exhausted, and still feeling the lingering weight of the day. And to be fair, probably starved. The dinner had been beautiful but small, and my body was craving more sustenance. The moment I got back to my room, I opened my bag and ate everything I had—dragon fruit, some mangosteen, a few bites of the cookies I had picked up before leaving Ubud (which, by the way, I am so glad I bought—I wish I had gotten more). I even grabbed some of the fruit from earlier, though I quickly realized it had gotten partially frozen in my mini-fridge, which seemed to not be working properly.
I spent the next hour playing my harmonium, letting the melodies wash over me. Something about the combination of You Can’t Always Get What You Want and Baba Hanuman felt right. Like a merging of messages from the universe. (Click picture for video)
No, I can’t always get what I want.
But maybe I’m getting exactly what I need.
Lessons from the Night: Kali & Hanuman Weaving Together
Kali was stripping me down, showing me where my attachments still held power over me. She was making me sit with discomfort, with uncertainty, with the parts of myself that still craved external validation. And Hanuman was standing beside me, reminding me that courage isn’t about being included. It isn’t about being seen. It’s about leaping forward in faith, even when no one else understands.
Maybe every delay, every disappointment, every challenge—was an initiation into deeper strength. Maybe the version of me who still needed things to go a certain way, who still craved control, was dying in the fire of Kali’s destruction.
Maybe this whole trip was a practice in surrender.
The karaoke was still blasting in the distance. The humid air clung to my skin. The caterpillars were still crawling around my balcony.
And yet, despite all of it, I felt strangely at peace.
Not comfortable. Not settled. But at peace.
Hanuman leapt across the ocean not because he wanted to, but because he had to. Because it was his purpose. Because something inside of him knew there was no other way forward but through.
I had no idea what the next 23 days in Lovina would bring. But for now, I knew one thing for sure—Kali was burning away the old, and Hanuman was carrying me through the fire.
Goodnight from my perched hilltop dream room.
Until tomorrow, with love and gratitude—
Eve aka Kali Grayce
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