Yoga in Bali

I recently subjected myself to seven days of stretching and sweating at a yoga retreat on Bali's Bukit Peninsula. Popular with surfers who come to ride the legendary waves at nearby Uluwatu, this remote and rugged spot on Bali's southwestern tip is a 45-minute drive from the tourist hubbub of Kuta.

Here, there are no fabulous restaurants, a quick paddle in the sea runs the serious risk of being swept out by a vicious undertow and the local shack that sells water and cigarettes is the closest you get to a shopping experience. So why did I go there? And why was it one of the most rewarding holidays I've had?

I'd been attending weekly Iyengar yoga classes for a few years and felt ready for the challenge of a daily yoga routine. I wasn't talking just a couple of hours of gentle stretching - I wanted to live and breathe yoga for at least a week and observe the effects this might have on my otherwise restless mind. Bali was an obvious choice for serious R&R with its tropical climate and laid-back lifestyle. I found a retreat that offered five hours of daily Vinyasa yoga at a secluded spot called Bingin, a small Balinese village that tumbles down a cliff onto a rocky beach dotted with low-rent accommodation and equally low-rent warung (restaurants).

I wasn't talking just a couple of hours of gentle stretching - I wanted to live and breathe yoga for at least a week

Bingin Beach is a long and bumpy jeep ride down an unsealed road. On arrival at our guesthouse, my partner (fortunately a keen surfer) and I took in our surrounds. Over a shallow moat from our lounge room was a futon in a cloud of mosquito nets and beyond that an open-air bathroom made entirely from natural stone and bamboo. Flowers floated in the moat as it trickled peacefully around each room, while rustling palms and bougainvillea in full bloom covered the surrounding walls. For just $US50 a night we'd booked our very own Japanese-style haven.

I was straight into my yoga practice the following day. Rising with the sun, I walked along the cliff path to the yoga centre, surveying the low-tide lapping invitingly below and a few hopeful surfers bobbing like sea-lions on the horizon. The yoga space, a handsome hexagonal pavilion made entirely of wood and other natural materials, had a traditional thatched roof and was surrounded by a lush tropical garden that hugged the cliff's edge. A group of ten of us gathered silently, some still rubbing the sleep from their eyes. We sat cross-legged on folded blankets listening to the quietness of the early morning before the teacher arrived to begin the day's lesson.

Each day followed much the same pattern. Starting with pranayama we'd work through a series of breathing techniques to clear our heads, calm our minds and prepare us for meditation. In those concentrated moments I could feel the delicious freshness of the early morning against my skin as I breathed in deeply and fed my lungs with clean, slightly salty air. After resting momentarily in savasana, we'd meditate for half an hour. At first, I found it difficult to filter out the sounds of chickens, dogs and laughter that drifted over the garden walls as the residents of Bingin began their day.

I found it difficult to filter out the sounds of chickens, dogs and laughter that drifted over the garden walls

By the time we began our asana practice, the coolness of the morning had been sucked from the air and replaced by a moist heat as the sun began its creep across the garden. After a vigorous warm-up, we'd focus on stretching a particular area of our bodies. The Vinyasa style (more commonly known as Ashtanga) promotes fluidity of movement and breath control: we'd flow from one posture to another, holding each asana for what felt like an eternity. We'd work continuously in this fashion for two hours, sweat dripping from our foreheads and hanging on the tips of our noses during dog pose. On several occasions I felt like giving up, and questioned why I was putting myself through such torture. But then a heavenly breeze would sweep by and dry-cool my hot skin, distracting me from my torment. And as we began to slowly wind down and relax, I felt an incredible sense of well-being and calmness pervade my entire body.

After each session, our group would drink chai and snack on muesli and tropical fruits before arranging to meet later for lunch when we were feeling a little less mellow. I'd then meander back to my 'palace' and take a cooling outdoor shower, the water cascading from bamboo pipes and splashing onto the pebbled stone floor. Afternoons were free until 4pm. After a massage, a walk to the local beach or a delicious mid-day snooze, I'd head back to the pavilion for two hours of less punishing, more restorative yoga.

I'd then meander back to my 'palace' and take a cooling outdoor shower, the water cascading from bamboo pipes

My yoga group discovered a laid-back little cafe clinging to the cliff. We spent long hours there, lounging on the cushions, sampling fresh salads and chatting about our regular lives that seemed a world away. Among the group were a journalist, a high-powered business type and a restaurant owner who'd come from as far a field as Tokyo, San Francisco and London. All of them found the classes a challenge on both a physical and a mental level, but no one regretted their decision to come. Many commented on newly found muscles, while others just smiled and nodded enthusiastically when I asked if they had found what they were looking for.

At the end of only my fourth day, I found myself near the cliff top in time to watch the sunset. I sat on a sun-warmed stone and breathed in the smells of the fish BBQs wafting from the guesthouses below. A few straggling surfers were still bobbing on the waves, determined to make the most of the last rays of sun. Their determination made me think of my own achievements. Just a few days earlier, I'd been hunched over my desk, stressfully punching away at a keyboard and now here I was feeling utterly content. It was a contentment that felt much deeper than any I had experienced before: a feeling of complete joy and lightness that I could never hope to gain from shopping, fine dining or simply lazing by the pool.