A Silent Day in Bali: Nyepi Holy Day
This month, I’ve been living in Bali, an island in Indonesia that is all sorts of popular with the “digital nomad community”, yogis, and semi-adventurous travelers. But who’s here, why, and what it means is a whole other post entirely.
Yesterday was Nyepi, a local Hindu holiday that is celebrated in a way truly unlike anything else I’ve ever heard of or experienced.
As we made plans for weekend trips, dives, and flights out, we began to hear about this “day of silence” when the island would really shut down.
At first, it seemed like something to be aware of but largely brush off — we expected it to be like Thanksgiving or Christmas Day at home, the majority of people are home and businesses are closed, but life wouldn’t, you know, stop.
Wrong!
To illustrate how seriously the Balinese take this holiday, a few of the rules involved in ensuring the island is truly silent and that the Hindus can practice the meditation and reflection of the holiday:
No fires or light. No working. No entertainment.
No talking or eating.
No one is allowed onto the beaches or streets.
Neighborhood patrols ensure everyone stays indoors with lights off, silent.
The international airport is shut down for 24 hours.
The more I heard about it, the more I was curious about the holiday and looking forward to a day of being forced to stay home and relax.
Americans could learn a thing or two about truly taking a day off without expecting to run errands or go shopping or eat out.
Just. Stay. Home.
Be with your family. Don’t do or watch or buy anything.
Reflect on the past year. Let go of the demons.
Meditate. Feel cleansed and ready for the next year.
In preparation for being locked down during Nyepi, my roommate and I went to the grocery store to stock up on snacks. Our American discomfort over skipping meals overrode our desire to partake fully in the holiday.
We came home with yogurt & granola, cheese & crackers, a box of mac & cheese, and milk & cocoa pebbles. It would be a very dairy day.
The eve of Nyepi, we wandered around town with friends (having worked in the morning until the coworking space closed), looking for open restaurants and mini marts.
We found an open-air pub full of other tourists and sat down for a couple beers and bar snacks, watching a brilliant sunset fade behind short buildings.
Later, we walked up Batu Bolong, already lined with tourists sitting curbside waiting for the Ogoh Ogoh procession to make its way down the main road of Canggu.
After a couple hours of loitering in the darkened porch seating of one of our favorite cafes, we heard and saw the “parade” approaching:
Drums and gongs banging
Lights flashing off-rhythm with the music
Balinese men and boys in dark plaid sarongs and head cloths
A towering, giant papier-mâché Ogoh Ogoh demon ducking under low-hanging power lines (aided by tall wooden sticks)
Once the demon found its way to the empty lot and designated end of the route, we stood under a loudly whirring drone until the crowds began to disperse.
After an hour sitting together outside our villa, we decided to go to the beach for a midnight viewing of the stars.
The sky and the night waves crashing was incredible.
We wished we’d be allowed out of the house the next night to see it when the island was completely quiet and dark, no city lights glowing on the horizon.
I ran in wet sand and danced through the foamy waves, and we laid in the sand to look for shooting stars.
A couple local patrols walked by, waved their bright flashlights at us, and warned us not to swim.
Two Moroccan guys drinking beer at a picnic table near our scooters introduced themselves.
After a brief conversation about our travels to each others’ home towns, we scooted home, the cool night wind a fresh last taste of freedom before the 24-hour lockdown.
At 10:30 am, I awoke to the roosters crowing and dogs barking as usual. In bright sunlight, they day didn’t yet seem so different, except that I had nowhere to go.
I ate cocoa pebbles and retreated back to my room to sort through my 2016 financial spreadsheets and email my accountant.
For lunch, we ate a plate of cheese, turkey, tomato, and apples, discussed a contract I was negotiating, and I walked my roommate through my writing + social media process. Then we each went back to bed for an afternoon nap.
At dusk, I woke up, and the silence was visual and tangible.
No lights shone in the streets or on the horizon.
We snuck into our own kitchen and turned on one light. A friend next door escaped her homestay to come over for dinner.
We giggled our way through mac&cheese preparations, turned the lights back off, and ate in semidarkness with 2 candles lighting the table and a fan blowing mosquitos away.
Full of two-toned fake cheese, we loaded an iPad with a stargazing app and began to identify the stars and constellations within view.
After a while, the backlit screen began to ruin the viewing experience, so we put all our devices away.
We whispered our way down the alley until we reached the temple, whose low entry area had only small offering stands and allowed us a broader view of the night sky.
The night sky and Milky Way were… indescribably stunning.
We stood in awe for minutes, silent, staring up at the starry night.
The ocean waves crashed in the distance, audible over the silence of an intentionally quiet evening.
Flashlights bounced down the street, and the nearby dogs began to bark, a violent interruption and a reminder of our illegal status outside our domain.
We crept quickly back and slipped into our gate, sitting hushed while flashlights scanned the alley.
Then we dipped into our cool plunge pool and sat together quietly for another hour before bidding each other goodnight and returning to our rooms to sleep.
Other Accounts of Nyepi
An info page briefly describes the history and traditions of Nyepi:
In 2006, one writer dreamed of the silence spreading to other countries:
In 2011, another wrote of the complicated influence of Bali’s tourism on the local culture and businesses, and how celebrating Nyepi has become even more important as a way to maintain one of the Balinese traditions:
Katherine is a digital nomad, working remotely while she travels the world — on the road since June 2014.
She was a member of Remote Year 2 Battuta, living around the world with 75 other digital nomads from February 2016 to January 2017.
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