‘Stop! You can’t go any further!”
We were on our way to a small temple overlooking the lake at Ulpotha when Suzi, the manager, came rushing up, looking flustered. “The elephants are closer now. It’s not safe.”
It was April, harvest time, and the smell of freshly threshed rice stored in giant clay pots was like catnip to the wild elephant population. A group of them had roamed into the expansive grounds of Ulpotha village, giving Suzi the jitters and sending a wave of excitement through the guests. We’d heard the elephants, and we’d seen the pink paper lanterns set in the paddy fields at night to ward them off; they were tantalisingly close, but none of us had actually seen one.
Ulpotha is an exceptionally beautiful yoga retreat in central Sri Lanka. As the elephant incident suggests, retreat is the operative word. A four-hour drive from Colombo and a mile from the nearest road, Ulpotha’s 11 mud huts are scattered across 22 acres of forest, home to macaque and langur monkeys, and all sorts of reptiles, birds and insects. The site is circled by mountains where monks still live in remote temples and caves. At the heart of the estate is an ancient tanque (reservoir) built more than 1,000 years ago and fed by spring water.
The land was bought in 1994 by two friends – Viren Perera and Giles Scott, who liked the idea of a jungle hideaway for parties – and became a yoga retreat by chance, when Giles met a teacher at a party and invited him to host a holiday among the newly built huts. Twenty years on it’s talked about in revered tones by yogis as one of the most extraordinary yoga destinations in the world.
Ulpotha is more expensive than some yoga retreats, but the effects are more pronounced. I spent most of the week in a semi-trance. Daily yoga and tai chi sessions with Gingi Lee, a visiting ashtanga teacher, helped, as did the soupy heat, but these alone didn’t explain the profound feeling of calm that descended on me from day one. Apart from its remote setting, what distinguishes Ulpotha is the way it’s run – by a committee of six villagers, who make all the decisions about finances, hiring and firing, and replenishing supplies.
“There is a sense of great pride and belonging among the staff,” Suzi told me, which seems borne out by the length of time they’ve spent here. Nirosha, the accountant, and Agit, who’s involved in the day-to-day management, including the elephant watch, have both worked there for over 20 years. Forty-five locals live on site. The result is that Ulpotha is nothing like a hotel: it’s a small community, where visitors are very well looked after.
It’s also disconnected. Free from the glare of screens, beeping of devices and whirr of electricity, I became acutely aware of other sounds: from the frog choir as I lay in bed, with nothing but a mosquito net between me and the night, to the constant thwack of coconuts being opened (they get through 22,000 a year) and the slap of clothes being washed against the stone steps of the lake.
The only time I felt slightly anxious in the week was climbing the wooden ladder to the treehouse, where I spent a night alone, 40ft above ground. In the morning I avoided looking down and instead admired the view of the lake, where a solitary swimmer made ripples in the still surface, and the doctor was taking his daily walk.
Dr Srilal Mudunkothge has worked at Ulpotha for 12 years, prescribing Ayurvedic treatments from a mud hut adorned with his qualifications. Some guests sign up for the full two-week detoxification programme; I opted for “just” a massage, a long ritual that involved being rubbed in a paste of turmeric, gooseberry and honey, steamed in a giant wicker basket and rubbed in oils. Needless to say it was deeply relaxing, although as the doctor told me, just being at Ulpotha is therapeutic – even if you don’t do yoga, like one repeat guest who’s been coming for years and has never been to a class. The fees paid by guests fund a clinic offering free treatments to locals, although the doctor’s reputation draws people from miles around; some travel all night to be first in the queue.
While guests on Ayurvedic programmes headed off for treatments after morning yoga, the rest of us were drawn to the lake, to lie in the raft-like hammocks or float in its warm, silky water among white petals, as yellow butterflies danced overhead and kingfishers and brahminy kites swooped. There were times when this sensory overload was almost too much – nature throwing the whole “look at me” shebang at us.
Dinner roused me from my stupor. It was communal, the food served in clay pots laid out on rush floor mats in the ambalama, the open-sided dining area. The lack of fridges – dismissed by one founder as a means of “keeping unfresh food” – means everything is made from scratch, and it’s fantastic: a selection of vegetarian curries, salads, red rice grown in the surrounding fields, sambol and juices – watermelon, tamarind and lime, apple, hibiscus flower and custard apple.
Much as it’s hard to leave the nurturing confines of Ulpotha, all 20 guests signed up for a trip to Dambulla or Sigiriya, two of Sri Lanka’s most iconic sites. But Ulpotha is in an area of rarely visited archaeological sites and temples, so I decided to explore the more immediate vicinity. Ras Vehera is a 40ft-high standing Buddha, much less well known than its slightly taller cousin Aukana, probably because it is unfinished. A group of elderly Sri Lankan women arrived as we were leaving but in nine years Suzi has never seen a foreign tourist there.
We also visited Arankele, a forest hermitage dating to the 10th century BC, where a stone bath stands in the ruins of an ancient ayurvedic hospital and a mile-long meditation path wends through the jungle. Macaque monkeys with their old-man faces and Kim Jong-un hairstyle stared at us from the trees, turning their faces every time I got my camera out. Nagala is another off-the-beaten track site not far from Ulpotha, with a temple overseen by a monk who is also an Ayurvedic doctor. In temperatures nudging 40C, I climbed stone steps to a rocky ledge where a 50ft-long reclining Buddha painted in vivid red robe and saffron yellow face. Given the growing popularity of Sri Lanka these ancient treasures will no doubt start to get the attention they deserve, but for now it’s perfectly possible to have them to yourself.
Most of the villagers at Ulpotha are Buddhists, but shamanism is still an integral part of life in rural Sri Lanka. One evening we were invited to the renovated manor house, where a shaman was offering the first rice harvest to the local gods. Men in white sarongs and white T-shirts were gathered around an altar covered in coconut flowers and tools for harvesting; incense, chanting and drumming filled the air, drifting into the night. Perhaps the noise kept the elephants at bay. We never saw them.
• The trip was provided by Ulpotha (ulpotha.com). One week from $1,470pp, including accommodation, yoga, all meals, one day trip and a massage. Open November-March and mid June-August
