The forests of central Sri Lanka are home to one of the world’s best yoga retreats, where the scenery and ancient sites on the doorstep are as blissful as the classes
‘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.
An evening tai chi class led by Gingi Lee at Ulpotha.
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.
The fantastic food – curries, salads, red rice, fresh fruit – is laid out and eaten communally.
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.
Guests sleep in open-sided huts under mosquito nets.
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.
Bowls of flowers are left outside huts and all the communal areas.
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