24 Hours of Quiet: Bali’s Day of Silence Is the Ultimate Reset
As my plane prepares to taxi and the captain continues crackling indecipherable debriefs over the speakers, I’m at the point where I’d usually turn my phone off of airplane mode. A deluge of WhatsApp messages, emails and unwanted news updates would promptly begin flooding through, splintering my attention. But not this time—I’m in Bali for a very special occasion, treating myself to a much-needed digital detox along the way. Airplane mode is staying on.
Half an hour later, from my perch in the pool at my hotel, I have a clear view of Bali’s airport at the opposite end of the bay. A huge Emirates passenger jet banks hard in the sky and lines up for its final approach, its large tires kissing the runway with a puff of smoke. It’s strange to think that in just three days, this conveyor belt of landings and take-offs will grind to a halt. The airport will be closed, the streets will be empty, and the entire island will descend into complete silence for Nyepi, the Balinese Day of Silence.
As an Indonesian, I’m no stranger to everyday noise pollution, which is a serious environmental health concern in countries all around the world. Studies have shown that noise pollution can lead to various health conditions including high blood pressure, hearing loss, sleep disorders, and psychological issues related to stress, anxiety and depression. It may help explain why calmcations are one of 2025’s travel trends—a holiday is supposed to offer relief from all of these things. That means slowing down, disconnecting and relaxing in relative peace and quiet. More and more people are traveling to quiet places (such as tranquil villages, secluded beach escapes and even cabins in the woods) where you can escape the noise of everyday life.
So, here I am relaxing at Four Seasons Resort at Jimbaran Bay, in one of the 147 private pool villas facing out towards the glistening sea. Built in the style of a Balinese home, I’m in my own little compound, complete with a traditional carved wooden door at the entrance. “The doors are always small here in Bali,” my buggy driver advised as he pulled up to the villa. “That way, the demons can’t get in.”
Floor-to-ceiling glass doors flood the villa with sunshine and a sea breeze. The spacious bathroom is equally bright, complete with a freestanding tub and outdoor shower amongst a pretty flower-filled garden. Outside, the sofa under the poolside gazebo tempts me to curl up with a book but, as I’m technically here for work on a press trip, I have an appointment at the Healing Village Spa. It’s a tough life.
I’ve booked the Gemstone Joy treatment—the first stage of what I’m dubbing my digital detox holiday. My phone has been in airplane mode since take-off, and I have no intention of changing that until I return home. Thami, my therapist, massages a range of gemstone oils into my body using long strokes, combining garnets, amethysts and a crystal wand face massage that releases tension and elevates the body’s energy. I’ve never had a massage like this before—the only way I can describe the afterglow is joyous. Up to this point, I’ve always been a little skeptical of crystals, but I feel genuinely rejuvenated, at ease and calm.
Next, in the Illume Room, I’m treated to the Celestial Light Ritual, which takes place in Bali’s first surround-sound spa suite, combining colorful light therapy and surround-sound technology where large speakers built into all four walls become part of the treatment, working to immerse you in new, dreamy dimensions.
After a warm bath with crystal-infused oils, I make myself comfortable on a heated bed of crushed quartz crystals. My therapist, Suasti, brings the crystal singing bowls to life, easing me into a state of bliss. When struck or rubbed with a mallet, these bowls create a resonant sound that inexplicably grounds you in the moment. A full body massage follows, where heated crystal massage tools relax my muscles. I’m now a world away from the low-frequency anxiety that has often soundtracked my steady social media use in recent years.
While I settle into this short Bali trip, most of my fellow travelers are busy trying to flee one of the world’s most famous tropical islands. Nyepi, known as the Day of Silence, is just days away. It marks the start of Balinese New Year—a period when everything on the island (including the airport) shuts down for 24 hours. During this time, no one is allowed to leave their home, turn on lights, make noise, or cook any food. The Balinese want to trick visiting evil demons into thinking the whole island has been deserted, leaving the residents in peace for another year. This applies to visitors, too, who are forbidden from leaving their hotel. Depending on the permissions granted by local priests, hotels may be allowed a low level of light and still serve food, but it varies across the island.
For many foreign tourists, this is apparently their idea of hell. Heaven forbid that we be torn away from our multiple screens and the hyper-connectivity of never-ending feeds and algorithms that are more mysterious than the crystals used by my therapists this morning. For me, this is the whole point. Wouldn’t we all benefit from at least one day of silence per year? I find that it sounds incredibly appealing, and I couldn’t wait to experience it for the very first time.
To mark the occasion, I transfer north to the Four Seasons Resort Ubud at Sayan the day before Nyepi. Ubud, a town at the foothills of Mount Agung, is the renowned spiritual heart of Bali, and it feels just right to be spending the Day of Silence here. I watch the preparations unfold from my window—beautiful Balinese women, dressed in traditional clothing, carry offerings on their heads to the temples, while children celebrate the school closures, parading their ogoh-ogoh down the streets. Typically made from bamboo and paper mache, ogoh-ogoh are sculptures representing demons and other negative elements. They are all impressively terrifying—the stuff of nightmares. After the raucous parade this evening, they’ll be burned to ashes to represent the removal of negative elements.
Crossing the footbridge into the Sayan resort is an event in and of itself. Built in 1998 by British-Malaysian architect John Heah, the main building resembles a giant rice bowl. The multi-level space feels like something from a sci-fi movie set, offering wide views out over a lush, green botanical garden (with its very own rice terraces) that tumble down to greet the rush of the Ayung River, Bali’s longest and holiest river.
The sounds of gushing water and rainforest soothe me. My one-bedroom villa is surrounded by thick greenery that seems to sigh and breathe meditatively, an inviting private pool taking it all in. Inside, the decor blends contemporary design with traditional Balinese touches. From handwoven fabrics and carved teak furniture, every design detail has been carefully crafted.
I find Ibu Fera, a former Buddhist nun who is currently the resort’s in-house wellness mentor, residing in the Dharma Shanti Bale, an open-air bamboo structure right by the river. I’m here for my Sacred Nap, where I’m cocooned in a silk hammock suspended from the ceiling. The sounds of nature harmonize with Ibu Fera’s gentle rendition of the life story of Buddha, the swaying of the hammock rocking me to sleep. It’s one of the best naps I’ve had in years, and I wake up feeling existentially relaxed and ready for my spa treatment.
The recently refurbished Sacred River Spa feels like entering another realm. A footpath winds through the lush gardens, beckoning you into the private treatment rooms that shoot off either side. Each one has a Balinese or Indonesian name, such as Rahayu (safety), Liang (happiness) and Tedja (fire). My first treatment is the Ultimate Renewal, where my therapist, Ariasih, starts with a soothing hair and scalp elixir. After this, I slip into the sauna for 15 minutes before heading back into the treatment room for a deep tissue massage, where she pulls and stretches my limbs with years of delicate expertise.
Refreshed and rejuvenated, I have time to head back to the top of the main entrance, where the ogoh-ogoh parade is marching past at fever pitch–one last outburst of noise and joyous emotion, before the silence descends. The statues seem to come alive, gory mummified remains floating over our heads and large, ugly four-armed demons swooping down to pick up any stragglers left behind. It’s a sight unlike any other.
With the Sayan locals celebrating long into the night, I settle into a seven-course Chef’s Table dinner at Sokasi. This intimate eight-seater bamboo venue serves traditional Balinese dishes grilled right in front of you; highlights include the duck in palm leaves slow-cooked for twelve hours underground, and the suckling pig spit-roasted over a fire for four hours.
On the morning of Nyepi, I can hear nothing but the distant roar of the river below, and the gentle breeze passing through the rainforest. Although Balinese locals are dutifully housebound across the island, I learn that the staff here have stayed overnight, so that they can continue working within the hotel grounds for this special day. I’m grateful for this, because I have two exquisite treatments lined up. There’s a general hush about the place, and gentle smiles and nods are used as greetings, rather than the conversations I’ve been used to striking up the past few days.
Quietly, so as not to alert the attention of the demons, I make my way back down to the spa for the Restu Bumi treatment, which involves wearing a chestpiece of ancient pis bolong coins and a cooling jade mask over my eyes. Ariasih massages me using hot and cold Indonesian moss agate, the stones gliding over my skin in a swirling, almost hypnotic pattern. As I let my mind wander, I come back to the same thought—wouldn’t we all benefit from this Day of Silence?
On my home island of Lombok, a few small Balinese communities faithfully observe the day of silence, but it tends to be drowned out by the thrum of constant traffic and the commotion of the city all around. It’s only when I’m here that I really notice just how irritating that can be. This is my first time observing the Day of Silence, but I suspect it won’t be my last.
My final treatment is the Holistic Buccal Lift and Sculpt Facial. This is my first facial, but I can already tell that Nia, my therapist, is a seasoned pro. Her deft hands work my face with intention, smoothing out any fine lines and encouraging lymphatic drainage. She pops her fingers into my mouth (warning me beforehand, thankfully), pressing and kneading my lips and cheeks. It’s a weird sensation, but knowing that it’ll reduce tension and improve muscle tone, I surrender. Nia is keen to show me the results, and I can hardly believe what I’m seeing in the mirror—my face is a totally different shape; my jawline is sharper and my lips are plumper. At this point, I’m convinced that there may well be magical elements at play here. We are in Ubud, after all.
The next morning, I’m up at the crack of dawn, advised by the receptionist that they’re waiting for the roads to reopen at 6 a.m., so my driver can pick me up. Throughout the 24-hour period of Nyepi, local guards, known as pecalang, patrol up and down the island, ensuring that everyone adheres to the strict rules. If they catch you with a light on, expect a stern lecture. In some cases, foreign tourists have even been detained for ignoring the rules.
This is a too common occurrence, it would seem. I often catch videos on Instagram of bules (western tourists) behaving badly, or threads on X breaking down the latest drama of badly behaved teens running amok. And there we have it…back to that infinite scroll.
On all accounts, this has been a fantastic calmcation, and I find myself already fantasizing about the next one. It’s not hard to do a social media detox while you’re here–you’ll want to let go of the outside noise. In fact, as I head back to the airport, I ponder whether I even want to reinstall the various apps I deleted just four short days ago. Perhaps I’ll let the ethos of Nyepi linger a little longer.