Some people are good at art. Others are good at cooking. I’m good at hurting myself. Big injuries come like clockwork, as soon as the pain of past wounds subsides. A sprained ankle in 2007 left me with tons of scar tissue, a sprained wrist in 2013 prevented me from doing a chaturanga at yoga today, a clumsy fall on my knee showed up as an inflamed mass on an MRI, and in August I broke a bone in my foot that forced me to wear a knee-high boot. everytime As frustrating as it can be, the timing was especially awful. Four weeks after injuring my foot, I left for Indonesia, a trip I’d been looking forward to for months. I’d scouted out cities and planned a dream itinerary that included sunrise hikes, treks through ancient mountains and prehistoric ruins, and long days exploring beautiful, exotic villages on foot. I didn’t cancel or postpone the trip, as my doctor recommended. Instead, I adjusted my expectations: less hiking, more rest, and lots of ibuprofen. And that’s what I did. I explored the caves of Semanu, climbed the 10-story pyramids of Yogyakarta, and traversed the labyrinthine interior of the gigantic Jakarta market. I was sweating, but safe in my gigantic, foam-lined orthopedic shoes. But by the time I reached my final destination, the Bali town of Ubud, my body was at its limit. All of my old injuries were ringing like struck tuning forks, my right foot the loudest. So when I arrived at my hotel, Mandapa, a Ritz-Carlton Reserve, I decided to solve the problem for myself (or someone else). Ubud is a spiritual place, with Hindu temples and shrines, traditional dance and crafts, lush rainforests, rivers, and emerald rice fields. (Yes, it’s where Elizabeth Gilbert made her final trip.) Eat, pray, love Mandapa reflects that. It’s built into a hillside, bordering the jungle where I saw a monitor lizard shambling about one morning. Yoga classes overlook rushing water, and the spa offers a comprehensive wellness program that goes far beyond the usual menu of massages and facials: nutritional counseling, couples’ “ceremonies” based on traditional bride-groom regimens, sessions with a shaman of Balinese royal descent. And then there’s Ketut Mursi, the “blind healer.” On the spa’s menu, the description of her services was about four lines shorter than the others: “Ketut Mursi is an extraordinarily skilled reflexologist with great intuition and a sense of touch.” I read it over and over again. I’m a health journalist and have written about wellness my entire career, so I know a healthy skepticism is necessary for anything that doesn’t have scientific research to back it up. But the Balinese air had me booked, and I waited with increasing tension as the day approached. Despite the hushed atmosphere at Mandapa Spa’s front desk, I was nervous when I checked in. The manager told me that Ketut Mursi spoke little English but would sit with me after the treatment and translate for me. But my anxiety was not alleviated. My usual method of communication with non-English speakers is a big smile and lots of gestures, but neither of these are helpful here, given the healer’s poor eyesight.
