FlowSTATE

Following an aggressive cancer diagnosis and the end of her marriage, KATIE NICHOLL finds tranquility at the Oberoi

Vanities /Travel

I WAS HAVING my very own Eat Pray Love moment. Lying on a yoga mat, listening to the sound of the sea, the warm frangipani scent that follows a monsoon downpour filling my nostrils and tears rolling down my face.

My yogi, Yani, touched my tummy as I lay in savasana and told me to envision a ball of green light energy entering my body, cleansing me. As I did, a tsunami of grief erupted. Having just celebrated my 48th birthday, I had traveled to the Oberoi beach resorts in Bali and Lombok for a spiritual retreat where I'd been promised my own "personal journey of self-discovery." By way of the Indonesian coastline and my own five-star villa complete with outdoor pool and emperor-size handcarved wooden bed, I was getting it.

Lest you think me indulgent, let me assure you: It had been a turbulent two years.

On Valentine's Day 20231 received the life-shattering call: I had cholangiocarcinoma, also known as bile duct cancer. I had been awaiting the results of a precautionary MRI following indigestion and mild heart palpitations. Not in my worst nightmares did I suspect I had a rare cancer with a terrible survival rate. I knew I was looking my mortality in the eye. I also knew I was determined to watch my seven-year-old son and 12-year-old daughter grow up. When my surgeon, Dora Pissanou, told me the tumor was operable, I made a pact with myself not only to make a full recovery but to live life to the full.

A year later, newly in remission and single (my marriage of 18 years, which had been hanging by a thread before my diagnosis, collapsed), I knew that having healed physically from surgery and chemotherapy, I needed to heal emotionally and spiritually. Then an email about the seven-day Oberoi program dropped in my inbox.

I arrived in Bali in late March, just in time for the Balinese New Year. The festival, which includes Nyepi, a day of silence, is intended to cleanse the island and drive out malevolent spirits. My timing was auspicious. My bambooand-coconut-leaf villa became my sanctuary; a sunken bath overlooked a small garden and private pool. I booked regular massages (including a Balinese head massage that immediately soothed my stressed and flaky scalp). The service was first-class—a member of the staff polished sunglasses by the pool—and I had nothing to worry about but my own thoughts. Apart from speaking to my children, I switched off for the first time in months. This was my chance to replenish myself, and though I initially worried about traveling alone, I found great pleasure in my own company and dining solo.

While in Bali I took a handwritten letter to lay at a temple, known as a pura, which sits at the center of a 100-year-old banyan tree in the hotel gardens. It was my message to the universe, thanking it for my life, my family, my friends, and for the new life-affirming love that arrived when I was least expecting it. In Eastern medicine, wood is aligned with the liver (I had 50 percent of mine resected, but it has since nearly entirely regrown), and there was something about this tree, the way its giant roots burrowed deep into the ground, that resonated with me. It reminded me of the scar that now runs down my body, dividing my life into a before and after cancer.

When I arrived in Lombok, known as the Island of a Thousand Mosques, it was the end of Ramadan, and prayers echoed around the island. Less developed than Bali, the countryside is mountainous and green with rice fields. In the nearby Gili islands, I swam in crystal-clear waters with wild turtles, sacred creatures that represent wisdom, stability, and longevity, which I took to be a good omen. I traveled northeast, to Lombok's national park, to see the Sendang Gile waterfalls, located at the foot of Mount Rinjani, believed to be a link between Lombok and the heavens, in the village of Senaru. After a short trek through the rainforest, I ventured into the full force of the waterfall. I stood there, legs shaking, heart pounding. Stepping out of the falls, I've never felt more alive.