History of Nusa Penida
Just a couple of hours off the coast of Bali lies Nusa Penida, a small island known for its iconic beaches and preserved .
It remains untouched by the reaches of modern day westernization. Allowing it to maintain an air of rural island beauty and charm, as well as an authentic look into the lives of the islanders who inhabit it.
Most people who visit Nusa Penida are in search of a beach paradise getaway from the traffic and crowds of Bali. What many don’t realize while they pose in front of the iconic white sand beaches for their instagram, is that this island actually has a dark spiritual history.
According to Indonesian legend, Nusa Penida is the black magic island.
The Legend of the black magic island
With a culture rich in spiritual beliefs and legends, Indonesians tell the story of an evil warlock accompanied by an army of demons that wrought chaos on Nusa Penida.
In an attempt to subdue the warlock and diminish his strength, a portion of his soul was locked away on the island. To this day, locals do not dare utter the warlock’s name. They believe that his evil manifests in the illnesses, deaths, and natural disasters of the island.
All over the island can be found traditional style protection masks meant to ward off this evil. Supposedly, there is somewhere on the island that houses the warlock’s evil spirit, and is said to be a source of power for those who practice black magic.
All this might sound a little dark, but I actually think it’s a beautiful representation of the spiritual beliefs in Indonesia. This evil spirit is seen as necessary because it gives balance to all the light and goodness in the world. For without the darkness, there would be no light.
Now whether you consider yourself to be a person of much spiritual belief or not, there’s no denying that the history of Nusa Penida is an interesting one.
Personally, my time on the island was one of filled with love and unforgettable new experiences. One of my favorite adventures in Southeast Asia was visiting an underground temple on this island, Goa Giri Putri. A journey into the Temple of Shadows.
Goa Giri Putri: Temple Within a Cave’s Depths
This temple was built inside a naturally occurring cave on the east side of the island, and the entrance is a rock tunnel you have to squeeze through.
Before you can even get to the entrance of the temple, you have to be dressed in a traditional sarong, and climb a hundred stone steps up to the top.
How I made my way to goa giri putri
It was only after arriving at my hostel on Nusa, that I realized there was no way to get around on this island without a motorbike.
As someone who wasn’t comfortable driving a bike, I quickly went to the front desk and asked the man if he could help me get to the temple that brought me to the island in the first place.
I waited while he made a call, and 20 minutes later I was on the back of a bike off to my destination. (I later found out he had called his friend who was working down the road and explained my situation, he dropped everything and came to take me.)
Interactions with the Locals
I found these kinds of gestures common in Indonesia, the people were so kind and proud of their home they always wanted to make sure visitors had a great time.
There were many times during my travels in Indonesia when the locals would go out of their way to make my experience that much more wonderful.
“This place felt untouched by tourist commercialization, preserved in its humble livelihood”
As we flew down the coastal single lane road, I took in as much of the island as I could. It was scattered with makeshift houses, fishermen boats, and acres of palm trees. A complete 180 from the westernized, modern infrastructure of Bali. This place felt untouched by tourist commercialization, preserved in its humble livelihood.
Chatting with my driver, he told me he had lived on this island his entire life. He had never even made the hour boat ride over to Bali. This single lane road and stretch of palm trees was his home. He was content with things the way they were and there wasn’t a need to go anywhere else.
I found this sentiment to be a common one, shared among many islanders across Indonesia. They love their home island, and are proud of where they’re from. It doesn’t matter what exists outside its borders, this is their home, and it’s perfect.
Preparation for the Temple
Once we arrived at our destination, my driver pulled into a gas station across the road, and explained I’d have to rent a sarong to enter the temple. (This didn’t come as a shock because most temples across Asia uphold some kind of dress code)
What may have thrown me off had I not done my research on the temple prior, was my driver then asked if I was “on my time of bleeding”. Goa Giri Putri, along with many other temples and religious centers across the world do not allow women to enter on their menstrual cycle.
It can be viewed as women being “impure” during this time for the shedding that is happening from their body, and energetic imbalance as a result. Luckily I was all good on that front, and ready to begin my journey up.
Descent into the cave
Once I arrived to the top of the steps, a priest collected my money, and gave me a blessing before showing me the hole I’d be entering through. This was exactly the kind of adventure I was looking for.
After the initial descent through the entrance, the ceilings open up to reveal the entirety of the temple . It was even more spacious than I had imagined, with stalagmites and cave formations throughout.
The air inside was hot and humid, and I could see priests hanging out in different sections of the cave as I walked around.
There were a variety of altars set up with offerings and burning incense. I took about 30 minutes to fully wander and explore around the cave. I sat on some stone benches set up in front of the altar and closed my eyes and took in how sacred the temple felt.
Upon Leaving…
A priest met me at the exit, and offered me another blessing with a donation. This time he used water and uncooked rice. I cupped my hands while he poured a small puddle in them and led me through a prayer.
At the end, he wet and dipped his finger in the rice, and pressed it on my forehead. Bits of rice clung to where my third eye would be, a mark of triumph for my first solo adventure success.
The last thing the priest gave me was a traditional Indonesian bracelet made of red, white, and black thread twisted together. This very bracelet stayed on my wrist for the next 3 months across Southeast Asia and all the adventures that followed. A blessing indeed.
Here’s to many more experiences on the horizon.
With love always,
Alyssa of LyssJustLiving