In Bali, mythology is not a distant echo. It is present, lived, and woven into the daily rhythm of life. Stories are not confined to the past but unfold in offerings, in temple carvings, and in the sacred geometry of rituals. Among these stories, the turtle holds particular weight. In Balinese Hindu belief, Bedawang Nala is a giant turtle resting beneath the earth, bearing the world’s weight. When it shifts, mountains tremble and seas rise. It is not simply a creature of the sea, but a force of nature that holds the island’s balance in quiet, unseen motion.

This reverence does not end with the tale. It extends to how turtles appear in ceremonies, where they are symbols of endurance and protection. They are etched into the stone walls of temples, their form part of a spiritual blueprint that connects the natural world to divine intention. In Bali, the turtle is not a metaphor. It is a guide, a keeper of stories, a living symbol that crosses time.

Along Bali’s southern coasts, where the land gives way to the Indian Ocean, sea turtles continue their ancient return. They arrive on moonlit shores, carving nests into the sand with quiet determination. Green turtles, olive ridleys, hawksbills, loggerheads, and the elusive leatherbacks visit the beaches to lay their eggs. Each journey is a return, a passage that bridges the eternal and the immediate. It is a cycle older than memory.

But that cycle is now under pressure. The world into which these turtles are born is changing. Egg harvesting, illegal poaching, and the loss of natural nesting grounds have strained their numbers. Pollution clouds the waters. Plastics mimic prey and choke the unwary. Climate shifts tilt the balance of sex ratios in hatchlings. Coastal development erases the silence and shelter these creatures depend on. The result is quiet and devastating. Populations have diminished. Survival has become uncertain.

Against this backdrop, a new kind of ritual has taken root. Conservation groups across Bali are not simply protecting turtles; they are preserving meaning. In places like Kuta and Serangan, organisations work to guard nests, rescue the injured, and reintroduce hatchlings to the sea. They involve communities, schools, and visiting guests, turning each release into an act of renewal. In this space, science and tradition do not clash. They collaborate.

Jumeirah Bali, poised above the cliffs of Uluwatu, has chosen to be part of this movement. With the guidance of Eco Tourism Bali and the Turtle Conservation and Education Center, the resort hosted its first turtle release in June. Guests gathered not for spectacle but for something quieter and more intimate. Thirty five olive ridley hatchlings were guided to the sea, their tiny forms illuminated by the setting sun. It was a moment of stillness. A gesture that asked nothing, offered everything.

This effort is not a performance. It is a continuation of belief. At Jumeirah Bali, sustainability is not a slogan. It is an alignment with place. The resort engages with conservation not as a guest in Bali, but as part of the living community that holds these stories. It supports education. It amplifies local voices. It welcomes guests into something larger than a stay.

To release a turtle is to practice patience, reverence, and hope. It is to trust that ancient instincts still matter, that the ocean remembers, that the world can be carried forward not by force but by quiet resilience. In Bali, this is not an exception. It is the way.