Sol Temple Retreat Center Review: Rain, Frogs and the Deepest Sleep of the Year
After ten loud, bright days of IRONMAN week in Kona, Bex Hamilton crossed the island to a jungle retreat in Puna to see whether her body could do the opposite of a race.
Kona is the island turned up loud: heat, crowds, start lines and finish chutes. Puna, on the wet eastern side, is the island turned down. The road narrows, the green closes in, and the air turns soft and heavy with rain. Sol Temple Retreat Center sits in that rainforest, close enough to Kīlauea that you feel the volcano’s presence even when you can’t see it.
I arrived worn out from a hard year and a harder week. Three days later I left lighter than I had felt in a very long time. That is the whole review, really, but here is how it happened.
At a Glance
A cabin in the jungle
I slept in a small wooden cabin set into the edge of the forest, with a chair on the porch and nothing but green beyond it. Nights here are a soundtrack of their own: rain drumming on the roof, a chorus of frogs and the occasional gecko roommate on the wall.
It should have kept me awake. Instead, I slept more deeply than I had all year, and dreamed vividly every night: protective circles, trees, old magic. I woke one morning feeling better than I could remember.
Everything about the place points you outward. Heliconia, ti, and banana grow right up to the paths, and the clearings open onto tall eucalyptus and Norfolk pines against a fast-moving sky.
As a biophilic designer, I spend my working life trying to bring this feeling indoors. Here you simply walk out into it.
Living off the land
Sol is a working piece of land, and guests are welcome to get their hands in it. I picked coffee cherries from the trees, helped plant saplings in the morning sun, and ate fruit straight from the property: guavas piled in a basket on the kitchen counter, and bunches of blue java bananas ripening on the stem.
There is something deeply settling about doing simple physical work outdoors, slowly, with no finish line in sight.
The people who hold it
Sol is the work of Scotty Oceano, a former Red Bull big-mountain skier who survived an avalanche burial and a brain injury, and rebuilt his life here.
The land was blessed by a Hawaiian kumu, and he speaks about looking after it as a responsibility rather than a business. You feel that care everywhere, from the planting to the welcome.
Around him is a small, warm community who made us feel at home from the first evening. After ten tightly wound days of race week, that ease was exactly what I needed. Nobody rushed me, and nobody asked me to be anything other than tired.
Nobody rushed me, and nobody asked me to be anything other than tired.
Beyond the gate
Puna’s coast is wild and beautiful: black sand, dark lava and heavy surf, with weather that changes by the minute.
One afternoon a storm cleared over a black-sand beach, and a double rainbow arched across the whole bay. In Hawaiian tradition, rainbows are hōʻailona, signs worth paying attention to. I took it as one.
Then there is Kīlauea, close enough to visit in an evening. I watched it erupting at dusk, lava glowing under an orange sky, and understood why Hawaiians speak of Pele as a living presence rather than a story.
The verdict
Deeply restorative. Sol gave me the sleep, the quiet, and the contact with the land that a hard year had taken away.
What helped my body rest
- Rain and frogs at night, and the deepest sleep of my year
- A cabin that opens straight onto the forest
- Picking coffee, planting trees and eating fruit from the land
- A small, warm community that made us feel at home
- A host who treats the land as something to care for
Worth knowing
- It’s a rainforest: pack for rain
- Simple cabins, not hotel rooms
- Come to slow down, not to be entertained
Best for: burnt-out travellers, anyone recovering from a big event or a hard year, and people who restore through nature and simple physical work.
Top tip: pair it with a stay on the Kona side. The contrast is the point.