Loving the Light - Days Eight and Nine

Where is the time going?  I'm losing track.  I'm feeling less and less inclined to turn on my laptop, or even my phone.  More and more I'm finding myself able to enjoy each moment.  I'm noticing the flowers - the bottlebrush (like zingy pot scourers), the mimosa, the orange blossom (oh heady, heady aside in a dell), the jasmine (almost overwhelming, almost sickly), the honeysuckle (bigger, brasher than at home but shy of scent, as if it feels it can't compete with its more powerfully olfactory neighbours), 'look at me!' bourganvillea and, 'no, look at ME' hibiscus. And then there are the roses.  Oh the roses, crimson, carmine, tequila sunrise, orange sorbet with a scent so deep and sweet. They lure me in a way they never did before.

One day, I forget which, we went to the beach, bundled in a minivan, like a school trip.  The sun went shy but it didn't matter.  Four of us went down to the shore, and three of us walked through the shiver-cold water along the sweep of the bay.  Coincidences abounded.  We found we knew people in common; we'd been to the same places.  For heaven's sake, three of us had all worked at the same office.  Clare and I had even been at the same university, at exactly the same time. We lived in the same student flats one year.  How strange is that?  So we swapped stories of bands we'd seen, people we knew, places we'd been.  It was the most curious, delicious, wild mind-loop, as old memory files were awoken; old cells rejiggled, old faces summoned (where are they now? who are they now?).

We're a harmonious group.  A kind group.  Our ages range from 33 - 78, our homes span across Europe. So, while I spend a fair bit of time on my own, I also spend time with others, learning from them, enjoying their stories, sometimes telling mine.  And I also get to talk to the people who live here - because this place runs partly like a sort of community.  People come and live here and work for various lengths of time - upwards of three months usually.

Anyhow, the rest continues as always - yoga, juice, cleansing through water and fire, meditation (formal and informal), letting go, letting go, letting go... Shedding not just weight and toxins, the accumulated dross that accumulates when you eat badly, drink badly, but also the old tensions, emotions that no longer serve, the past, the fear.  Leaving one feeling just so light, light, bright and full of...love.  Corny?  Maybe.  But you know what?  It's a much nicer way to feel and be and live than holding on and shivering with fear.  


  

Detox Diary Day Two

So, I slept for ten hours straight (hugely unusual) and woke up feeling...absolutely deathly.  My head was hammering as if I'd downed an entire bottle of Tequila.  I got out of bed - gingerly - and crashed back down again.  Dizzy, weak, totally pathetic.
Detox headache?  It's common when you come off coffee but I rarely drink coffee.  Then I had a pee and realised what had gone wrong.  Now then, we're not going to be squeamish, are we?  Because the thing you have to realise about going on a detox is that everyone - even the most fastidious - ends up talking almost obsessively about bodily functions.  In deep detail.  Just remember this.

Anyhow, my urine was the colour of a Double IPA (can't you tell I'm married to a beer writer?) - in other words I was hugely dehydrated.  My own fault entirely.
I really did feel rubbish, to the point that a pint of freshly squeezed orange juice (as in taken from the trees and squeezed) made me feel queasy.  Okay, so let's explain here.  It wasn't just orange juice. Three times a day you take a container with an inch of Bentonite clay in it - you add a bit of juice, and then two teaspoons of Psyllium husk and then shake it like crazy.  Why?  Cos if you don't, the whole thing congeals and turns into stomach-chuning fetid porridge.

The Bentonite clay acts like a sponge and apparently it can absorb 40 times or more its own weight in toxins, bacteria and parasites. Yum. It yanks these along with mucoid layers (I did warn you!) from the walls of the intestinal tract.  The Psyllium husk swells and acts like a broom, sweeping the loosened gunk from the intestines.  Together they push everything down from the small to the large intestine.

Next up was yoga and, while all I really wanted to do was crawl back to bed and sink into blissful unconsciousness, I padded over to the yoga temple.  Not because I'm just a total goody two shoes who does everything she's told but because I know from experience that if you do good yoga on a juice fast, you feel great.  If you don't, you feel crap.

And, true to form, I came out two hours later feeling pretty tip top tickety boo.

It's amazing how busy you are at this place.  There are three juice 'meals' a day, supplements to take in between (I'll save those for another day), Clysmatics (ditto), meditation and all manner of other gizmos.  But what you mainly need to know is that you really, truly don't feel hungry.  The Psyllium takes care of that.  And the other thing you need to know is that you really must drink plenty of water - particularly when detoxing in a hot climate like this.


For reviews of other detoxes see Queen of Retreats

Detox Diary Day One

So, it struck me as I lay in bed this morning, feeling like death warmed up, that a lot of you probably haven't ever experienced a detox.  You might wonder what it's all about.  You might wonder how you feel.  As I said, I'm at Moinhos Vehlhos doing a ten day juice fast (reporting for Queen of Retreats).  I figured that, while I'm here, I'll try to write up a daily diary telling you what's actually goes on on detox. Who knows, it might persuade you to try it - or it might put you off for life!
Then again, I might run out of steam entirely.

I'll stick to the detox elements on the whole - you'll have to wait for the QoR report for the full Monty.

Of course, if all this leaves you completely cold, then feel free to avoid me for the next week or so.

So, yesterday...

Had about an hour's sleep (you know the score - when you know you have to get up at 3.30am, it's damn tough to slumber) so felt pretty grim at Bristol Airport.  Ate a granola yoghurt pot and plugged myself into FlowerSpirit's meditations and listened to those on loop for the duration of the flight (dozing in between).  'You'll be met at the airport by someone wearing a yellow t-shirt,' Frank had said (Frank is the co-founder of Moinhos).  Usually I peer at signs myopically but there was no missing the phalanx of people in canary yellow.  I shared the cab with a lovely woman called Bianca so barely noticed the journey.

The first thing I noticed at MV was the peace.  It's set in a valley, surrounded by trees - bathed in birdsong.  Quite magical.

I nibbled on some fruit (oranges straight from the tree) and got my bearings.  Supper was vegetable soup - with chunks of courgette, sweet potato and carrot.  Last solid food for a while.
Feeling pretty good.
Back to my room and realised I should have shut the door.  Three house martens have decided to make themselves at home and are swooping around the room, perching on my mosquito net and using my duvet as a bathroom. Twenty minutes of gentle persuasion later we part company.

I have all kinds of good intentions for meditating, doing some wind-down yoga, reading, whatever but my body has other ideas.  I lie back on the bed and I'm fast asleep by 9pm.

Am I hungry?  Not remotely.  Not yet at any rate.

Never detox with a lover...

Right. If you’re gonna go somewhere to detox, go alone.  Seriously.  I often think, when I go away and stay solo in these lovely hotels with fabulous rooms and ginormous beds that it’s all a…bit of a waste really.  But, y’know, if you’re gonna do a serious detox then, just trust me on this one, you really truly don’t want to have your ‘other half’ with you.  

Can I just pause a moment here to ask whether any more disgusting a term exists? Other than ‘better half’ which is plain vomit-inducing.  Boyfriend? Yeah, fine if you’re a teen. Partner? All a bit worthy somehow, a bit old socialist, a bit ‘Brighton’, if you get my drift. Honestly, the main reason Adrian and I got married was because of the whole ‘what do we call one another to other people’ thingy once we moved out into the country to a village that really didn’t ‘get’ the ‘partner’ thing. And the word 'lover' was used in a totally different context. J

And, if you’re in a new relationship?  Excuse me while I choke quietly on a linseed cracker. Er…no.  Just…no.  I don't often tell people what to do but...

Why? Because detoxing ain’t pretty. It really ain’t.  Unless you’re so squeaky clean that really, you don’t need to be there in the first place, you’re going to look and feel like total shit – at least for the first few days. 

‘Oh God,’ said Lizzie (the other journo here, who arrived yesterday and is still in shock). ‘Is it just me?  All this juice is giving me the shits something rotten.’

‘Nah, it’s not just you,’ I said, sipping another pistachio green concoction and feeling my guts gurgling afresh.

‘Phew.’

Right there you have it. I don’t need to give you more detail, right?  Would you really want to be squitting for England (or wherever) while, not only your beloved, but anyone at all is lounging on the bed next door?  I suppose it’s always an issue when you stay in any kind of hotel: the etiquette of how not to listen when someone is having a crap a few feet away from you.  But, seriously, it’s way worse when you’re detoxing.  Most detox places don’t even have TV to mask the symphonics (to be fair, Ti Sana does).

So? You're totally sanguine about the shit side of the equation?  Okay, so let me warn you that you get spots – even people who don’t get spots (like me), get spots.  Added to which you get crashing headaches, and I mean real stompers.  I don’t drink coffee so I figured I’d be fine. Wrong. Oh so wrong. Yesterday I had the roadworks on the rush hour M25 going off in my head – it was pounding so badly that I couldn’t even face supper.  I just crawled back to my room at 8pm and shivered under the sheets until sleep decided to take pity on me.  And now you're thinking, yeah but, y'know, spots, looking like crap, that sounds like how I am most the time, so...so what?  

Well, of course, some people just go a bit mad. ‘I tell ya,’ said Lizzie, as we waited for our ‘Angel of Water’ treatments (I’ll spare you that right now). ‘I am Evil. Evil. Bitchin’ evil.’

‘Huh?’

‘Hungry and hormonal? Not a good mix.’

‘You didn’t make the rebounding class. What happened?’

‘Hmm,’ she said with a guilty grin. ‘Mario was in danger of getting a smack in the gob if he’d tried to get me doing anything.  I needed to go to my room and just BE ALONE.’

Yeah, I hear you, girlfriend.  We had a little whine and a laugh and then went off with our respective therapists. 

But she had it right.  Truly. No matter how much you love your 'partner', no matter what kind of squalid slob you are at home. No matter what...detox solo is best.  Cos, above all, regardless of the spots and shits and all, the last thing you need is sharing a room with someone going through the same stuff as you. Solidarity?  Nah. There is no solidarity when you have to race for the bog. 

Yes, it’s great to have a laugh and a bit of empathy going with other people who’re going through it with you but – in a small spa at least – you’ll usually find the other guests are all too willing to share their anguish and boast over the level of misery they’re enduring. But sometimes you just absolutely have to hide away and feel deeply sorry for yourself.  So, if you absolutely must go in tandem, take a good female friend (one you already know looks as bad as you do without makeup while severely hungover – cos, believe me, that’s how you’ll be looking).  But, even so, never ever EVER share a room.  

Okay. So.  Glad we’ve got that sorted.

Agree?  Or not? 

PS - I should point out that I'm not remotely hungry...Lizzie is starving cos she's on a juice fast and normally eats EVERYTHING. I am being fed so much food I seriously can't finish it.  I tell ya, if you're scared of being hungry on detox, this is the place to come.