Actress and comedian Hannah Berry George seeks a full
body MOT on a detox break in Goa... but can lemon juices and bouts of yoga
reinvigorate her?
Detox: a process or period
of time in which one abstains from or rids the body of toxic or unhealthy
substances.
How hard can it be? There are days when work is so manic
that I forget to eat at all. It’s happened plenty of times. I even did Ramadan
once. And I survived. Easily. So, going on a detox, on an Indian resort, where
I can lie in the tropical sun whilst sipping on fresh juices and broth will be
a cinch. Right?
The
Beach House in Goa (@Beach House Goa) put me on a Total Body Rebalancing
programme which aims to 'restore and invigorate a tired body'. I can’t deny I’m
in need of that.
From Gatwick I fly to Mumbai, from Mumbai an
extremely short plane ride to Goa,
and from Goa
we’re picked up and it’s a quick 30 minutes by car.
I’ve never been to India before and I can’t believe my
eyes when I see the slums which line the runway as we land. When I ask about
them later, I’m told that even those who’ve the means to move out, choose to
stay. It’s their home. It’s where they grew up. And it’s all they’ve ever
known.
The journey to the resort continues to be an eye opener.
There seems to be an unspoken competition for how many people you can fit on
one scooter – a women with four children on board wins.
The Beach
House sits on Sernabatim
Beach and when we arrive it’s time for our last meal of the day - and of
the next four days. It’s a traditional Indian Thali. I wish I’d concealed some
‘emergency’ supplies in my case until I read the welcome pack: 'The use of
alcohol is strictly prohibited whilst on the retreat. Management reserve the
right to terminate your stay immediately if found consuming alcohol.'
As we eat, we sit on the terrace, looking at the
beach cast in moonlight and listening to the sound of the ocean, as we savour
every - last - morsel.
I awake to what I work out is the sound of a door
bell, and I stumble down the stairs of my duplex apartment ‘room’ to find a man
outside my door, waiting with a cup of hot water and fresh lemon. This is how I
start my day, every day.
It cleanses the liver and warms the body up.
Normally I would start my day with ice-cold water but I’m told this is too much
of a shock for my body first thing. 7am is too much of a shock for my body
first thing.
Body brushing is also part of the morning routine,
a quick five minutes, in circular motions, to get the blood flowing and (more
importantly) to help decrease the appearance of orange peel. And then I
Lycra-clad myself before bouncing off to yoga. Back on the terrace. Looking out
at the beach now bathed in sunlight.
Then 9am, it’s juice time. Actually it’s juice,
followed by apple cider vinegar and honey time. The juices are freshly made and
it goes down nicely. Like I said, this will be a cinch. Even the honey-vinegar
combo is better than it sounds.
The first morning involves measurements – from
every angle – recorded so your progress can be monitored. You also have a
blood, urine and stool analysis. There is nothing they don’t cover. They even
check out your bone density, using a machine that looks like a foot spa.
Appointments are three a day and are littered
throughout my day. They can be anything from a consultation with the
nutritionist to a woman dangling from a rope whilst massaging my back with her
foot. A slightly out-of-the-ordinary experience but one which is strangely
relaxing, so long as you don’t suffer from podophobia.
At 11am I’m presented with another juice and
some supplements. I’m happy about this. Then my glass is taken away and
replaced with a cafetiere. I’m not happy about this. Not because I don’t like
coffee, which, for the record, I don’t. But because I’m expected to use it to
give myself a self-administered enema.
I return to my room where my ‘equipment’ awaits. A (brand
new, I hasten to add) plastic container, with one hole to hang it on a hook and
another hole that leads to a tube which leads to a nozzle. I suddenly need to
attend to my emails. They recommend that you turn all technology off but
dipping back into work seems far more appealing right now than lying down and
injecting coffee into my colon.
When I eventually man up and get on with the task at
hand, it’s really not that bad. In fact, after the fact, I oddly feel
empowered, like I can take on the world and do anything. Just try me.
At 12.30pm I down juice number three of the day,
accompanied with another honey-vinegar combo and a shot of wheatgrass.
I’m reminded of that scene in Sex and the City
where Samantha out-drinks another women in wheatgrass shots in order to claim
her prize: the waiter, Jerrod Smith. And as I down my shot, I then remember the
look on her face when she drank the green mixture and my face mirrors hers.
I then have another appointment, followed by a
juice and honey-vinegar at 2.30pm. I’ve never had such structured and
well-balanced ‘meals’ in my life.
By this point, the rate of drinking begins to slow,
and though I look forward to the next one, I also begin to feel like I’m trying
to drown myself. At 4pm, it’s my first broth of the day and I notice (as
perhaps do the staff) that I’m starting to get a little scratchy. Something
which is quite normal as my body expels toxins and adjusts to my new routine.
At 5.30pm I’m grateful to be back to juice, albeit
my last one of the day, as it seems more substantial than the broth. I’m amazed
that a juice can ever be considered substantial at all.
Initially, I thought from looking at my timetable
that I would’ve plenty of time to lounge around on the sun beds and to run down
to the beach and dip my toe in the water.
So far, the only thing I’ve dipped is my tongue
into yet another glass of liquid.
Normally, at home, I drink two to three litres of
water a day. Here, I barely pick up a glass as I already feel like I’ve upped
my body water mass from 80 per cent to 100.
Another coffee enema is due at 6pm and at 7pm is my
last ‘meal’ of the day – vegetable broth and a shot glass of supplements –
followed by an educational talk and meditation.
This pattern rotates, in slightly varying
formation, for the whole four days. But I do start to notice a difference.
Though I adjust much more slowly than I thought I would, my skin is noticeably
clearer and brighter, my IBS – which plagues me every day – hardly bothers me,
and, best of all, when my measurements are taken again at the end of the trip,
they speak for themselves. My overall body fat has decreased and I’ve lost
centimetres from my arms, legs and hips.
But it doesn't stop there. When I return home,
Francine, their lead nutritionist, has sent me an email giving me a detailed
breakdown of easy and simple steps to adjust my daily routine, including
recipes and links to sites and products. When I left, she gave me a pack of
cards to go shopping with, designed by her, detailing the nutritional content,
acid/alkaline scale and glycemic value of each food, and wondering around the
supermarket with these in hand helps me avoid the pot holes.
In fact, Francine is on hand for the next three
months and I still email her random questions and photos of product ingredients
at all times of the day and night. And she always gets back to me.
When I have a follow-up call with her a month after
my return, she’s pleased with my progress. And again emails me with a bunch of
helpful tips. The detox might not have been a walk in the park but it’s the
kickstart I needed to reboot a sluggish and nutrition-lacking lifestyle and
I’ve got there, little by little, with a little help from my friend (Francine).
