I’m just back from a week in Austria and feel on top of the world. Well, if not at the actual summit, maybe about two thirds up. After a lousy year made worse by a Covid Christmas, I was deep in Gloomstown, eating like a pig and drinking like a fish. At almost 64, I was a stone and half overweight and drowning in booze, clocking up an alarming 120 units during one festive week. I’ve never felt so sluggish nor so miserable. Something had to be done.
Matron said the food in our mouths had to be a complete puree before we could swallow
And so, invited to road test the Vivamayr Clinic on the banks of Lake Worthersee (apparently, following her skin cancer diagnosis, the Duchess of York is off to a similar clinic – Mayrlife on Lake Altaussee), I jumped at the chance of a week’s detox and reset. My assigned physician, Dr Zancolo, weighed and measured me, listened to my woes and refused to judge. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said with a smile. ‘We can help you help yourself.’
My tests and treatments started with an hour’s massage. Then came bioimpendance analysis (no, nor me), mineral analysis, EScan metabolic measurement and an electrolysis foot bath. This was followed over the next few days by nasal reflex therapy, manual abdominal treatment, functional myodiagnostics, inhalation therapy, reflexology, a couple of zinc/vitamin C intravenous infusions and a sea salt peeling massage. I even underwent – look away now – my first ever colonic irrigation.
Most tricky of all was my exercise class, comprised of several routines on a vibrating platform. I crouched, I stood, I jumped, I bent, I twisted and I waved weighty dumbbells around, coughing, spluttering, wheezing and sweating all the while. Moritz, the trainer, was lean and mean – as befitted someone training for an ironman – and took no notice of my yelps of pain.
‘Oh, goodness, just keep going!’ he exclaimed. Only when I pointed out that the last time I’d worn trainers (then called plimsolls) and taken such exercise was in 1978, 19 years before he was born, did Moritz allow me a 20-second pause. The big bully. But, guess what? Although I ached like hell, I felt chuffed. It certainly buoyed me up enough to face an hour-long emotional detox with psychologist, Tanja, who sat wide-eyed listening to the roll call of desperately bad habits that had led me there. She seemed less certain than Dr Z about how much help she was able to offer.
I was put on a regime of pills, powders and potions, starting with a morning mouthwash and continuing with epsom salts, alkaline powder, bitters, liver pills, parasite lozenges and a nightly liver wrap (it’s complicated).
I felt I was back at school. I was given a printed schedule of where I had to be when and meal times were strictly observed. We 20 or so patient-pupils (there are around 50 in summer) sat in the dining room at separate, designated tables and conversation, mobiles and reading were discouraged. And if it wasn’t exactly lights out at 9 p.m., that’s when they turned the wifi off. Whistling and running in corridors were also forbidden – sorry, made that one up.
Dr Zancalo summoned me for my results. It was like going to the headmaster’s study and that never ended well. On this occasion, though, my exams had gone better than expected. I was too fat (knew that), a fast oxidiser (eh?), had too much acid (stress) and was gluten intolerant (ah, that explains it). My BMI was poor, my BCM was good, and I needed to work on my PMR. All Greek to me but, as ever, ‘could do better’ was the general thrust.
Food and how we eat it is central to Vivamayr’s treatment (‘cure & cook’ is their motto). Portions were tiny and largely – but not entirely – vegetarian. I tolerated the buckwheat or soya bread rolls and enjoyed the avocado mousse, hummus and excellent soups we were served, but resented the teaspoon I was obliged to use.
Most importantly of all we had to chew, chew, chew. Matron said the food in our mouths had to be a complete puree before we could swallow, thus aiding and speeding up our digestion. Try it, it works. My fellow patient-pupils were a hugely engaging bunch with quote of the week coming from Tom who said he came same time every year to detox, using the downtime ‘to buy my en primeur Burgundy and drinking needs for the next twelve months.’
The staff all spoke fluent English (it’s a prerequisite), glowed with good health and were so sunny and smiley that it was infectious. Indeed, I developed a slight case of Stockholm Syndrome and didn’t want to leave. But I’m home now, happy as a lark and 18lbs lighter than I was at Christmas. The scales are still going in the right direction thanks to my chew, chew, chewing of the simple but tempting recipes in the Vivamayr cookbook.
I remain on the wagon for the rest of Jan, resolved to be more sensible with my consumption thereafter, tricky though it is for a lush who earns a living writing about drink. At anything between £3,000-£5,000 a week (depending on treatments), it’s an eye-wateringly pricy way to return to the straight and narrow but worth every penny.
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