My year of weird (and sometimes) wonderful wellness retreats
Gut-purging, anti-ageing, meditation: Helen Kirwan-Taylor has done them all, and is happy to admit she’s a retreat addict. But, she says, they’re not all woo-woo even if they are all good for you...
People used to go on holiday: now they retreat. There is significance in the use of the word as a verb. To retreat is to be moving away from something: be that the modern world, capitalism, fast food, consciousness, grey skies or belly fat. Retreats were once associated with smelly hippies and hallucinogens. Now they are as broad in theme as they are geographically distinct and exotic.
You can go on a breathwork retreat in Ibiza or you can learn to bond with your son/daughter/mother/in Totnes. The best retreats are shrouded in mystery and exclusive because a lot of it is still word of mouth. After all, if you’re going to participate in a naked gong ceremony with a shamen and an A-list actress on some Mexican beach, the organisers won’t want you streaming live on Instagram.
Retreats are the best way to meet people (and fight loneliness) which is why singletons love them. My male friend does nothing but Yoga retreats as the sort of women who go on yoga weeks tend to have yoga bodies which is his “type”. But retreats don’t have to be all woo-woo. You can do what my friend Dr Tamsin Lewis did and take a yacht across British Columbia so she could synch better with the natural habitat (this is the new fashion, getting as far away from life’s comforts as possible whilst uncomfortably depleting your wallet).
On this particular trip, organised by Cookson Adventures, the team (including Dr Lewis) practised breathwork in old-growth forests and then paddleboarded (mindfully) among humpback whales before downing supplements and sharing their Oura Ring data after yoga by moonlight. They foraged for their food which the chef duly cooked (such anti-luxury does not come cheap: the average group Cookson retreat costs £150,000). It’s all very addictive though. Especially at this time of year.
My head spins with the number of retreats I want to try – and all for very good reasons. I’ve been ill with long Covid and there’s nothing quite like an alien virus to make you open to almost anything. First and foremost, I am circling in on what many hippies have done before me, namely a “trip” – except these days you do it with a man in a lab coat sitting by your side. If you don’t know about the benefits of magic mushrooms by now, what’s wrong with you? Everyone knows that Psilocybin can change the brain’s pathways, and that it doesn’t always end well (you hear about people throwing up, if not wanting to throw themselves off a cliff). As someone with an unpredictable immune system and a history of trauma, I am the poster child.
The good news is that you can now throw yourself at the mercy of Beckley Retreats who organise it all for small groups under supervision in the Netherlands and Jamaica where plant medicine is legal. You don’t just show up and get high in some teepee anymore. Instead, they screen you carefully (the hallmark of any good retreat) and prepare you for 6 weeks beforehand and then again after the come down.
What all retreats do is try and convert you to their cause. I’ve done the Hoffman (a retreat that moves locations and focuses on emotional work) which got me to love everyone (briefly). I’ve done a meditation retreat in Yorkshire with Ruby Wax (it sounds like a contradiction, I know) which really did calm me down (briefly). Recently I tried the controversial Lightning Process which is basically brain-retraining. I don’t think it changed my thought process, but I did learn to challenge some of my beliefs ( example: I will never get better). I’ve been to countless luxury wellness retreats including the famous Mayr clinics (there are many) which purport to be individualistic but offer the exact same treatments to all guests (which is why I’m fascinated by the Chenot Palace in Switzerland that does serious anti-ageing medical treatments shrouded in secrecy and off-the scale expensive).
I’ve already been toying with India for a while through for some meditation and breathwork. In the spirit of compromise, I am heading to an Ayurvedic clinic with Indian doctors this January in… Germany at the Auyerveda Parkschlösschen, an hour from Frankfurt. You heard it here first, or maybe you’ll hear my guts as they are purged by day three. A new retreat theme is focusing on the nano. We’ve all been on big-picture retreats (who are we in the Cosmos?), now it’s time for forensic internal work. Literally. The new Gut Health Retreat (run by nutritionist Stephanie Moore) is meant to do just that. A friend and regular ‘treater told me that it opened her eyes in new ways (and we thought we knew everything about the gut already). “Everyone who lectured us had written books and were the best in show. It made me rethink everything I’ve learned to date” she said. The good news is – and this is a growing trend – this retreat is at the Goodwood Hotel in jolly old England.
As a retreat addict, I don’t want to travel to the Himalayas to learn things that can be taught at home without the jet lag or vaccines. Besides, what happens on retreats (including love stories) often stays there. Famous starvation clinics (like the Buchinger) get amazing results, but you are in a starvation clinic. I want my skills to last for a lifetime, not just a week. But ultimately. retreats are like beauty TikTok’s: eventually, it becomes too much, because there are too many and what’s in quickly becomes what’s out. It took me six months to decide on Germany, and apparently that’s already old hat.
Fortunately, there is help to choose this year. Launching this January is The Global Retreat Company. Founded by journalist Caroline Sylge and PR Victoria Fuller who understand what a minefield retreat selection can be. The company acts like a concierge rather than a travel company (they won’t book it for you), reviewing all the retreats they represent with the help of journalists. “Retreats can be intimate and you need to know what’s going to happen. We prefer retreats that offer a vetting process on both sides” says Fuller.
As you’re often effectively “locked up” with 10-30 strangers (with no money-back guarantee which is why this world is still dodgy) having a team who know what they are doing really matters. I once went on a retreat where they purported to be mental health experts, but who knew nothing whatsoever about mental health. One of the participants was clearly very unstable and it rapidly turned into something that became quite scary.
Price wise: also be wary. Anything that says “starts with” means you’ll have a coronary at bill-paying time. But good luck spending less than £3,000 a week anywhere heated and comfortable – and chances are you’ll still be expected to share a room for “bonding”. Having said that, you never know who’s going to be swimming naked with you at the Lanserhof. And sometimes that experience alone is priceless.
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