Detox diary Libelle

Writer Stella Bergsma leaves for a detox holiday to Turkey and takes with her: a hangover and a good dose of suspicion. But then: “I came, I drank, I conquered.”


It did not go well: overtired, overworked, unhealthy. An always shining friend recommended a detox vacation. I clocked my rosé away, put another bitterball in my mouth and declared her crazy. But when things went badly, I had little to lose.


Let me introduce myself: me and my hangover
“Welcome to Turkey, here’s your first drink.” A friendly lady enthusiastically points to two large carafes with an orange liquid. I smell the weird smell of fruit and swallow an acidification. Around me is a small group of people, a mix of uncomfortable newcomers and guests who have been here a little longer. Brown and radiant in bikini. I watch them suspicious. Do I look like that in seven days? I can not imagine anything about it. Frankly, I have a hangover. A big one. I went out with friends yesterday, till late. I went straight from the pub to the airport in a taxi. I have slept through the night for the whole trip. Now and here, in the beautiful Kaş in Turkey, with all those fresh people around me, I feel uncomfortable. Our hostess reads what the ingredients of the juice are and what they do for our health. Orange contains a lot of potassium, magnesium and iron, she says radiantly. If she wants to pour me, I politely finish. I’m acidic. Own fault. I feel looked at in the bright sunlight. As if there is a spotlight on me and the rest of the group looks at me accusingly. In the future ‘there was a drunken hurray, hurray, you could see that she is’ going to scream. I would prefer to sink into one of the bright red couches. When we finally leave, I sigh the many steps, pull the curtains of my beautiful hotel room close and sleep, sleep, sleep.


Juice with oil
As if I have crawled out of a den, I go back to the people the next morning. I am measured, weighed and certainly not found to be too light. The results are shocking. High blood pressure, fast heartbeat, my head is glowing. I am ashamed, but brave along with the proposal round. Hello, my name is Stella, 47 years old, a bon vivant with not much longer to live if she goes on like this. There is Ellen, a handsome senior purser. Ank, a former school teacher. Marlies, a nice young girl who immediately tells about her burnout. Giovana, a flamboyant Italian grandmother, who says she was put in this camp by her son. And finally Fred, a quiet official of the civil registry. After the aqua jogging session I feel refreshed. We have two hours of rest for the evening snack, which consists of three types of vegetables each time. I think it’s fine to drink, but the people who are a little longer seem to have trouble with it. “It’s a bit disappointing,” says Fred, who has been here for two weeks. He squeezes his nose when he drinks. Olive oil should be added to the vegetable juice so that your body can absorb the nutrients properly. When I am finished and I want to flee to my bedroom, Giovana clings to me. “Steellaa,” she says in a dramatic tone, “help me! It’s like a prison here! ”


Somewhat unstable
I sleep badly that night. I feel my heart pounding. What if it suddenly breaks down and I wake up dead? The next morning I sleep through the alarm and I miss the morning walk. The truth is that I am a bit afraid. You should climb a high slope and from the road you can look far down. If I am unstable, I have a bit of fear of heights. And if I have not eaten, I’m a bit unstable. When everyone is back from the altitude trip a little later, lemon juice is drunk with water. It causes the stomach to shrink and the intestinal wall to be cleaned, so that the nutrients can be absorbed optimally. This can be read in the extensive information booklet that we have all received. Then we get the morning juice. I feel like it today. It smells delicious for strawberries and tastes even more delicious. After an hour of rest there is a pilates class and in the afternoon aqua jogging. Then we sit on the red couches with all juice fasteners. Only Giovana is not there. Els tells a funny story about drunken ministers on board a flight on which she worked. We laugh and drink herbal tea. It is starting to get cozy here. Can I have a glass of wine?


Double sandwich with cheese
Miraculously, I do not feel bad, although I did not finish a day at home. I do not feel hungry either. Sometimes it gnaws a little, but everything goes well. The only moments that I am really hungry are after exercising. That is something unnatural, I think. Bleed your body and then not feed it. You have worked hard, your muscles may be rewarded, right? A tasty double sandwich with cheese, or a portion of fried eggs with bacon. “Is not that an overbearing?”, I ask Bernadette, our sports instructor. We have just had an intensive boxing lesson which I have done fanatically to my own surprise (I have the pictures to prove it!) And now my stomach is crumbling. “It is necessary to exercise,” she says. “If you only sport, your body will eat your fat faster.” I nod to her, that sounds good. Especially eat that. After the juices, everyone often sticks to the red outdoor benches to chat and taste all the different herbal tea. The conversations go pretty deep. Everything comes along, from our bowel movements to our state of mind. “For me, fasting is also a spiritual clearing,” says Marlies. Praising nod everywhere. “Yes,” Els says, “you also purify your mind.” “Because you do not eat, you seem to get more out of it”, says Miss Ank. “You can better handle your problems if you are stuck. You come more to it. Fasting is also a kind of letting go. “She says that she has lost her husband and not long after her new friend. We are silent. I stand up and go to the kitchen. “Someone still has tea?” Although there is no alcohol, it looks a bit like a pub. A round of stars for the whole thing! Only Giovana can not find her turn. Imprisoned in paradise she stares continuously at her phone.
“Are you expecting a message?”, I ask with interest. She nods sadly. “My son.” Just before bedtime, Ank reveals me her remedy for sleepless nights. “Ssst,” she says as she darts into the kitchen and scrapes something out of a bag. Triumphantly she keeps it in the air. “Just suck a little,” she says mischievously. “Do not eat.” It’s a tomato.


Happy and proud
My first morning walk. Only! I easily manage the climbing mountain and enjoy the view. No fear, no lability. How happy and proud I am. To complete the fun, we go sailing in the afternoon. We lie on the deck in the sun and I smear Miss Anks back. She feels more confident with an embossed back, she says. We talk about what we are hungry for. Everything will pass. Fried chicken, eggs. Asian with extra sambal. Patat war. We moor in a bay for swimming. When we all float in the water, we mouth a little further. Grilled salmon, baked potatoes. Salad Dressing. Salad Dressing? “Yes, I like salad dressing.” Marlies sticks her tongue out at me. “Did you have something?” “Yes!”, I call. “It’s weird.”


No hunger
I now walk every morning and feel very well. I become fitter with the day. I notice small things like easier rising from the ground, without groaning or looking for a hold. I catch myself that I almost dance on the many stairs. And then I have energy left. “I’m going to walk to the village, who wants to come?” I hook my arm through Giovana’s. “Come on, we’re going to take a stroll with the Turkish gentlemen.” Ank also joins us and a little later we sit on the village square drinking mint tea. Giovana talks about her life, her emigrant family, her two heart attacks. Ank and I listen. Actually only me, because Ank always looks aside. “I have shawls,” she said snugly behind her hand. “Girl, how nice,” I say. “Are you being careful? They fall, I think, in bushes in your neighborhood. “It is the first time that week that I see Giovana laughing. We take another tea. Sage this time, we do crazy once. Later I walk back to the hotel alone, the other two have taken the bus. Here I am, I think, here I walk. Who could have thought about this at the beginning of the week? I do not feel a bit hungry, not a bit of fear. I do feel something else. I have to think about what it is. Satisfaction? Pride? When it permeates me, the tears poke in my eyes. It is gratitude.


My certificate
It happened: I have changed into one of those people that I mistrusted at the beginning. The bikini browns. I receive new guests enthusiastically. I kindly wave them with the paper I have in my hand. It is my report. My certificate. Proof of good juicing. I am so happy with it as a child. I have a lower fat percentage, normal blood and heart values. As if I got a picture of the teacher. Although I am a devoted Burgundian, I will come back here. Surely.
Source: Libelle, nr. 17
Text: Stella Bergsma

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July 11, 2018