Some people go on holiday to relax and have a nice time. I went on holiday to conduct an experiment. When I arrived at SHA Wellness Clinic, my body was equal parts wine and toast. I was tired and fed up. My diet needed a rethink, my exercise regime needed an overhaul, and my brain needed a reboot, but as the plane touched down in Cancun, what really bothered me was this: can you lead a meaningful life without crumpets? And can a holiday be enjoyable without wine?
My first mistake was thinking that I was on holiday at a fancy new spa. SHA is indeed brand new, and it has a spectacular spa, but you’re not here for the view of the mangrove forest from the sauna. You’re here because you know that you could, and should, feel better than you do, be it stress, recovery from illness, or the niggling issues of middle age — the hormones, the back pain, the grumpy digestive system.
Having said which, loose talk about “wellness” gives me hives. I’ve always put my trust in doctors and medicine, not Goop and gong meditation. SHA’s ethos, however, is that there’s a sweet spot between the two, where real doctors and proper science work alongside acupuncturists and breathwork practitioners in a beautiful, soothing, natural setting of spectacular luxury. In front is the Gulf of Mexico, and a white sandy beach with matching white sunloungers, and behind is jungle. In between is this enormous building, inspired by the human genome, which looks like an ocean liner heading out to sea. Everything has been designed not just to look good, but to feel good and smell good too. But the aim isn’t just to make you feel better while you’re here, it’s to give you the tools to feel better for ever. This is a big ask for someone who thinks toast is a food group and chablis is one of your five a day. But the original SHA, in Spain, has been open for 15 years and most of its customers are repeat. It must be doing something right.
There are five possible health programmes depending on your aim. I was on “rebalance and energise”, which kicked off at 9.30am on day one with a high-tech diagnosis of everything from blood pressure to stress and from body composition to cholesterol. I shared my bodily woes — a squelchy shoulder joint, a temperamental knee — and entertained the nutritionist with my carb-heavy diet. Her eyes widened only fractionally when I told her that dinner most nights was a poached egg on toast.
In return, she prescribed one of the three mostly vegan diets. They were a revelation. With a few bacon sandwiches and the occasional chip, this is the sort of food I’d eat every day, if I had a personal chef. There’s daily miso soup — good for the gut microbiomes — and apple cider vinegar for digestion. Breakfast always features raw vegetables with a chickpea-based dip, and maybe coconut yoghurt with toasted seeds, or chia porridge, or a rice cracker with avocado and seeds.
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You eat everything outside in the sunshine on a huge terrace, overlooking the ocean. Funnily enough, you soon start to feel altogether better, as the staff present you with a delicious little salad topped with edible flowers, or a tangle of vegetables and noodles and tofu. I drank my own body weight daily in detox tea and lost 9lb without meaning to, or ever feeling hungry.
In between, I beetled round the five-storey, light-filled clinic in flip-flops and a bathrobe for back-to-back appointments. There are 30 experts here, specialising in everything from cardiology to gynaecology, from traditional Chinese medicine, breathing and mindfulness practitioners, to dentistry, endocrinology and psychology. They studied my arteries and my cognitive powers, took my blood, and concluded among many other things that my glyco-oxidation levels were excellent.
Day one ended with my first treatment — the hydro energetic detox cure to break down fat. It featured 20 minutes having a head massage while lying in a warm, scented bath, then being smeared in algae-rich mud, wrapped in plastic and laid out on a vibrating waterbed. Finally, a therapist pummelled me from the other side of the room with jets of hot and cold water. I was down for a moonlight healing meditation at 8pm as well, but I fell asleep.
On day two, I ditched the flip-flops because the cool stone floors feel wonderful on your feet. I also pruned my schedule, which the endlessly accommodating, smiley staff couldn’t have been nicer about. Four breathwork sessions seemed at least three too many, but learning to do it properly promised to help with stress. Four acupuncture sessions seemed like four too many, frankly, but I compromised on two, because it helps with inflammation and ageing well. I carved out a morning here and an hour or two there when I could test the sunloungers for fatal design flaws (none), work up an informed view on the quality of the sand (excellent) and swim in the warm, pale blue sea. The swimming alone is worth the 11-hour flight to Cancun, because there are two properly enormous infinity pools overlooking the sea, plus a lap pool, and I had them mostly to myself.
The rest of the time, I was at the coalface of wellness. Part of the joy of this place is that you don’t have to think, or choose, or stress. They’ve thought of everything. Your day is structured, your food is put in front of you, you just have to turn up. I hit the gym with a personal trainer to lift weights, because they said I need to gain lean muscle mass now to protect me later in life. I tried a high-tech virtual reality exercise contraption, where you’re suspended and have to use your core to fly over a valley. Alas, I don’t have a core, so I crashed. The one-on-one yoga session confirmed my long-held belief that I would hate it, because slow movements and prolonged concentration are beyond me. “And that,” the delightful trainer said, “is precisely why doing yoga would be good for you.” He has a point. I had the same problem with the breathwork classes, but I persevered and now use some of the techniques when I get cross in the car, which is often.
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There was intravenous ozone therapy to boost my immune system, improve blood circulation and revitalise my internal organs and tissues. When I looked doubtful, the doctor a) said it was true and b) produced clinical reviews to prove it. Kudos. I had my first ever therapy session, with a psychologist who concluded that it should not be my last. And in a holiday of firsts, I had my first ever ice bath, preceded by Wim Hof-style breathwork. To my astonishment, I lasted four and a half minutes without blinking.
My days passed in a flurry of massages, ginger therapeutic compresses for my kidneys and discussions about digestive issues. I was attached to a machine that showed how energy flows through my body and where there are possible blockages, which the acupuncturist would later address. I had osteopathy and presotherapy, to help with lymphatic draining and ease aches and pains, and Tibetan sound therapy. I spent 45 minutes gazing out over the ocean, on a pillow that made a faint fizzing sound, while my cells were regenerated by small metal plates strapped to my hands and feet.
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I never felt I was missing wine, toast or builder’s tea. In fact, I never even thought about them. My body obviously thinks that as long as it gets a hot liquid in the morning and a cold one in the evening, it doesn’t much care what it is (and you can actually have wine if you want, I just chose not to). As for the food, even someone as profoundly unvegan as me didn’t feel the lack of meat or dairy. And while I have no idea which of the individual treatments worked its magic, collectively they turned me into a new woman.
I left feeling profoundly clean, inside and out, and not just because of the colonic irrigation. The knots in my back have gone; ditto whatever was wrong with my shoulder. The nutritionist sent me home with a 19-page personalised diet and the reminder that “wellness is about balance, not perfection”, and I reflected on that when I got home and had the most delicious tea and toast of my life.
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Sauerkraut at breakfast time is sadly not a habit that survived the return flight, but miso soup is now a fixture. I’ve bought apple cider vinegar and a jar of tahini, and I’ve told all my friends to go, no ifs, no buts. I spent a week in the lap of luxury having a comprehensive mid-life MoT and you know what? I’m not an old banger just yet.
Hilary Rose was a guest of Healing Holidays. Seven nights’ full board on a rebalance and energise programme from £5,999pp, including flights and transfers (healingholidays.com)
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