For The Telegraph's 'spring cleansing’ detox special, Emma Rowley went on a juice feast at the Juicy Oasis in Portugal
Day One
I am in Vogue. The fashion bible’s April cover declares a “juice revolution”. Clearly the latest health trend has reached critical mass just as I head to the holy land of its devotees: Juicy Oasis, in the Portuguese countryside, part of the empire of raw juice evangelist Jason Vale, he of the best-selling 7lbs in 7 Days plan.
The retreat is a former hotel with a luxurious spa that sits riverside in woody hills. For seven days, I will be drinking freshly made, vegetable-based fruit juices: think medleys of beetroot, celery, spinach and more, mixed with apple and orange to make them palatable. We’ll have three a day, then a veggie soup, as, joy of joys, I’ve caught the last of the (slightly) heartier winter menu. For those visiting from now onwards, it’s four juices a day. And yes, the odd celery and cucumber shot aside, that’s it.
Day Two
My fellow guests – some here for up to a month to boost their health and lose weight – are a friendly bunch, busy organising games of tennis and steam and splash sessions. But I have a headache, that familiar frontal-lobe buzz that I slake with caffeine daily, and wait it out poolside, glaring at the landscape. I realise that I foresaw a week of no solids whizzing by, a bit like a movie montage involving a few sequences of me wafting about in a dressing gown from which I shall emerge, butterfly-like. But right now I quite fancy a croissant and cappuccino. Tantric massage offers a distraction, but what Trudie-and-Sting-style horror awaits? There’s a feather and blindfold involved, apparently, but nothing too thrilling. I relax, and drink another juice.
Day Three
My headache is gone and the Juice Master himself, Jason, has dropped in to give us a talk. His approach is two-pronged: cut out the rubbish and put in the good. “Of course, it would be great if people ate all these vegetables. But the reality is most people aren’t going to do that!” Me neither, I admit to myself, and slurp my green juice.
I rather like these juices. But I wouldn’t mind a snack and am spotted by a housekeeper as I eye up a mandarin tree near the pool. “Not ripe yet,” she tells me, with the air of someone who has to repeat this daily.
Day Four
I’m enjoying being kept busy by the (optional) programme of Pilates, yoga, walks and exercise classes run by the friendly staff. I catch myself bouncing on a mini-trampoline outside as the sun sets with a huge grin on my face. It quite shores me up for the low point coming – a fellow guest explaining in solemn detail the day’s bowel movements (apparently, some find their systems shocked into standstill by an all-juice diet). I spoon up my green soup and think of my thighs.
Day Five
Sceptics of juice fasts (“a juice feast…” Jason corrects) argue that you’re starving yourself; crash-dieting. Yet, while I’m far from stuffed, I am happily doing an hour or two of exercise each day on liquids alone with none of the light-headedness or drop in energy I feared.
But if I feel fine, today I also feel hungry. “Ah,” say the old-timers. “But are you hungry or are you thirsty?” I down two glasses of water, then yet another herbal tea for good measure. I wait. I am hungry. “It’s beautiful here! I’m hungry,” I text my nearest and dearest, looking for sympathy. There’s not much of that, as I’ve spent the past four days sending them pictures from the hot tub on my balcony, capturing just how the morning mist over the river sparkles in the Mediterranean sunshine.
I turn for succour to a rainforest massage, during which I am hosed down by something rather like the sprinkler arms irrigating the nearby fields. It’s surprisingly pleasant. I’d doze off, were I not worried about drowning.
Tonight I dream of pizza.
Day Six
We juicers are being encouraged to use our week of raw, unadulterated juice to “reset” ourselves with better eating habits at home. Everyone scribbles away. I’m not immune. “But how do you feel about Greek yogurt?” I find myself asking. Sheep’s milk or coconut, is the reply.
Day Seven
I am so desperate for crunch that I eat my salad provided for the flight home (airline food is not part of the Juice Master plan) on the drive to the airport. Once back, however, I find I have lost five pounds and my friends comment on how bright my skin looks. I’m also buzzing with energy. Having vowed to cut down on caffeine, I treat myself to a weak instant coffee to celebrate and am wide-eyed awake until two in the morning. The week was indeed a reset, I conclude.
Still, I’m glad of the time: I’ve got something to do online.
Reader, I buy a juicer.
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