Catherine Keyl detoxes in the Portuguese Algarve

Catherine Keyl (71) spent a week in Portugal juice fasting—flushing toxins from the body by consuming fruit and vegetable juices, tea, and plenty of water. She not only lost eight centimeters off her waist and a fair amount of weight but also felt reborn. ‘My body shifted into a resting mode.’

“How am I supposed to survive without bitterballen…”

Did I feel like spending a week in Portugal? On the Algarve—that southern coast with its stunning rock formations and sweeping views of the Atlantic? Of course I did. I hadn’t paid quite as much attention to the part that followed: it was a week of juice fasting. Detoxing. Cleansing. I realize I’d blocked that bit out when, just a few days before departure, I finally check what juice fasting actually entails. Drinking nothing but fruit and vegetable juices all week long. Oh no! After a hectic period, I’d been looking forward to a holiday, but this was a whole different kettle of fish (or rather, no fish at all—or anything else solid). How would I survive without the *bitterballen* that usually get me through things? And all of this with a group of more than twenty people. Ever since a group trip to Iran last year, I’ve been completely done with that sort of thing. There was a terribly hysterical woman on that trip who was constantly late for the sights, causing us to miss half the itinerary. Still, I said yes. Apparently, a nice side effect of juice fasting is shedding a few kilos… and with summer just around the corner, that naturally appeals to me. At the check-in desk at Schiphol, I look around anxiously. Oh, that heavyset man over there is probably coming along. And that woman there, already wearing her hiking boots. Because we’d be doing plenty of physical activity—I’d read that in the Health Holidays brochure. Early morning walks on the beach, followed by Pilates, yoga, and other sports and relaxation activities for the rest of the day. If only I could just take off my “famous face” for a while. That might sound exaggerated, but imagine ending up in a group with people who likely already have an impression of me, while I know absolutely nothing about them. The flight to Faro—taking about two and a half hours—goes smoothly. I grab a quick snack on board, knowing that once I arrive at the hotel, there won’t be any more food available. And surely a glass of wine is permissible, even though the travel agency recommends cutting back a bit in the days leading up to departure.

DAY 1

‘Twenty-five past seven means twenty-five past seven!’ says Ilona. ‘Anyone who’s late doesn’t come along—tough luck.’ See, that’s what I like. No waiting for latecomers; if they aren’t there, that’s their problem. I ask Ilona if it’s sensible to walk such a long way without breakfast. ‘You know,’ she says, ‘you have to let those things go…’
…just let things slide and let us handle everything. It’ll all work out. Just put yourself in our hands.’ Not an easy task for a control freak like me. But I’m going to give it my best shot. We set off in a van to a vast nature reserve behind the coastal dunes. It’s so early that the dew is still on the fields. The mimosa is in bloom, and the almond trees are budding. I can smell lovage and rosemary, and I hear birds chattering and whistling in a small lake. It’s lovely. But there’s no leisurely strolling here; Ilona takes the lead and sets a brisk pace. That’s going to be hard to keep up with… And sure enough, I end up at the back of the pack. Suddenly, I find myself walking beside a friendly woman. She tells me she owns a confectionery business and sells her goods at markets. She’s already been here for a week. ‘Have you lost much weight?’ I ask curiously. She doesn’t know yet; she’s getting weighed this morning—just like us, actually, after the walk. They also measure your blood pressure and your BMI (Body Mass Index, a measure of weight relative to height). Back at the hotel—where our entire group of twenty-two juice fasters (including four men aged fifty to seventy) gathers in a lounge-like area to share experiences over each juice—we’re served a glass of lukewarm water with lemon juice. Nice and refreshing. Fifteen minutes later comes a fruit juice made from three different fruits. Since all the juices—even the evening ones—are freshly pressed, they contain no fiber, allowing your digestive system to rest completely. In short: you no longer need to go to the toilet for a bowel movement. ‘In an hour, we’re doing body shaping,’ the ever-energetic Ilona cheerfully announces. So, I have just enough time to catch my breath after the walk before—hop—it’s on to the next thing. We do the most grueling exercises—surely good for the muscles, but they make me realize I haven’t used those muscles in years. Then, before lunch, there’s the so-called ‘turbo’ in a thermos flask: cucumber and tomato juice. And later in the afternoon, aqua jogging. Good heavens: three hours of exercise in a single day! I brought far too little workout gear with me. A trip to a shopping mall and a Nike outlet is organized for the afternoon, so fortunately, I can buy a few more T-shirts and leggings. During the evening juice—freshly pressed juice made from three vegetables, one of which varies (such as broccoli, fennel, or beetroot)—we go around the circle introducing ourselves. Seated in a square formation of chairs, we take turns. It’s incredible to see the wide variety of professions represented in this group: an artist, a train conductor, a manager, an energy buyer, and a Frisian woman who runs a care farm. During the introductions, it turns out that two fellow juice-fast participants haven’t arrived yet. They later explain that they were flying from Brussels to Faro and had to make a stopover in France because a woman on board suffered a heart attack. We later heard that this 51-year-old woman passed away. Phew, that’s heavy. It makes you realize—quite quickly—that life is short, so you should enjoy it. By this point, I’ve finished my first vegetable juice: red bell pepper. The pure taste, without any additives, is actually quite pleasant. A dash of Tabasco or garlic oil can soften the flavor for those who prefer it. Once I’ve finished the glass of juice, it hits me: okay, so *this* was my dinner. Fortunately, there are plenty of water bottles in the hotel rooms, so I can make myself an extra cup of tea using the kettle.

DAY 2

A bit of a problem: I’m so sore that I wonder if I’ll even manage to get out of bed. In fact, I have absolutely no desire to get up. But then again, I can’t exactly give up on day two. Right, out of bed and into the van for the walk. We’re walking along the coast now. It’s amazing—not a soul on the beach. The soothing sound of the surf, the rising sun. Beautiful shells. I find a black shell—bearing the Shell logo—which is now proudly displayed in my bathroom. Later, on the bus ride back to the hotel, the effects of not eating—or rather, *not* eating—start to show. “Do you guys see that too?” someone in our group asks. “See that tree over there? Those are bananas, right?” It turns out to be yellow leaves. “And that thing there—looks like a broccoli tree, doesn’t it?” someone else shouts. Laughter all around: it’s just a spruce tree. Someone is practically hallucinating about food. That afternoon, those interested go for a second walk along a winding path across the impressive rock formations by the sea. It’s a bit misty, with the occasional drizzle. But nobody minds. The scenery here is breathtaking. Back at the hotel, I settle in comfortably with a fantastic book (*Tsjaikovskistraat 40* by Pieter Waterdrinker).

DAY 3

What’s going on with me? I slept for thirteen hours the first night. Thirteen hours! That never happens to me at home. And then the second night, the same thing again. I’d been feeling pretty rough and had gone to bed at eight-thirty the night before. We’d been told that this third day would be a so-called “dip day”—a time when you might lose heart, get a headache, or feel a bit nauseous. It’s all part of the detox process, apparently. But fortunately, I’m not experiencing any of that. Except for the long sleep, of course.

DAY 4

I don’t quite understand how it works. At home, I’m snacking all day long. Always craving something. I realize now just how often I used to snack on Easter eggs.
But here? Not a single craving! And absolutely no hunger pangs, either. Although I have to admit that last night I did drift off for a moment and imagined a magnificent steak flying right past me. That afternoon, we head to a shopping mall. I score my first victory there: I find a T-shirt, and the saleswoman asks what size I need. “XL,” I say. She looks me up and down and says, “Oh no, you need a medium.” Was she hired by our tour operator? In any case, it makes me feel wonderful. By the end of the day, though, I hit a slump. Someone tells me that during a previous visit last year, she lost two kilos in a week. My heart sinks. A whole week without eating, and only two kilos off? Is that what I’m going to all this trouble for? I’m craving some social interaction; I’ve had enough. Of course, the main point of the week is the fasting—cleansing and detoxifying the body. The fact that women often lose half a kilo a day (and men up to a full kilo) is a nice bonus, though I’m certain that for many of my fellow juicers, that’s secretly the main reason they’re doing it. Another woman in our group mentions that, after that week last year, she had never felt better. Well, right now, I don’t believe a word of it. I want a piece of cheese! A nice glass of wine! A beer, even. A few peanuts?

DAY 5

Are you this tired too?” asks a fellow group member. “My feet were absolutely freezing last night. I thought: I’ve got nice woolly socks with me. But I was so done in—too tired to actually get them out.” I burst out laughing. We enjoyed doing yoga outdoors in the sunshine today. We’ve already visited a few picturesque villages nearby. Tomorrow we’re heading to Albufeira; the last time I was there was thirty years ago. The distraction of doing things together works well. And the group dynamic is really fun, too.

DAY 6

I couldn’t believe my eyes! I remember Albufeira as a charming fishing village on that beautiful, rugged Portuguese coast. Now, it’s a full-blown holiday resort town, complete with suburbs, shopping malls, and heavy traffic. In the old town, I discover a delightful little shop where a Portuguese woman makes her own jewelry. I eagerly pick out a piece—and a great choice it turns out to be, for later that evening, over drinks, many women ask me where I scored that lovely necklace.

DAY 7

Today is the moment of truth. We are going to be weighed. Afterwards, we get to have a light lunch. But something strange happens: I have absolutely no desire to eat. I’m actually perfectly content as I am. Your body enters a resting mode, and it’s a wonderful feeling. With a sinking feeling in my stomach, I trudge over to the weighing station. My guide, Ilona, ​​checks my blood pressure—just like at the initial consultation (it’s gone down; that’s great)—and then my weight. I’ve tried to lose weight so many times over the last few years without shedding even half a gram. And guess what? I’ve lost a full four kilos! And even more importantly: eight centimeters of belly fat are gone! I’m so happy. So, it turns out you really can lose weight, even at my age!

I wrote this report about a week after returning home. Back in the Gooi area, I still exercise for an hour every day—simply because it’s addictive. And seriously: I’ve barely put on any weight, even though I’m eating ‘normally’ again. But beyond the great results and a wonderful week spent reconnecting with myself, I look back on a fantastic experience with a fun group of people in an exceptionally pleasant atmosphere. I’m full of energy to start planning a new series of interviews I’ll be conducting for Story this coming summer.