The Daily Telegraph - Saturday - Travel
‘It was all getting a bit Midsommar-y’
Talking to trees? Ceremonies at the fire temple? Barefoot walks? Josephine Platt rewilds and rechilds at a retreat in Yorkshire
Enveloped in the high-pitched throng of crystal singing bowls, my first experience of sound bathing seemed to be going well. Images of family swam in my head, and I had almost completely forgotten where I was (beneath a blanket on a yoga mat in a London meditation class). Maybe this was lucid dreaming?
But then the melody gently faded, and it dawned on me that I hadn’t been entering higher planes at all, just pondering who was overdue a phone call.
It was 2019: pre-pandemic, and my with mindfulness was just for a not-so-cheap thrill. I was dabbling, dubious and not fully committed; I’d drop into hour-long meditation and energy-healing classes on a Saturday morning, before dropping out in favour of an evening at the pub, drenching its benefits in red wine.
Then came 2020’s lockdowns, paving the way for virtual mindfulness. Feeling a greater need for quietude, I sought out women’s circles and upped my wellbeing pledge through live weekly sessions, learning how to connect to my womb and wake my inner child.
Friends scoffed and I outwardly concurred – it was all very woo-woo. But, secretly, my relationship with alternative practices had started to blossom and, after months of increased devotion, I had fallen hard.
I kicked it up a notch: I went on a yoga retreat for the summer solstice; I returned to in-person soundbaths; I journeyed with a shamanic healer in the back of her van and tried to spend more time in nature. I was feeling more grounded than ever, and even the odd eye roll, snigger and cocked brow no longer bothered me.
So when I got the chance to go on an immersive five-day rewilding retreat in the Yorkshire Dales, I leapt at it. It felt like the culmination of everything that had gone before – the ultimate shedding of my pre-zen skin. “It will be a breeze,” I told myself, trying not to think about the ice bath on the itinerary.
In a well-being context, rewilding – rooted in nature healing and humanity – promotes living in reciprocity with the land and being more like our hunter-gatherer ancestors. It is soaring in popularity, and I was dying to try it.
Weeks later, I was on a train thundering north towards the lush, 3,000-acre Broughton Hall Estate – home to the Tempest Baronet family for more than 900 years, and now to the rewilding project – hunched over my laptop. Correcting this poor posture would become a project for the retreat’s lead expert, Tony Riddle, a natural lifestyle coach and barefoot endurance athlete. He eschews modern footwear and sitting in chairs, and is all about living in alignment with our human biology.
Tony was joined by a stellar line-up of wellness practitioners, curated by founder of Balance Holidays, Livia Manca di Villahermosa, who designed
Swimming in a ‘wild reservoir’ was a prelude to the dreaded ice bath
the programme after extensive research into the rewilding concept, choosing the experts and location for credentials that promote returning to our wild sides and living sustainably.
He welcomed me enthusiastically to the estate, and introduced me to a diverse group of fellow retreatees – not the middle-aged bohemians and athleisure-clad 20-somethings I’d been expecting – before we ambled across the estate, surrounded by meadows and gently mooing cattle in distant fields.
I had expected our accommodation to be firmly raw and rugged, but – to my utter delight – we were each shown to a sumptuous suite in classic estate-house style, complete with gilded baroque furnishings and clawfoot baths. The first of many field-to-fork meals followed, during which we pondered the impending inaugural ceremony – out in the woods at the retreat’s fire temple – with some trepidation. It was all starting to sound a bit Midsommar-y.
Fortunately, it was only our inhibitions which were to be sacrificed. Gathered around a roaring fire – cosy under heavy blankets – voice coach Kate Lister taught us how to limber up our facial muscles and experiment with our vocal cords, blowing raspberries, sticking out our tongues and squealing.
This was only the beginning. Next we were instructed to speak to trees using natural noises, intended to help us return to our childlike selves and reconnect to the nature within. “Wah…wee… ooo,” I squirmed. I felt like a toddler, but then perhaps it was working? Embracing my inner three-year-old, I grabbed a marker pen and scribbled an intention on a piece of wood, then launched it into the flames. This marked the beginning of “rechilding” our spirits.
The next morning brought toe yoga (toega) then playtime: tag on the lawn; prancing like a pack of hyenas; mimicking cat movements. Then came preflirtation tending to be too sloshed to stand: “You’re a lush and an unfit mother!” cried my new friend, holding me up. We were loosening up the body and reducing inhibitions – if any lingered.
Then it was time to ditch the footwear and heighten our connection to nature. It’s not only something Tony advocates, but a growing wellness trend that’s packaged as “grounding” or “earthing” and touted for its heart rate-lowering benefits.
My pulse had certainly slowed to a crawl as I squelched through our barefoot walk later in the day – navigating sharp stones on forest paths and sheep business in open plains, all while heeding Tony’s advice: “Shoulders back! Lead with the heart! Move 10 per cent slower!”. But it shot right back up afterwards when I plunged into a wild reservoir, then endeavoured to dry off without a towel (by mimicking the haka, in case you were wondering).
The week sped by, and the ice bath loomed large. I was expected to keep my body underwater for two minutes, so I geared up with more wild swimming, breathing techniques from Artur Paulins (who trained under the OG “Iceman” Wim Hof ), and conscious
We limbered up our facial muscles, blowing raspberries, sticking out our tongues or squealing
barefoot walking.
On day five, the frigid moment finally arrived. It was every bit as excruciatingly cold as I’d feared – but what I hadn’t expected was the incredible sense of empowerment that came with it. I was stunned at the power of my mind and breath, and my own strength of will, emerging from the slush newly fortified and emboldened.
Naturally, I celebrated my feat around the fire that evening, reflecting with my new pals to the sound of tambourines and bongo drums before hurling a parting intention into the blaze. I’m not sure that I have been rewilded, but my time at the retreat has certainly taught me an important lesson: life is better when you trust your natural instincts and don’t take yourself too seriously. From now on, it’s back to basics for me – though perhaps without the ice baths.