Feeling, Gulping, and Spoonfuls - A Fasting Day at Tannerhof

Off to the bathhouse. The practice is upstairs-and the consultation really is one. The doctors listen. An hour, sometimes more.
What's going on right now? Strength? Fatigue? Metabolism? Sleep? You talk, sigh, laugh-whatever feels right. In the end, a plan takes shape: personal, realistic, tailored to the fasting week and to life afterwards.

Movement? Yes, but gently.
Treatments? Stimulating or calming.
Mental wellbeing? Coaching, art, or silence.

Anything is possible; nothing is mandatory.

Fasting doesn't mean lying still. The body is a pragmatist: what it doesn't need, it dismantles.
So: movement - but no records. That's how it's meant to be. It feels good. And it protects your muscles.

On the weekly program: aqua fitness, T'ai Chi, breath therapy, yoga, hikes. Perhaps a Kneipp affusion beforehand: cold, warm, cold - the circulation approves.

Then out you go. Across the meadow. Up the path. To the linden tree. Or further.

Buchinger fasting doesn't mean eating nothing. It means: liquid, sensitive, soothing.
First the broth, and you can feel the warmth tracing its way down the oesophagus before spreading through your stomach. Then the fasting soup: freshly made every day, from a changing selection of vegetables. Over time, a casual color gradient appears on the plate-the rainbow of fasting.

In the fasting parlour you meet people. Many. All sorts. Seasoned fasters, laughing about past crises. Newcomers, amazed at what the body can actually do.
You sit together. Spoon and spoon and spoon. Share thoughts. Share silence.
And almost without exception, you keep returning to the subject of food. You tell one another about your cravings: what you're truly looking forward to after the fast, what you miss, what you want to rediscover. From the outside, this fixation on food can probably look faintly masochistic-inside, though, it's completely normal, sometimes even comforting: a small preview, a little anticipation of what comes next.

You recognize yourself in other people's words. You discover something entirely new. And again and again, a closeness grows among fellow fasters-one that has already turned into more than a few friendships.

The afternoon belongs to hands: fasting massage, hay compress, detox bath, moor, honey massage. Everything smells of herbs, wood, alpine air.

The liver compress - the "morphine of naturopathy" - warms you right through.
The massage sets the lymph in motion.
The bath lifts the heaviness for a moment.

And if your thoughts are too loud: psychotherapeutic coaching. A quiet sorting-out.

Fasting clarifies. Without much drama.

Orangerie light bath. A walk. A few lines in a notebook.
External stimulus shrinks-inner rooms expand.
Thoughts grow calmer, more orderly. Some things resurface. Some things drop away.

And if your energy dips in between, you get a small pick-me-up: a spoonful of honey or an espresso. Both work-lifting the mood, giving you fresh momentum.

First course: vegetable broth again, then juice (different every day, freshly pressed). Or buttermilk. Or both. And then you can experiment until you've found your ideal juice-to-buttermilk ratio. The spoon remains in service. It belongs to fasting the way the mountains belong to Tannerhof.

And then it's back to your room, to let the evening taper off with reading and tea. Or to the fire in the lounge with conversation. Or to savour the sauna's heat. Or a brief dip in the pool. As you please.

And slowly, a pleasantly warm tiredness arrives.

Fasting at Tannerhof is not an ascetic program. Not a competition.
It is an invitation.

To pause. To re-order. To find your way back. To regain trust in our bodies.

And in the end?
You feel yourself again.
Clearer. Lighter. Perhaps a little freer.