While initially intimidated by the all-white dress code at Lucia Magnani Health clinic, Laura Bartlett quickly found herself immersed in the serene and luxurious atmosphere of the clinic. Here she chronicles her journey of self-discovery, indulgence and unexpected adventures, as she balances healthy living with a touch of Italian flair.

Let’s be honest, detoxing usually sounds about as appealing as a lukewarm kale salad. But when the detox involves swapping greasy spoons for gourmet Italian cuisine, endless green juice for antioxidant-rich smoothies and Netflix reruns for actual human interaction at a luxurious Italian wellness retreat – well, then you’ve got my attention.

So picture this: Me, Laura Bartlett, a vision in travel-chic attire (think statement sunglasses and a fabulous carry-on that screamed “jet-setter, not jet-lagged”), sauntering into the Lucia Magnani Health Clinic in Bologna, Italy. Five nights of detoxing awaited, a welcome respite from the city’s relentless pace. Now, let’s be honest, I thrived on a bit of glam. Upon arrival, the all-white serenity of the entrance hall, complete with hushed whispers and guests radiating Olympian calm,sent a shiver down my spine. Here, amidst the white couches, I, in my (admittedly slightly rumpled) travel attire, felt more like a renegade marshmallow than the wellness warrior I aspired to be. Plus, that all-white dress code? It seemed a world away from my usual travel ensemble. 

But then came my “Long Life Angel,” a friendly soul named Tzunami who whisked me away for a consultation and a detox plan that felt less like punishment and more like a delicious adventure. Dr. Magnani’s whole philosophy of “Ben-Essere” – that’s fancy Italian for total well-being – resonated deeply. It wasn’t just about kale (thank goodness!), it was about balance, about feeling good from the inside out.

And let me tell you, I felt good. The days were a symphony of pampering – thermal mud treatments that left my skin feeling like silk, personalized workouts with a trainer who somehow made burpees almost enjoyable (almost!) and enough antioxidant-rich concoctions to make a free radical weep. Plus, the food? Forget deprivation, this was a celebration! Fresh, seasonal Italian fare with a focus on whole foods and hidden health benefits. I swear, their roasted vegetables could have converted a confirmed carnivore.

One morning, I found myself in a sun-drenched yoga studio, with the windows wide open and a gentle breeze wafting through the room. The scent of lavender filled the air as I joined my instructor, a serene Italian man. As we moved through the poses, I felt a sense of calm wash over me, enhanced by the soothing rhythm of my breath and the gentle breeze on my skin. Tree pose, which I’d always struggled with, suddenly felt like second nature as we naturally leaned on one another for support. His guidance was gentle yet firm and his soothing voice filled the room, I’d go as far as saying the entire session was magical and probably the best yoga experience of my life. At the end of the session, he placed a set of singing bowls on my stomach, their vibrations sending shivers down my spine. It was an otherworldly experience and as I left the studio, I felt lighter and more grounded than I had in ages.

But here’s the thing: while I was all about the healthy hedonism, a girl needs a little fun, right? Imagine my delight when I discovered a local festival happening right outside the clinic gates during my stay! Now, sneaking out for a night of disco dancing might not be the most orthodox detox behaviour, but hey, balance, remember? Plus, who can resist a good Italian street party? (Spoiler alert: not me.)

By the end of the week, I’d shed five pounds, gained an inch (or two?) of posture, and discovered a newfound appreciation for kale (okay, maybe not, but I did learn some killer smoothie recipes!). But the real takeaway was a sense of inner peace and a renewed zest for life. So, if you’re looking for a detox that’s more “divine decadence” than deprivation, then the Lucia Magnani Health Clinic is your answer. Just don’t judge me if you see a renegade marshmallow rocking out at the local disco – it might just be me, embracing my Ben-Essere.