by I have one superpower. I can shop – anywhere. For example, I once went to the quaint Bavarian town of Berchtesgaden and strolled around the limpid Königssee. On my return from the Malerwinkel — the painter’s corner on the Bavarian mountain lake — I happened across a stall. Well, I had to stop. After all, here was a picnic table covered with white plastic tubs of various sizes. “What are they in?” I asked, as my husband fell onto a rock. “Aber es ist Murmeltier Salbe,” said the woman in a dirndl, as if she was surprised that I did not know this famous local product. She mimicked his descent on her hands. Then she said in a louder voice, “Cream from the FETT,” she said, “of the marmot! Murmeltier Fett!”
Need you ask, reader, did I need a small, medium or large pot of marmot fat ointment? Baby! I went big.
My husband’s superpower, on the other hand, is sleep. He can sleep anytime, anywhere, anywhere. So annoying. I take the ages, my mind going to dark places, like why I wasn’t invited to the V&A Summer Party this year, and then I wake up at 4am sharp. I also have that particular nighttime pleasure of being kept awake by someone else’s throaty snoring.
So, when I was invited to a five-day sleep retreat in Croatia — on the beautiful, lavender-scented island of Hvar — I studied the schedule with great interest. We would fly to Split, then speed boat to Hvar and then live at the Maslina Resort, located in the hills minutes from the port of Stari Grad – literally “Old Town” – one of the best and oldest towns in Europe. I was speedboating.
Everything was lavender themed (the fragrant plant has been noted to have soporific properties, even more powerful than reading a long blog by Dominic Cummings, or listening to an audiobook). There were lavender baths, lavender infusions, lavender dinners, hilltop meditation, sunrise yoga, foraging, sound healing. But, when my weary eyes rested on the promise of a “sleep activity with an expert sleep practitioner” on the beach followed by a “herbal pouch massage”, I demanded. I knew Ivo (the husband) had to come. One, his name works in Croatia, where everyone is called Ivo, and two, he was already an expert sleep practitioner but you can teach an old dog new tricks, etc, so I’d take the coals to Newcastle. And I want to learn how to sleep better.
Face quickly. We’re both on a custom made wooden speedboat passing a Rift on the port side with a school of dolphins jumping in and out of the glassy waters of the boatyards from the boat. We have left the cold June dawn in Gatwick and the air is like champagne. “Look,” says the captain. And an unspoilt island points ahead, where a low slung structure hangs in the olive and pine green slope. We glided through waters that the word “turquoise” hardly does justice to, and within minutes we were sipping our welcome drinks of ginger, lime and lavender in the most gorgeous hotel: all open to the weather, rough surfaces, tones neutrals, and supermodel-level team padding in cream and brown linen.
This is Maslina, the “careful luxury” resort where our five-day slumber party takes place – and it’s a dream. A stone’s throw from the sea with a very glamorous spa with polished black concrete walls, ham, and therapists so professional and well trained that mine told me after my first massage that she had already received three marriage proposals that day, from men a truly grateful marriage. , of course.
The days were busy but full of healthy well-being: our arrival day ended with a sunset dinner on the beach and then retired to find that deep baths had been drawn for us soaked in lavender and essences. The next day was tough: a pumping e-bike ride through Stari Grad to a secret lunch at an outdoor kitchen on a hilltop. After plates of octopus carpaccio, we watched the chefs stuff a huge steaming tureen with onion and potatoes and olive oil and herbs first with langoustines and then whole sea bass – a Croatian specialty called “gregada” (a kind of Balkan bouillabaisse) . After this feast, we were invited to watch on cushions under a cherry tree while Damien, the resident guru, led a “guided meditation” session as we lay on our backs in the dappled shade. I mentally counted the minutes – no, seconds – until Ivo started snoring, which he did punctually within a minute of being laid down, as usual.
The rest of our little group kept a tactful silence and were asked to check in with the toes, ankles, ribcage and so on during Damien’s full body scan designed to lower our cortisol levels for the rest of the day and little Ivo and rent snuffs the air.
At this point I should probably admit that I was sleeping poorly thanks to a bad cold, but I was relying on the “therapeutic power” of lavender to get me through. On the third day I had to take a short tour of the organic gardens and a chance to search for my own herbs for my spa treatment later (the one with the herbal pouches) because suddenly I had to go back to my room and have a nap. . I want sunrise yoga and then a beach picnic of baked goods and fruit and ham and cheeses all packed in wooden bento boxes, eat as we sprawled in an olive grove, and I was exhausted.
After that, I was revived enough to treat my entire body to the Adriatic rejuvenation in the wellness center. But I declined the offer to have a couples massage with Ivo, because I knew he would fall asleep and start snoring seconds after spreading himself on the table wearing his paper G-string pants. As he did at the “sunset sound healing session” in the garden later, with Damien ringing bells and banging Tibetan bronze bowls to make the music of the spheres as I gazed at the green pines towering overhead and the blue sky, blue and felt restored in body and spirit. I learned how to relax deeply to “honor all aspects of myself” and relax all parts of the body so that when the therapist told me I could “pay loving attention” to my hostage
Just as I was starting to relax into days of spa treatments, bringing the wooden e-bikes into town for urgent shopping, sleep activities – which Ivo continued to nod off, dropping off minutes before the nearest competitor fell unconscious – it was time to fight him. back, and do it back. Come out of the hills fragrant with thyme and lavender, the seas sparkling blue between the pine trees, paddle the wooden bike, pack the bags of lavender and olive oil into our transport, leave our wonderful room with a view of the Adriatic for the claggy . gray English summer skies, and jumped into a speedboat to Split.
Since I was at home I have been using lavender oil and working on my breathing – fill my belly deeply for five, hold, and then release for five, and try to breathe through my nose. I wanted to be “present” during the day and off my phone at night, in bed. So far, so good – but I still woke up on the dot of 4am. I am counting the sleeps until I can come back.
Lavender Sleeping Retreat from €4,870 per person, available from 1 May to 15 October. maslinaresort.com
