Standing in the spartan surroundings of their double room, the spa host, a man called Moon, with a shiny round face and a shirt with tigers in different sizes all over it, gives Maya and James the skinny on the week ahead.
‘So, have a cleansing dinner tonight in the restaurant from our pre-cleanse menu – you have been eating clean for the past two to three days, yes?’
Maya looks at James guiltily. Last night they went to a Full Moon party on the beach around the bay two boats away and washed pizza and doughnuts down with SangSom and Coke, which they sipped from a bucket through straws. A look between them says Moon doesn’t need to know this.
They nod.
‘Yes. Eating clean,’ they chime.
‘So, at 7 a.m. you’ll have your first bentonite clay shake; herbs at 8.30 a.m.; another shake at ten.’
‘Oh goody,’ says James, not completely on board with this whole thing. When Maya returned from the beach hut with the news that they were going to an intense detox spa where they would have to do self-administed colonic irrigations, James could tell she was trying to polish a turd by talking rapidly about how luxurious it would be. But he just about came around to the idea of a challenge.
‘After your 1 p.m. shake and herbs, you’ll have a lymphatic flush juice, another shake at four, and then straight into the colonic session in… here.’
Moon opens the door to the bathroom for the ‘ta-da!’ moment. His big reveal. It’s what hardcore Haveners come from all over the world to experience: set up against the toilet is a bench, propped on an upturned bucket, leading on a slight decline to a toilet seat. Next to the high, wall-mounted cistern is a tall hanging structure on wheels, that looks like a cross between a triffid and a saline drip, from which hangs a huge bag of dark brown liquid. From the bag, a tube drops almost to the floor and is fastened with a bulldog clip. Luxe clinical detox this isn’t.
Moon points to a cup next to the sink, with two plastic tubes standing inside, like toothbrushes. ‘One with pink sticker for the lady; one with blue sticker for you, sir. Our staff will set up and clean away after each colonic flush – you will take it in turns – but make sure you use the right tip every time, or you exchange bum-bum germs.’
Maya burps up what feels like a little bit of sick mixed with SangSom, and wonders if she should run to the toilet, but it’s right in front of her, making her feel worse.
‘Those plastic tubes. In the toothbrush holder. Are they the…’
‘Anal inserts, yes, ma’am.’
‘And we keep our own anal inserts?’ coughs James quietly, so no one else might hear.
‘Oh yeah. Reusable. We think of the planet here. But you use your own, each day. We clean and return it back to cup for next day.’
Where will we put our toothbrushes?!
Moon enthusiastically hops and straddles the wooden board and lies on his back. His tiger shirt drapes beneath him a little. ‘Staff will have put your tip onto the tube, resting on the colema board, so all you have to do is remove pants and edge down onto the tip.’
James and Maya stand aghast and horrified.
‘Edge, edge, edge, until… bingo!’ Moon mimes the action through his clothes. ‘Then release clip to let the coffee solution fill you up. As your tummy swells, it might cramp a bit. It feels a bit like you need to…’
‘Shit?’ asks James.
‘That’s riiiiiight,’ smiles Moon. ‘Hold organic coffee solution in the bowel until you can’t take any more, then…’ With his two hands, he gestures an out-pouring.
Maya holds her hand to her mouth.
‘When all done, have a look! The basket in the toilet bowl catches the bits if you want to look at them. Then tip them in the toilet and flush away. Ta-da!’
Moon seems to be a man who loves his job, but he’s very earnest about it and doesn’t seem to see the funny side in his-and-hers poo tubes next to the sink.
‘What should we expect to find in there?’ James asks nervously.
‘Oh, you know. Sludge, some leafy matter, sweetcorn, an old boot…’
‘What?’ Maya gasps.
‘I’m just joking. About the sweetcorn anyway.’ Moon laughs, and James almost manages a smile too. ‘Same thing for five days. No cheating. No food. Just clay shakes, lymph shakes, herbs and broth. Meditation and yoga will get you through.’
All Maya can think about is last night’s pizza and how she hopes that might get her through. It was a dirty pepperoni of dubious meat provenance, bought from a little takeaway shack at the back of the beach, but, in hindsight, it tasted good. All the more when she compares it to the herbs and broth to come.
‘I give lectures every evening over vegetable broth and wheatgrass shots, it’s a good time to meet fellow fasters and exchange ideas.’
Maya knows what James is thinking. He has no intention of meeting fellow fasters and exchanging ideas. It all sounds ghastly to him. And Maya doesn’t want to see the contents of her own basket, let alone talk to a stranger about the minutiae of theirs.
‘What if I don’t want to talk to anyone, Moon?’ Maya asks.
‘Not even your husband? That fine too.’
Moon leaves the room with a smile and wishes Maya and James a nice evening.
As the door shuts, Maya puts her head in her hands.
‘Oh, baby! What have I done?’
‘I don’t know,’ answers James, trying to sound upbeat. ‘But we’re here now. We’d better make the most of it.’
Maya can’t believe it. Two years ago she was pining for this stranger on a train and now she’s roped him into joining her in self-administered coffee colonics in their shared bathroom. She doesn’t know whether to do a silent fist pump or run away, fast.