Fasting in a cloister: Soup, silence and the search for wisdom

The Johannes-Schlossl cloister in Salzburg, Austria, also has a guesthouse. — Photos: dpa-tmn

Church bells. Cowbell. A rescue helicopter. Flushing toilets.

Those are the only sounds that break the silence here in Salzburg, Austria, where I am spending a week at a retreat.

I’m hoping the calming atmosphere at the Johannes-Schlossl, run by the Pallottine Fathers, will help offset the stress that was becoming overwhelming, what with work, the pandemic and all.

Peace and quiet will help, I am sure, cutting myself off from the world and hearing and seeing nothing at all.

The answer seemed to be to get away from it all so I could hear my own voice inside me again.

So here I am, fasting on a retreat in a monastery. Snuggled in green hills at the Monchsberg, the hospital is close by, something I find pretty reassuring, given I’m new to this kind of thing.

There are plenty of horror stories out there about fasting – hello, Internet – from people struck with vomiting to having nervous breakdowns. I go ahead and check in anyway.

The cloister sent me an email a few days beforehand, spelling out a few preparatory steps. It turns out that you can’t just rock up in your car and start fasting, you need to start reducing your coffee intake before you get there.

Feeling pretty motivated, I made sure to switch to tea.

Meanwhile, there was also a lengthy list of things to bring, from hiking poles to a hot water bottle, and a thermos flask.

I’m now carrying so much stuff that I could be heading out for three weeks of survival training in the jungle.

Once I reach the monastery’s guesthouse, I find the rooms are simple. They’re big, with a private bathroom. They don’t have a television but offer a view of the garden instead.

I unpack my suitcase and put my emergency biscuits on the desk.

I am part of a group of people who have come here on this trip but it turns out that half of them did not realise they had booked a fasting retreat.

I didn’t realise exactly what I was getting into either.

We are given a weekly programme that is so packed, I’m astonished that I’ll barely have any free time.

Getting started

After introductions, we get to start in on the fruit juice.

Dinner is a glass of pressed apple with carrot and beetroot. I’m happy to get anything at all on the first day and take about 20 minutes, ekeing out my juice one spoonful at a time.

Indeed, taking it slowly is key, according to the head of fasting and Qigong teacher Alexander Steinberger.

You sip each and every spoonful, mindfully and deliberately, with the aim of getting as much as you can out of as little as you can.

Next we face a big question, namely who wants to undergo the hardcore fast, which is basically just juice and soup?

The other option is lighter alkaline fasting, and I am afraid, dear Reader, I go for the easy way out.

My head is aching by evening, I feel cloudy, like a thick fog has settled on my thoughts.

I pour myself a cup of wormwood tea and go to bed. I have more intense dreams than I’ve had in ages.

Breakfast is a bright spot and seems almost like gluttony, with an apple, banana, tomato and cucumber.

Plus we get a sweet puree that’s made of plums, dates and sultanas.

Hiking is one of the main activities during the fasting retreat in Salzburg – even in bad weather.

We have another cup of tea, then head out on a hike. We do that for several hours, every morning, bound for local sights in or around Salzburg, like the Leopoldskron Palace, Hellbrunn Palace, the pilgrimage church of Maria Plain or the Kapuzinerberg – fasting plus sightseeing.

Thankfully, the exercise is distracting but I can’t seem to find my rhythm in the group so I set off alone on the next few days.

That works better, and I feel more in tune with myself, able to get a sense of what I’m hearing and feeling.

It seems like the other people need the entertainment and the company and indeed, the group dynamic is important in fasting, when the sense of togetherness and exchange help us get through the toughest times.

Drained and exhausted

The first day of fasting is a roller-coaster ride for me, and I feel different every hour.

I don’t feel good, either – I am drained and exhausted.

We have a rest at midday and I fall asleep immediately, enjoying the first ever liver wrap, a detox.

I can’t tell you if it helped as I dropped off to sleep immediately, even though I couldn’t even imagine an afternoon nap at home.

By the second day, it feels like I’ve already been here for three weeks.

In the afternoon, I seek some spiritual advice from Father Rudiger Kiefer. His words are touching. Everyone is there because they have lost something, want to get rid of something, search for something or find something, he says.

Sometimes it’s about weight, but in truth it’s about much more. He takes the time to reflect on life, the world and God.

My headache eases and I am looking forward to lunch, the sunshine and the garden. I feel sort of strengthened by the monastery walls and I feel less foggy. I can hear my body and my soul.

Sure, I do still feel hungry but not as insistently as I had feared. Half an apple fills me up.

It doesn’t feel like renunciation, because I direct my focus on what is there and not on what is missing.

Letting go

By the third day, I feel like writing down everything that moves me and can finally release what’s in my head, from toxic memories to thoughts that are no longer needed.

That calms my mind.

After all, fasting is all about letting go and reorganising. Later, in the evening, we have soup and head up to the roof terrace, then take a walk in the dark and listen to a reading.

We drink a great deal to offset the hunger, and get through around 3 to 4 litres of water and tea throughout the day, which to me seems like an incredible amount.

I have found my rhythm at last.

Each day, I head round the forest then do yoga in my room, getting my circulation going again after the liver wrap.

I start to feel more energetic.

And guess what? Suddenly it’s time to head home again and I haven’t even touched my emergency biscuits. It turns out I won’t need them. Fasting isn’t as bad as I feared. – dpa/Anita Arneitz