Bardo Burner

It had been a hell of a year and I was searching the web for something to help put a full stop at the end of one phase of life and kickstart the next bit. Right at the end of 2022, shortly before Christmas and two weeks before my 60th birthday, I had a transient ischaemic attack – or mini-stroke, which makes it sound far more dramatic than I’d care to admit it was – during a lesson with my Year 4 pupils. 

As a class, we were watching a short moralistic video about cartoon animals with a dilemma, which was to form the stimulus for a discussion. A few minutes into it, I realised I no longer had a clear idea of what was going on around me. The video played on, although the words had become incomprehensible. Familiar but intangible.

It might sound weird, but what I felt was far more like curiosity than fear. Grasping to find some sort of sense in this situation, I picked up a pen and started to write. My hand moved. My eyes looked down at a Post-it note on which I’d jotted recognisable letters forming gibberish words.

By the time the video ended, the attack was over. The bell went, and the class left the room. I had no headache, no weakness, nothing. Just an almighty awareness that something major had occurred and that I needed to get help. Shortly afterwards, after arguing adamantly against any further investigation into what had happened with the school nurse and a GP she had called to speak to me over the phone, I was in Accident and Emergency. I’d had both a lucky escape and a wake-up call.

The next six weeks passed in a blur of tests, which revealed nothing. I was fit and healthy enough and this was just one of those things. The doctors prescribed statins and an antiplatelet medication, and I went back to the primary school where I’d taught for 16 years.

Given a reduced timetable by my employers, I could easily have drifted into part-time work, but I’d never pictured myself slowly fading out of teaching. On top of this, I saw the work treadmill, as cosy as mine had seemed, quite suddenly and sharply for what it was. I was stressed and burnt out, and what I felt was an overwhelming sense of relief that I could finally admit this and think about what I wanted out of my remaining years on this planet. By Easter I’d handed my notice in.

I knew I wasn’t retiring to a life of slippers and Netflix, although this was simultaneously my greatest fear. Which leads me back to that search.

July and August were a doddle: in the world of education, life runs in terms and I’m used to an eight-week holiday in summer. But what after that? September, the time of new beginnings for everyone involved in schools, was set to be a toughie for me. What I instinctively felt I needed was something far removed from my usual life: a deep breath, a pause in the hamster wheel of life and a chance for a personal regroup. If I wasn’t going back to work I knew I needed some sort of focus and I began to look for a retreat. I’d never been on anything like that before, though, and was a damn sight more sure about what I didn’t want than what I did.

No carefully weighed-out food portions, no group discussions with compulsory contributions, no white coats, no elaborate yoga poses, no shared rooms, no silence unless I wanted it to be so, no talking if I didn’t want to, no service in the form of washing bathroom floors, etc, and above all, no colonic cleansing.

I know, I know… it all sounds incredibly negative. I was, however, an expert at jumping through other people’s hoops. It was time to march to the beat of a different drummer, at least for a while.

There were many websites with beautifully posed, serene-looking punters sitting cross-legged on mats looking blissed out against a background of brilliant blue sea or greenly fertile mountains. There was an abundance of images of clean, sterile accommodations with white bedding, and green leafy meals.  And on I scoured. I was simply looking for the photos of less shiny-looking people with a hint that they had the option to sit more comfortably on chairs.

The first thing that appealed to me about Serenity Retreats when I stumbled across their website was the down-to-earth language and obvious flexibility of what they were offering. The pictures are practical and realistic, showing the beautiful views and the accommodation. No glossy pics of shiny, smiling faces, though in reality there are many, which fits in with the respect for personal space and privacy that dominates this company’s philosophy.

As I read on, Kim, who founded the company in 2010, spelt out clearly and repeatedly in language that didn’t sound like it was lifted straight from an advertising manual, that the holiday you had with them was entirely in your hands. They offer seven-day solo holidays, all in individual self-catering apartments in several small blocks with a sea view, with as much or as little interaction with the organisers and other guests as you want. I attended the retreat on the Greek island of Lefkada, but Kim – who works with several others including her sister, Jools – runs retreats in the UK and Morocco too.

“Don’t want to take part in the organised programme? Just need to chill? That’s okay. The choice will always be yours: solitude, the company of like-minded people, a week’s course or activities, going on trips or all of the above.” That’s my kind of sell. Under courses, I saw the words, “this is not a bootcamp”. No courses at Serenity start before 10.30am, and even then you attend only what you feel like doing at the time. 

From the website, I went straight to the reviews. Mostly five star, again and again they told the story of a place where people had gone in search of “unplugging” from 21st-century life, and found exactly what they needed.

At Serenity you feel looked after from the first interactions via email, through being fetched at the airport, to the welcome meal and walk around the village of Nikiana, and there is always help at the end of a WhatsApp message should you need it. Alongside this is a clear message to do whatever you feel you need to do, and above all to listen to what your body is telling you.

There is only one unbreakable rule at Serenity and that is that your apartment is your castle: you don’t knock uninvited on anyone’s door, you don’t shout up at balconies as you walk past. It’s clearly a formula that works. Sixty per cent of guests return at some point.

Serenity Retreats works with the locals as much as they can, as was obvious when the group walked around the small village on the first day. Kim introduced us to the owners of shops and cafes, and our taxi driver to and from the airport was Panos, the village cabbie.

They offer several different optional courses as well as massages from another local, Giota, who became part of the team in 2017. Included in your holiday is a daily 9.30am mindfulness session held down by the sea. Again, no expectation to attend, and we were told quite specifically not to set an alarm clock, but to come if it felt like the right thing at the time. As meditation has been a proper life-changer for me, I was a regular. Chairs provided.

I stayed in a first-floor apartment – Maria Middle – which was perfect for me, with a small kitchen and living area and a good-sized, comfortable double bed. We first floorers all had balconies and the ground floor flats all came with small terraces leading on to the beach. Everyone is lulled to sleep by the sound of lapping waves. There are some organised trips should you choose – I didn’t for the most part – and the feedback from all of these was positive. Mostly I sat and stared at the sea or wandered round the village. 

I tended to brunch at “home” and then often met up with others for one meal out, generally in the evening. As a vegan, my favourite cafe was Apico, a mere several minutes from my room and with three substantial and labelled plant-based options.

Local tavernas and bakeries rely a little too heavily on dairy alongside the veg for non-meat options. But if you ask, they can always whip up a couple of vegetable dishes. The local produce available in the three small supermarkets in the town was superb and I lived off the truly delicious lemon humous and gigantes beans.

So what did I get out of it? I got that pause. Before heading off, I’d been extremely nervous about how 25 or so strangers could coexist while each getting the level of interaction and solo time they needed. They just did.

We were there for very different reasons, but in common we had the fact that on some level we were all seeking the same thing and that we had all found Serenity. When we were together as a small or a larger group, the respect and companionship among the group was palpable.

I got the confidence that comes with knowing I can and have been on my own adventure and that I did it by myself. Through talking to other people and discovering their own reasons for being there – for we all had a story – I reaffirmed what I knew when I  walked out of my classroom for the final time. Life really is too short not to discover how best to live it in a way that works for you.