Latest news with #retreat
UAE Moments
13 hours ago
- UAE Moments
Uncover Summer at Nujuma, a Ritz-Carlton Reserve
This summer, Nujuma, a Ritz-Carlton Reserve, offers a retreat unlike any other. Set on a private island in the heart of the Red Sea, it's a destination where everything has been thoughtfully designed to help guests slow down, disconnect from routine, and find space to reflect. With nature untouched and silence uninterrupted, the experience centers on clarity, calm, and meaningful presence. Reconnect with Nature and Self The seasonal offer includes thoughtful additions designed to elevate your experience from the moment you arrive. Each inclusion has been carefully selected to enhance comfort and support relaxation: Daily Breakfast for Two: Begin each day with a full breakfast in a peaceful setting 20% on Food and Beverage: Enjoy exclusive savings across all dining venues 20% on Neyrah Spa Treatments: Restore with signature therapies at the resort's wellness sanctuary Personal Host Service: A dedicated host supports your stay from arrival to departure Offer Details and Terms A minimum stay of two nights is required. Valid for stays from July 7, 2025 to September 18, 2025. Use Promotional Code: EB7 to access the offer.
The Guardian
2 days ago
- Entertainment
- The Guardian
‘How did I feel giving the baby away? I never thought of it like that': inside a weekend retreat for surrogate mothers
As I walk out of Hobart airport's small arrivals hall, I immediately spot the person I'm looking for. My contact, Mollie D'Arcy, is standing at the exit, heavily pregnant. Her baby bump isn't the only giveaway – she's holding up a laminated sign in hot pink writing, sticky taped to a retractable light sabre toy. It reads, 'Surrogates on Tour.' It's mid-September 2024 and D'Arcy is this year's Surrogacy Sisterhood Retreat organiser and captain. Since its inception in 2018, it's the first time this event, a roving annual weekend away for surrogates past and present, has made it to Tasmania. 'I'm pretty happy to shout loud and proud that I'm a surrogate,' D'Arcy says. I've been liaising with D'Arcy for weeks. She has helped me gain the other surrogates' consent for me to be the first journalist allowed access to the retreat for a podcast series, Secrets We Keep, on the fertility industry. As we make our way to the luggage collection area, about a dozen excited surrogates begin to trickle in. Most have taken early flights from Queensland and Victoria and two have made it all the way from Western Australia and New Zealand. In no time, the carousel area is gushing with surrogates from all walks of life, ranging from their early 30 to late 40s – admin officers, educators, PR specialists, entrepreneurs and lawyers. Most already know each other, having met at previous retreats or online. All tick the one entry criterion for being here: they've carried a baby for someone else. 'I don't think there's another word that could describe it better than sisterhood,' says family creation lawyer, former surrogate and egg donor, Sarah Jefford. Jefford is one of the Surrogacy Sisterhood Retreat's founders, inspired by a retreat for Canadian surrogates. 'We'll have some surrogates who are pregnant, some that have just birthed, some that haven't even gone through the process yet, and we share all the different aspects of good, positive journeys or challenging or negative journeys,' she says. 'It's all welcome.' Sign up for our rundown of must-reads, pop culture and tips for the weekend, every Saturday morning Altruistic surrogacy is the only legal option for surrogacy in Australia; it's rare and heavily regulated. Jefford estimates there are between 130 and 150 altruistic surrogacy births in Australia each year and roughly 80% of these arrangements are between family members and friends, while 20% occur among strangers. Laws differ between states, but hopeful parents in Australia cannot pay a surrogate for carrying, or advertise they need a one to create a family. Women who wish to become surrogates must offer voluntarily. The regulatory environment has meant those seeking a surrogate, and those keen to be one, must turn to informal structures to find each other – the most significant one being a closed Facebook group where intended parents and surrogate candidates post their photos, introductions and bona fides as potential parents or surrogates. Then, interested parties slide into each other's DMs, hoping to match with each other. I was curious to learn more about the women who lend their wombs to carry a baby for strangers they'd met online. As we climb into a convoy of cars to head to the farm in Bothwell, an hour's drive from Hobart, where the retreat is being held, D'Arcy is busily pasting up 'Surrogacy Express' signs on each vehicle – also in hot pink writing. D'Arcy was exposed to surrogacy through working at an IVF clinic. She became fascinated by the concept after witnessing some of the first Tasmanian surrogacy arrangements come through the clinic, shortly after it became legal in 2012. 'I felt so deeply for these people who couldn't have a baby, knowing that I have always wanted a family. I really thought maybe I could be a surrogate. It felt like something I was capable of.' At the time, she had not yet had her own two children. 'Then, when I fell pregnant [with my first child] so easily, I thought, 'Wow, I could really help someone else do this',' she says. 'And then, when I was pregnant with my second child, I started researching how to become a surrogate.' D'Arcy stumbled across the Australian Surrogacy Community group on Facebook. She met some couples, but they didn't hit it off. Then she connected with a same-sex couple. 'I just really liked them. And after conversations via social media, when I met them in person, I just clicked with them really, really well.' When I met D'Arcy at the retreat, she was almost seven months into her second surrogacy pregnancy for the same couple. Over the weekend, the activities include chats around the fireplace, communal meals, nature walks, yoga and crafts. Every activity is optional, and some take place simultaneously. While the bulk of the Queensland contingent decides to drive out to see the snow, the Victorian and Tasmanian surrogates opt for a yoga class. Apart from mealtimes, no schedule is set. Through it all, there are deep and candid conversations about womanhood and motherhood. From the mundane logistics of parenting to surrogate heart-to-hearts: the venting of niggles or annoyances of their relationships (with their partners and with the intended parents they carried for) to detailed and graphic descriptions of intimate medical procedures. The mood is one of total release. But the one topic that dominates every conversation is pregnancy, and how pregnancy affected each of these surrogates. Even under the best, low-risk circumstances, pregnancy takes its toll on mind and body, so I ask, 'Why go through all that for someone else?' Time and time again, the women report that they want to help someone else create a family. But that isn't the only reason – another powerful driver many raise is the need to satiate a deep, personal feeling of 'not being done'. Sarah Jefford became a surrogate and an egg donor after an excruciating IVF experience. Once she finally became a mother of two, she felt she wanted 'to have another pregnancy and birth and not raise the baby'. 'If you're wanting to be pregnant and then you find out you're pregnant, it's just the best,' Jefford adds. She describes this feeling as 'baby lust'. Some surrogates, such as Queensland educator SJ, who did not want to use her real name, told me that upon birthing her two children, she experienced a persistent feeling of 'being unfinished'. Although she felt her own family was complete, she couldn't shake a yearning to experience pregnancy and childbirth again. She would wake in the middle of the night to research how to become a surrogate. Tasmanian trail runner Chelsea had a daughter and didn't want any more children of her own, but also wanted to experience birthing again, while helping someone else experience parenthood. 'Now that I knew the course of the race, I thought I could try and do it and be a bit more present within my body and run a better race, so to speak.' Sign up to Saved for Later Catch up on the fun stuff with Guardian Australia's culture and lifestyle rundown of pop culture, trends and tips after newsletter promotion Chelsea offered to carry for a same-sex couple she knew. They used an egg donor (also a friend) and the sperm of one parent. She found out she was carrying twins during a check-up, where the dads and egg donor were also present. 'The reaction from everyone was slightly different. They had tears of joy. I had tears of joy, but a little bit of fear of the unknown, because [twins weren't] something we had talked about beforehand as a possibility.' The babies were monochorionic diamniotic (MCDA) twins; they shared one placenta. That meant Chelsea required significantly more medical monitoring. She gave birth to healthy identical twin girls three months before the retreat. 'The number one question that I get about being a surrogate is how did you feel about giving the baby away? Or in this case, babies. And I never, ever thought of it that way. I always thought of it that I was growing their babies, not that I was giving anything away. 'And once the girls were here it was just amazing to see them [the parents] within the space of a day, just become the amazing dads that I knew that they would be.' Chelsea refers to the four people – the two dads, the egg donor and herself – who created the twins as a 'team'. They experienced the whole process together: from the embryo transfer to monitoring appointments, and they continue to spend time with each other. But as I sat around the fireplace and shared meals with these women at various stages of pregnancy and postpartum, I couldn't help but think they'd giving up a lot to carry for free. Pregnancy and childbirth are not free. In Australia, while payment for surrogates is illegal, intended parents must pay for all their surrogate's 'reasonable expenses', including medical expenses, maternity clothes and lost wages. 'But then there's a question mark because the legislation says it must be reasonable. What's reasonable? Reasonable for you might be different to reasonable for somebody else,' Jefford explains. 'Most surrogates will use their own money to pay for things, not because the intended parents are stingy, but because we are the sort of people that will just be like, 'I'll just pay for hospital parking myself, or I'll pay for the maternity pads.'' In December last year, the federal government announced a review of Australia's surrogacy laws. The review aims to identify reforms and propose harmonised laws across the country. A response to the review is due by the end of July. When Australia's surrogacy laws were drafted, legislators opted for the altruistic surrogacy model as it's often deemed ethically superior to commercial surrogacy, which is susceptible to human trafficking and the exploitation of vulnerable women. Jefford has long been opposed to paid surrogacy but recently has come to favour a compensated model of surrogacy in which surrogates are perhaps paid some amount of money, 'as if it's a job'. 'I used to say, when we introduce money into surrogacy, we commodify women and children. What I say now is it's much more nuanced than that,' she says. Jefford explains the idea of compensated surrogacy is different from paying a fee in exchange for a baby. 'That is human trafficking and it's illegal. 'Pregnancy is hard work and risky,' she says. 'This woman comes along and says, 'I'll do this for free'. And I think, 'Well, I'm not giving legal advice for free, and the IVF clinic is not giving free IVF treatment. Why is it that we think that she should be unpaid for what she's doing?'' In Australia, before intended parents and surrogates are legally allowed to undergo surrogacy, they must attend various counselling sessions to ensure they are emotionally equipped to go through the process, that it is consensual, and there is no exploitation. During these sessions, intended parents and surrogates discuss thorny issues such as body autonomy, what happens if anything goes wrong with the pregnancy, what happens if there are signs of genetic abnormalities in the embryo, or any complications that could endanger the life of the surrogate. The aim is to set expectations beforehand, to avoid issues once the baby is born. Despite all the guardrails, things can go sour. At the retreat, surrogates share horror stories about some relationship breakdowns. There was one case in which the surrogate and intended parents had fallen out and were not on speaking terms until shortly before the birth. Another in which the intended parents failed to show up on the day of the birth, leaving the surrogate and her family to care for the baby for a few days, which was distressing. There have been more serious incidents that have ended up in court, one in which a surrogate absconded with the baby, another where a surrogate refused to relinquish the child and consent to a parentage order, the legal document that transfers parentage from the birth parents (usually the surrogate and her partner) to the intended parents. In both cases, the courts ruled in favour of the intended parents, after establishing it had been a surrogacy arrangement. The majority of surrogacy arrangements are successful, however. Surrogates at the retreat, such as D'Arcy, say their lives have been enriched by the experience. 'It's been beautiful to watch this modern family created and seeing all the love that's involved,' she says. Claudianna Blanco is a senior journalist and producer for LiSTNR. Secrets We Keep: By Any Means podcast is out now.
The Guardian
3 days ago
- Entertainment
- The Guardian
‘How did I feel giving the baby away? I never thought of it like that': inside a weekend retreat for surrogate mothers
As I walk out of Hobart airport's small arrivals hall, I immediately spot the person I'm looking for. My contact, Mollie D'Arcy, is standing at the exit, heavily pregnant. Her baby bump isn't the only giveaway – she's holding up a laminated sign in hot pink writing, sticky taped to a retractable light sabre toy. It reads, 'Surrogates on Tour.' It's mid-September 2024 and D'Arcy is this year's Surrogacy Sisterhood Retreat organiser and captain. Since its inception in 2018, it's the first time this event, a roving annual weekend away for surrogates past and present, has made it to Tasmania. 'I'm pretty happy to shout loud and proud that I'm a surrogate,' D'Arcy says. I've been liaising with D'Arcy for weeks. She has helped me gain the other surrogates' consent for me to be the first journalist allowed access to the retreat for a podcast series, Secrets We Keep, on the fertility industry. As we make our way to the luggage collection area, about a dozen excited surrogates begin to trickle in. Most have taken early flights from Queensland and Victoria and two have made it all the way from Western Australia and New Zealand. In no time, the carousel area is gushing with surrogates from all walks of life, ranging from their early 30 to late 40s – admin officers, educators, PR specialists, entrepreneurs and lawyers. Most already know each other, having met at previous retreats or online. All tick the one entry criterion for being here: they've carried a baby for someone else. 'I don't think there's another word that could describe it better than sisterhood,' says family creation lawyer, former surrogate and egg donor, Sarah Jefford. Jefford is one of the Surrogacy Sisterhood Retreat's founders, inspired by a retreat for Canadian surrogates. 'We'll have some surrogates who are pregnant, some that have just birthed, some that haven't even gone through the process yet, and we share all the different aspects of good, positive journeys or challenging or negative journeys,' she says. 'It's all welcome.' Sign up for our rundown of must-reads, pop culture and tips for the weekend, every Saturday morning Altruistic surrogacy is the only legal option for surrogacy in Australia; it's rare and heavily regulated. Jefford estimates there are between 130 and 150 altruistic surrogacy births in Australia each year and roughly 80% of these arrangements are between family members and friends, while 20% occur among strangers. Laws differ between states, but hopeful parents in Australia cannot pay a surrogate for carrying, or advertise they need a one to create a family. Women who wish to become surrogates must offer voluntarily. The regulatory environment has meant those seeking a surrogate, and those keen to be one, must turn to informal structures to find each other – the most significant one being a closed Facebook group where intended parents and surrogate candidates post their photos, introductions and bona fides as potential parents or surrogates. Then, interested parties slide into each other's DMs, hoping to match with each other. I was curious to learn more about the women who lend their wombs to carry a baby for strangers they'd met online. As we climb into a convoy of cars to head to the farm in Bothwell, an hour's drive from Hobart, where the retreat is being held, D'Arcy is busily pasting up 'Surrogacy Express' signs on each vehicle – also in hot pink writing. D'Arcy was exposed to surrogacy through working at an IVF clinic. She became fascinated by the concept after witnessing some of the first Tasmanian surrogacy arrangements come through the clinic, shortly after it became legal in 2012. 'I felt so deeply for these people who couldn't have a baby, knowing that I have always wanted a family. I really thought maybe I could be a surrogate. It felt like something I was capable of.' At the time, she had not yet had her own two children. 'Then, when I fell pregnant [with my first child] so easily, I thought, 'Wow, I could really help someone else do this',' she says. 'And then, when I was pregnant with my second child, I started researching how to become a surrogate.' D'Arcy stumbled across the Australian Surrogacy Community group on Facebook. She met some couples, but they didn't hit it off. Then she connected with a same-sex couple. 'I just really liked them. And after conversations via social media, when I met them in person, I just clicked with them really, really well.' When I met D'Arcy at the retreat, she was almost seven months into her second surrogacy pregnancy for the same couple. Over the weekend, the activities include chats around the fireplace, communal meals, nature walks, yoga and crafts. Every activity is optional, and some take place simultaneously. While the bulk of the Queensland contingent decides to drive out to see the snow, the Victorian and Tasmanian surrogates opt for a yoga class. Apart from mealtimes, no schedule is set. Through it all, there are deep and candid conversations about womanhood and motherhood. From the mundane logistics of parenting to surrogate heart-to-hearts: the venting of niggles or annoyances of their relationships (with their partners and with the intended parents they carried for) to detailed and graphic descriptions of intimate medical procedures. The mood is one of total release. But the one topic that dominates every conversation is pregnancy, and how pregnancy affected each of these surrogates. Even under the best, low-risk circumstances, pregnancy takes its toll on mind and body, so I ask, 'Why go through all that for someone else?' Time and time again, the women report that they want to help someone else create a family. But that isn't the only reason – another powerful driver many raise is the need to satiate a deep, personal feeling of 'not being done'. Sarah Jefford became a surrogate and an egg donor after an excruciating IVF experience. Once she finally became a mother of two, she felt she wanted 'to have another pregnancy and birth and not raise the baby'. 'If you're wanting to be pregnant and then you find out you're pregnant, it's just the best,' Jefford adds. She describes this feeling as 'baby lust'. Some surrogates, such as Queensland educator SJ, who did not want to use her real name, told me that upon birthing her two children, she experienced a persistent feeling of 'being unfinished'. Although she felt her own family was complete, she couldn't shake a yearning to experience pregnancy and childbirth again. She would wake in the middle of the night to research how to become a surrogate. Tasmanian trail runner Chelsea had a daughter and didn't want any more children of her own, but also wanted to experience birthing again, while helping someone else experience parenthood. 'Now that I knew the course of the race, I thought I could try and do it and be a bit more present within my body and run a better race, so to speak.' Sign up to Saved for Later Catch up on the fun stuff with Guardian Australia's culture and lifestyle rundown of pop culture, trends and tips after newsletter promotion Chelsea offered to carry for a same-sex couple she knew. They used an egg donor (also a friend) and the sperm of one parent. She found out she was carrying twins during a check-up, where the dads and egg donor were also present. 'The reaction from everyone was slightly different. They had tears of joy. I had tears of joy, but a little bit of fear of the unknown, because [twins weren't] something we had talked about beforehand as a possibility.' The babies were monochorionic diamniotic (MCDA) twins; they shared one placenta. That meant Chealsea required significantly more medical monitoring. She gave birth to healthy identical twin girls three months before the retreat. 'The number one question that I get about being a surrogate is how did you feel about giving the baby away? Or in this case, babies. And I never, ever thought of it that way. I always thought of it that I was growing their babies, not that I was giving anything away. 'And once the girls were here it was just amazing to see them [the parents] within the space of a day, just become the amazing dads that I knew that they would be.' Chelsea refers to the four people – the two dads, the egg donor and herself – who created the twins as a 'team'. They experienced the whole process together: from the embryo transfer to monitoring appointments, and they continue to spend time with each other. But as I sat around the fireplace and shared meals with these women at various stages of pregnancy and postpartum, I couldn't help but think they'd giving up a lot to carry for free. Pregnancy and childbirth are not free. In Australia, while payment for surrogates is illegal, intended parents must pay for all their surrogate's 'reasonable expenses', including medical expenses, maternity clothes and lost wages. 'But then there's a question mark because the legislation says it must be reasonable. What's reasonable? Reasonable for you might be different to reasonable for somebody else,' Jefford explains. 'Most surrogates will use their own money to pay for things, not because the intended parents are stingy, but because we are the sort of people that will just be like, 'I'll just pay for hospital parking myself, or I'll pay for the maternity pads.'' In December last year, the federal government announced a review of Australia's surrogacy laws. The review aims to identify reforms and propose harmonised laws across the country. A response to the review is due by the end of July. When Australia's surrogacy laws were drafted, legislators opted for the altruistic surrogacy model as it's often deemed ethically superior to commercial surrogacy, which is susceptible to human trafficking and the exploitation of vulnerable women. Jefford has long been opposed to paid surrogacy but recently has come to favour a compensated model of surrogacy in which surrogates are perhaps paid some amount of money, 'as if it's a job'. 'I used to say, when we introduce money into surrogacy, we commodify women and children. What I say now is it's much more nuanced than that,' she says. Jefford explains the idea of compensated surrogacy is different from paying a fee in exchange for a baby. 'That is human trafficking and it's illegal. 'Pregnancy is hard work and risky,' she says. 'This woman comes along and says, 'I'll do this for free'. And I think, 'Well, I'm not giving legal advice for free, and the IVF clinic is not giving free IVF treatment. Why is it that we think that she should be unpaid for what she's doing?'' In Australia, before intended parents and surrogates are legally allowed to undergo surrogacy, they must attend various counselling sessions to ensure they are emotionally equipped to go through the process, that it is consensual and there is no exploitation. During these sessions, intended parents and surrogates discuss thorny issues such as body autonomy, what happens if anything goes wrong with the pregnancy, what happens if there are signs of genetic abnormalities in the embryo, or any complications that could endanger the life of the surrogate. The aim is to set expectations beforehand, to avoid issues once the baby is born. Despite all the guardrails, things can go sour. At the retreat, surrogates share horror stories about some relationship breakdowns. There was one case in which the surrogate and intended parents had fallen out and were not on speaking terms until shortly before the birth. Another in which the intended parents failed to show up on the day of the birth, leaving the surrogate and her family to care for the baby for a few days, which was distressing. There have been more serious incidents that have ended up in court, one in which a surrogate absconded with the baby, another where a surrogate refused to relinquish the child and consent to a parentage order, the legal document that transfers parentage from the birth parents (usually the surrogate and her partner) to the intended parents. In both cases, the courts ruled in favour of the intended parents, after establishing it had been a surrogacy arrangement. The majority of surrogacy arrangements are successful, however. Surrogates at the retreat, such as D'Arcy, say their lives have been enriched by the experience. 'It's been beautiful to watch this modern family created and seeing all the love that's involved,' she says. Claudianna Blanco is a senior journalist and producer for LiSTNR. Secrets We Keep: By Any Means podcast is out now.
Times
4 days ago
- General
- Times
What can we learn from three great minds who retreated from the world?
The subtitle of this book sets a false trail. 'Why writers, artists and thinkers retreat,' it says, and Guy Stagg goes on to describe the withdrawal from the world of three mysticism-haunted greats: Ludwig Wittgenstein, David Jones and Simone Weil. Or, as he describes them, the saint, the hermit and the martyr. Wittgenstein's retreat, Stagg suggests, was moral. The philosopher worked as a gardener at Klosterneuburg Abbey in Austria as part of his lifelong quest to become a better man. Jones's purpose was creative: he visited a religious community on Caldey Island to paint and write as well as pray. Weil was plagued by migraine. Listening to plainchant helped to relieve it. So she travelled to the Abbey Saint-Pierre de Solesmes in France. Her motivation was therapeutic, as Stagg describes it. Three different motivations. Three dissimilar paths — although all three seem to have spent much of their lives wrestling with God. But Weil, Jones and Wittgenstein are linked by war, childlessness and suicide as well as genius and retreat. Jones fought at the Somme and, more than 20 years later, gave us In Parenthesis (1937), his epic work about a soldier's experience of the First World War. During the same conflict, Wittgenstein volunteered to man an observation post, and was decorated for courage. Weil served with the International Brigades in the Spanish civil war. A coroner later found her to have starved herself to death. At least two of Wittgenstein's brothers killed themselves, and Wittgenstein himself repeatedly considered doing the same. Jones was so depressed when his lover broke off their engagement that, according to one account, 'he seemed close to suicide'. Death, childlessness and war. Monks, nuns and friars live towards the first, embrace the second (at least in most cases) and pursue the last, at least metaphorically: spiritual battle is an ancient metaphor. But withdrawal from the world, undertaken for the wrong reasons, can be a kind of suicide, Stagg suggests. He sees through the vogue for retreat: 'Health spas and holiday rentals and summer festivals all advertise themselves as some kind of refuge.' These can degenerate into 'nothing more than a self-righteous holiday … no flight from the ego but sinking deeper into ourselves'. Spoken by some, this judgment would sound harsh. Written by Stagg, it comes over as measured because it's done with self-knowledge. He says that the first half of his twenties was marred by 'heavy drinking and deep depression' before going on to suggest that the appeal of religious life can be 'a simple wager: forfeiting the chance of pleasure to protect yourself from pain'. Oscar Wilde wrote that experience is the name that men give to their mistakes. Stagg seems to have learnt from his, and this book shows him still learning. • The 21 best history books of the past year to read next Is Stagg a believer himself? This is his second book. His first, The Crossway, published in 2018, described a journey he took from Canterbury to Jerusalem. So at the least he's religion-curious. But he doesn't say. His method is to alternate a chunk of writing about his subjects with another section about himself: he follows in Wittgenstein's footsteps to the ornate, operatic setting of Klosterneuburg, in Jones's to the modern community at Caldey, where there are sometimes no boats to the mainland, and in Weil's to Solesmes, 'hemmed in on one side by water, and by the high street on the other side'. The back and forth holds one's attention. If Weil begins to try one's patience, or Jones or Wittgenstein does, theauthor steps in. And the other way round. Stagg writes masterfully. How plainchant was reconstituted, how Wittgenstein's Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus works or how stained glass is assembled are three subjects with little if anything in common. Stagg describes and makes sense of them all in a way that can hold the general reader. He can evoke a sense of place and give a sense of people: the three religious devotees who host him at the three monasteries he visits are utterly unlike each other: one once worked on Wall Street, a second joined his monastery in his twenties, another was a press photographer for Formula 1. Stagg writes of Brother Titus, the petrolhead turned guest-master at the monastery on Caldey, that he does not spend his days thinking about God and Heaven and whether he is saved. 'It's what's down here that matters. It's what happens in this life that counts,' Titus says. Amen to that, some would say — adding that retreat and withdrawal are escapism, an avoidance of dealing with reality, and that to live an exceptional life, or to try to, is self-delusion. 'Pick a quarrel, go to war,/ Leave the hero in the bar,' Auden wrote. 'Hunt the lion, climb the peak:/ No one guesses you are weak.' The verse suggests that the best life is the humdrum one. • Read more book reviews and interviews — and see what's top of the Sunday Times Bestsellers List Stagg argues that for the artist 'retreat can play a vital role in the early stages of an artistic career. When a writer is learning their craft, or a painter is searching for material, there is value in creating work without any audience.' In this version of events, one withdraws from the world so that one may later re-enter it. But neither Wittgenstein nor Weil, as Stagg makes clear, retreated to further their philosophy or their writing. It's true that writers, artists and thinkers may improve their art or craft by retreating, but ultimately they withdraw for the same reason that any everyman or everywoman withdraws. Believers say that one retreats to seek God. And perhaps that's as good an explanation as one is going to get — if one truly withdraws to do so, retreat may turn out well, but if one withdraws to run away from life outside, it may well not. The merit of this book is that it demonstrates how damaging that search can be if undertaken for the wrong reasons — because it can intensify loneliness, depression and suicidal impulses. At the same time it demonstrates how necessary that search is, because where there is no failure, there can be no learning and hence no progress. 'I glimpsed the hardness at the heart of the religious calling: in order to be saved, you must die to the world,' Stagg writes. 'Which may explain why over time my subjects' lives began resembling thesicknesses they were supposed to cure.' The World Within: Why Writers, Artists and Thinkers Retreat by Guy Stagg (Scribner £20 pp320). To order a copy go to Free UK standard P&P on orders over £25. Special discount available for Times+ members
Arab News
5 days ago
- Arab News
Wellness by the water: Exploring yoga in the Maldives
MALDIVES: There are few places in the world that truly embody serenity the way the Maldives does, and my recent yoga retreat at the InterContinental Maldives Maamunagau Resort was nothing short of transformative. The resort — set among turquoise waters, white sand and swaying palm trees — was not just a getaway; it was a reset for the body, mind and soul. From the moment I arrived, it felt as though time slowed down. Each day began with yoga classes overlooking the endless blue of the Indian Ocean with the sound of the wind rustling through palm trees and the gentle rhythm of waves crashing on the shore. It was unlike anything I have ever experienced. One of the most peaceful sessions took place around sunset, as the sky shifted from soft gold to dusky pink. A yoga retreat at the InterContinental Maldives Maamunagau. (Supplied) The retreat was led by Dubai-based instructor Emilia Métaireau. Each day, we explored one of the 'koshas' — the five layers of the self in yogic thought — starting with the physical and gradually moving on to the emotional, mental and spiritual realms. Métaireau's ability to guide us gently into each theme, while adapting to every participant's level, made the experience both grounding and expansive. And while the classes make you sweat, you remain in constant Zen mode. During the final relaxation, there was no escaping the inevitable: drifting into the deepest, most peaceful sleep. Post-practice, we had plenty of time to explore and unwind at the resort. Our villa came with its own bicycles, which made exploring the island feel peaceful and playful. Riding from one side to the other with the sea breeze on my face was one of the small joys that made the trip so memorable. The dining options were another highlight — whether at the Fish Market, The Retreat or at Café Umi for breakfast. The Lighthouse was undergoing renovations during our stay, but we were still able to enjoy its menu in a different setting. Fresh seafood, balanced flavors and thoughtful plating made each meal feel special. The resort is also on the edge of a UNESCO Biosphere Reserve, and offers rare access to graceful manta rays in their natural habitat. We headed out on a boat, gliding across crystal-clear waters in search of them, stopping at three different spots. Mantas have a vast area to explore, so sightings are never guaranteed and, after a while, we began to lose hope. But just as we were about to head back, the team spotted them near the surface. Guests — including my husband — were able to get into the water with the rays. He said they were much larger than he expected, yet graceful and fascinating to watch up close. The resort's spa — set above the water — was the perfect complement to the physical and spiritual work on the retreat. The treatment rooms offer panoramic views of the ocean, which only deepens the relaxation experience, and every aspect, from the scents used to the post-treatment tea, was curated to bring a sense of calm and renewal. This retreat gave me the space to reconnect with myself in a truly meaningful way, and Métaireau's guidance gave me a deeper understanding of yoga. I used to attend classes in Dubai, but I struggled to focus, often skipping the breathing exercises, weighed down by the stress of a busy workday. But being in the Maldives, surrounded by nature, was a completely different experience. With every session, I felt more present, more grounded and more in tune with myself. If you would like to try yoga — or if you've already tried but found it hard to engage properly — then I highly recommend going on a retreat, even within your own country. Stepping away from your daily routine makes all the difference.
