And from the westerner of the two docks, it was possible to look directly to the smallest, even more western, even more private dock intended for the exclusive use of visitors staying at Vivamayr’s villa (which goes for 3,750 euros per night). My colleagues regular visitors and I looked at the private dock of the villa and tried to distinguish the characteristics of the face, or even the age, of the woman we saw there. (Impossible.) Constantly people saw each other to see if someone was celebrity. As beautiful and as expensive as Vivamayr was, almost everyone knew somewhere even more beautiful and even more expensive, where even richest people could pay money for similar services. I have heard so much about these places that I finally found myself thinking Vivamayr as their Downdown, dumpy cousin. Was that, I wondered, the key to Vivamayr’s success? Can UV be convinced of the program virtue only if their destination is, in some way, less than ideal?
When I had recorded the relentless pursuit of sweetness for my doctor Vivamayr, her eyes were sparkled like sanding sugar in grocery stores cut in seasonal shapes. “I have something on my mind,” he said at our first meeting: “Functional Muscular” Tests for “Food intolerance”. I had no idea what hell was. It sounded great.
In the appointed afternoon, I climbed steep sunny stairs to her office. I cut me to lie down on an exam table. I was to use the muscles of my thigh to move my knee to my head, excessive gentle pressure from it as it pushed the knee in the opposite direction. I was easily transported. It started beating teensy smidgens in my tongue with the help of a wooden depressed. After each crumbs deposit, I was ordered to repeat the knee maneuver to the head. If my tongue faced a substance my body “doesn’t like it,” the doctor said, my muscles would become weaker for up to 20 seconds before recovering. In this way, it will identify allergies, weaknesses and shortcomings in my diet. I carried my knee without any problems until it put a nice white dust in my tongue. Suddenly, I could push against her. “This is really what I thought,” he said.
My muscles had responded badly to a few dough crumbs, the doctor said, which meant that my longing for sweets was caused by fungal infection in my gut. The microorganisms of the infection, he explained, lived in sweets and feeding them constantly. “We must be hungry,” the doctor said, of the thing that grows inside me. “You know what it means: There are no sweets. No yeast. “I would also have to take medicines. I was escalated. What I thought was my preference was obviously the insatiable appetite of a foreign invader.” What would you do? ” I asked.
I was not ready to give up sweets just because I had lost control of my person decades ago in a foreign fungus that had thrown my mind to the relentless pursuit of sugar. Because I was working well with the infection, I wondered loudly, there was no danger that if I was trying to eliminate it, my body’s chemistry would fall out of the hit? The only danger, the doctor said, continued to allow him to thrive uncontrollably. “It can interfere with your intestines” if I kept it “too long,” he said. “It can really hurt your guts. And the longing for sugar will never end. If I successfully eliminate the infection, my digestion added, which was already good, could somehow become even better .
