After learning everyone’s names, Barns-Graham gives an emotive talk about what to expect over the next few days and how best to engage. He explains the J Curve; the discomfort of abstaining from what we use to numb and distract, whether it’s alcohol, caffeine, or work emails. “It’s a sign we are purifying ourselves,” he says of the temporary crash, adding that ditching screens often makes the greatest impact.
The process is, arguably, improved by our location: a luxury retreat tucked in the Southern Alps. On the hillside, no buildings, power lines or signs of modernity can be seen, just rugged mountains that mimic the Scottish Highlands, and Lake Wakatipu below. Dreamed up by Americans Damian Chaparro and Chris Madison, the almost entirely self-sustaining, environmentally friendly retreat was built for $30m in 2014 with the vision of helping people “revive and thrive together”. If dozens of global wellness, retreat and spa awards are anything to go by, they’re on the right track.
The lounge at Aro Ha Wellness Retreat. Photo / Supplied
Back in the lounge, Barns-Graham explains we are free to spend the days as we please but strongly encourages participation in scheduled activities. “How you do anything is how you do everything,” he says with a wink. On this note, we’re invited to share what brought us here, and what follows is unlike anything I’ve witnessed on a retreat.
One woman, through sudden tears, reveals she’s amidst a divorce, while the man opposite is approaching 60 and needs a moment to reflect on his life. One woman working in anti-terrorism for a Government abroad discovers, while sharing, that she wants to quit her job. “I’ve never said that out loud,” she says in disbeleif. Two days later, someone else admits a similar dream of leaving their executive role to teach yoga.
Two separate guests are grieving the premature death of a sibling. By the end of the retreat, another will realise they have unconsciously been doing the same for decades. What floors me isn’t just the universality of struggles or depth of personal revelation that surface but that people are willing, after as little as six hours together, to share them and support one another.
Aro Ha’s meticulous architecture, both physical and intangible, is no small reason this can happen.
Staff aren’t frostily flawless or subservient like some retreats, but full of warmth and endearing character. Rituals abound, from a chime before every vibrant, plant-based meal to the nightly candle-lit yin class. It’s the way we softly pad around the wooden floors in socks (no shoes allowed inside) and the many opportunities throughout the day for deep reflection and sharing — at mealtimes, during journaling sessions or after meditation. It’s rare in life to have time to consider, let alone discuss, how one feels emotionally or spiritually.
The stunning yoga chalet at Aro Ha Wellness Retreat. Photo / Supplied
In my private room, the decor mirrors the rest of the property; a restrained chalet aesthetic with warm wood and soft textures that are comforting yet calmly austere. Three windows frame views of brawny mountains dotted with grazing sheep, snow-dusted peaks and a sky that changes from powder blue to pure white. It’s another element that undoubtably contributes to the serenity here; whether you’re in the outdoor magnesium spa, walking nearby trails or eating in the glass-walled dining room, you can almost always see the magnificent views.
Days follow a dependable rhythm. We’re woken by chimes and a soft voice calling us to morning yoga and meditation, followed by a nourishing breakfast and a hike. On the first day, this means two toasted slabs of banana walnut loaf on orange crème (a meal so tasty it almost makes me forget about the missing coffee) and a 30-minute drive to hike a breathtaking section of the Routeburn.
We naturally separate into three groups, so no one feels hurried or held back, chatting most of the 6km trail before stopping for a snack and walking the return in contemplative silence.
Aro Ha Wellness Retreat. Photo / Supplied
Back at Aro Ha, we tuck into a Mediterranean feast starring on-site produce: falafel balls and sweet microgreens, a thick bowl of hummus with salty seed crackers and juicy roasted olives. Seated at tables of six, it’s a relief to have the option to join conversation or contentedly listen.
The afternoon is for our daily massage alongside the optional exercise classes (think Pilates or functional strength) and educational sessions (from contrast therapy to inner voice work), always followed by dinner and meditation or yin. Those wanting more can book additional treatments, such as a Flowpresso lymphatic therapy. Curious about lymphatics, I book a facial massage with Annie Gummer, a physiotherapist and Face Up specialist, who kneads five years of tension and bloating from my face and neck before sharing exercises to take home.
Retreats run five or seven days long, with some starring specialist experts. On this one, we’re guided daily by Tom Cronin, who quit his high-powered financial job in Australia to become a Vedic meditation teacher in the 1990s.
In the yoga chalet with magnificent lake views, Cronin’s sessions dive into Vedic meditation. We learn about transcending the temporary, limited “self” to reach the omnipresent “Higher Self” and the importance of mantras. He explains how one achieves true fulfilment (spoiler, not via the dream body or big salary), and guides us through journaling exercises to uncover limiting beliefs that hold us back. We yell affirmations at one another at the top of our lungs (a terrifying yet liberating exercise), stretch our bodies and sit in silent meditation for 20 minutes.
The stunning yoga chalet at Aro Ha Wellness Retreat. Photo / Supplied
Speaking of time, caffeine isn’t the only thing you won’t find at Aro Ha. Dedicated to the concept of “timelessness”, there are no clocks or times around the property. And trust me, I looked, going as far as peeking behind the front desk to try to spot a printed itinerary, control freak that I am. Instead, days unfold in half-day chunks shown on a board in the dining room. Your massage isn’t at 3pm, it’s “one hour after lunch, but we’ll give you a 10-minute notice”, delivered via intercoms dotted around the property.
The concept is, at first, infuriating. “I’m thinking more about time, not less”, I grumble and stubbornly keep my watch on. It’s humbling to realise the issue wasn’t the approach but my inability to trust it. On day three, I’m calm enough to submit to the system, and the lightness of not being chief operations officer of my own life can’t be understated.
Aro Ha Wellness retreat near Queenstown.
This is one of two inconvenient truths you learn at Aro Ha. First, as nice as a short break is, the body can’t be hurried. It does indeed take days, not hours, to soften and slow fully. It takes time to endure the initial discomfort of missing our favourite forms of numbing to experience the sharpness and clarity you feel without the second espresso or morning phone scroll.
The second is this: while wellness is primarily presented as a solo pursuit, it’s hard to sustain resolutions or revelations alone. What Aro Ha gets so right isn’t merely what is done but how; together. You bear witness to others’ aches and affirm their budding dreams, and you are seen and supported in return. Of course, retreats end and people part ways, but you do so knowing yourself better, and hopefully, with the courage to share this new version with those you love.
Details
Five-day retreats start from $5880 and seven-day retreats start from $8400.
New Zealand Herald Travel visited courtesy of Aro Hā.