March 22, 2026 - A Winter in the Algarve, Portugal
After the shamanic retreat in Switzerland, I set course for the south of France to take part in a walking interview with Hervé Pauchon, a former journalist at France Inter who created his own podcast, La Balado de Pauchon.
I then continued on to visit his cousin David, who also happens to be my Thai massage teacher, for a courtesy visit… and to receive a treatment from the master’s hands. With my body thus retuned, I quickly got back on the road to escape the cold and rain that had settled over Provence.
After maintaining an overly intense pace of life from spring through the end of the year, I longed for just one thing: rest. I could already picture myself on a beach in southern Portugal, under the sun, resting in the shade of a tree. Drawn by this vision and pushed away by the damp winter, I crossed Spain through the snow without lingering. Three days on the road, with a day of fasting and castor oil in the middle, and I arrived in this promised land exactly at the winter solstice. A brief clearing in the sky revealed the deep green of cork oak forests, eucalyptus, and pine trees.
At this latitude, something shifts: winter loosens its grip, and the landscapes remain alive, clothed in a persistent green. After crossing the Portuguese border, I settled near Lisbon, where I had signed up for an Ecstatic Dance with mantra chanting to celebrate the New Year. Despite the greenery and willow trees still in leaf, the days remained cool, with occasional frost at night. I spent the Christmas period by the Tagus River, retreating into a library during the day to write the Manual of Full Health, and warming myself the rest of the time through physical activity.
On the weather maps, I kept looking further south, about 300 kilometers away, where temperatures promised a few precious extra degrees. It was my first winter living in a van, and I had to deal with an unusually cold season for Portugal—something I was not mentally prepared for. For much of the year, I had ignored my need to slow down, telling myself I would rest later, in Portugal. A gross mistake. I found myself facing not only the cold, but also all the needs I had neglected. Instead of the gentle rest I had expected, I was met with a kind of bitter stripping away.
This period reminded me of something simple and fundamental: we always live in the here and now. What we push aside, thinking it will be easier later, inevitably returns. So I stopped escaping into daydreams and began giving myself the comfort I needed. In my situation, that meant simply dressing warmly from head to toe, running the van’s noisy heater, and accepting reality as it was.
A useful shift in mindset, as the four days of Ecstatic Dance turned out to be particularly cold, in spaces not designed for such temperatures. Still, the singing, dancing, mantras, and a few logs in the fire created enough warmth for a beautiful celebration. It was there that I met Dana, a Californian who had recently moved to Portugal with her Italian husband, who invited me to spend a few days at her place in Lagos, by the ocean, where it was a few degrees warmer.
So, in early January, I arrived in Lagos, in the Algarve—a town of about 30,000 inhabitants, largely made up of expatriates, mainly English, German, and French, who have settled in this almost tropical climate in search of a more human way of life. Dana introduced me to La Casa del Corpo, a dance and movement studio run by a French woman. There, I practiced animal flow, acro yoga, capoeira, contact dance, floor dance… all disciplines that had long interested me but that I had rarely had the chance to explore in France. I quickly found my rhythm in Lagos, signing up for multiple classes each week, while also taking part in singing circles and breathwork sessions nearby. I was genuinely surprised by the richness of movement practices available in the Algarve.
For a month, my days were filled from morning to evening with these activities. And each night, I returned to the same spot in nature, just steps from the ocean, far from traffic and city lights. A perfect place that a Frenchman had shown me on my first day—like a welcome sign from the land itself. I became almost addicted to these practices, as my body thrived and transformed through these new forms of expression. And yet, something remained unchanged deep inside. I had wished for rest and solitude… and once again found myself caught in constant movement, as if I couldn’t slow down and embrace the emptiness.
In the end, my body forced me to stop. I suffered a tear in my intercostal muscles during an acro yoga class. Fortunately, the immobilization was partial: I could still walk and even run a little, but nothing intense. I suspended all activities at La Casa del Corpo and devoted myself fully to writing the manual, under the guidance of Aeolus, who unleashed storms for a full month and kept me in a kind of enclosed retreat conducive to introspection.
Many questions still remained unanswered in my understanding of hygienism and the physiological mechanisms behind it. Despite having read around fifty books, my understanding was still fragmented. It was through artificial intelligence that I finally found a way to satisfy my thirst for knowledge. Writing this book became an unexpectedly fascinating journey, reconnecting me with the energy and mindset I used to feel during my expeditions. I thought I would never experience such intensity again. And yet, in a different form, it returned through this work of writing.
It is often said that children fulfill their parents’ dreams. My father dreamed of being a revolutionary, and my mother dreamed of studying biology. I sometimes feel that my path is bringing these two aspirations together.
At the same time, my relationship with social media deeply changed. I increasingly saw its downsides—superficiality, staging, illusion—and fewer of its benefits. So I stopped feeding Instagram and Facebook, without deleting my accounts. The time I regained allowed me to play guitar every day, read more, revisit literary classics (notably Barjavel and Saint-Exupéry), and above all, be more present with myself. This decision also led me deeper into silence and solitude. I came to realize that stepping away from social media was a true gift, greatly improving my quality of life—like closing the door to a void that was trying to pull me in.
What had held me back, among other things, was the belief that I needed them to grow my professional activity. That activity is currently in decline, which in itself offers a kind of purifying stripping away, where the impurities of the ego are burned. Even if discouragement sometimes visits me, I deeply believe in the message carried by raw living food, even if it remains largely misunderstood. In this way, winter fulfilled its role, bringing me into my depths to shed light there. As often, life supported this process. A wandering cat came to visit me regularly, and I adopted a cactus that now accompanies me in my daily meditations.
As for food, I feasted all winter—especially in Lagos, where I found an extraordinary fruit vendor. Persimmons, clementines, mangoes, papayas, cherimoyas… they made up the bulk of my diet. I also slept deeply, often 9 to 10 hours a night, until I felt truly regenerated.
Now, the persimmon season is coming to an end, and thousands of flowers are emerging from the ground, lifting their petals to the sky like victorious trumpets announcing the end of winter.
I feel a new energy rising, a surge of life, as if spring were flowing through me. My rib has healed, I’m already sleeping less, and a thousand ideas are emerging—along with as many projects…
The time to leave southern Europe is approaching. I am preparing to get back on the road, return to France… and step into a new season. No doubt I will return to taste again the sweetness of this land and its warm-hearted people.
