And the western of the two quays had a direct view of a smaller quay further to the west, reserved exclusively for guests staying at the Vivameyer Villa (€3,750 per night). The other patrons and I squinted at the private villa dock, trying to discern the facial features and even the age of the woman we saw there. (Not possible.) People were always looking at each other to see if someone was famous. As nice and expensive as Vivamayr was, just about everyone knew of places that were nicer and even more expensive, places where even wealthy people could pay for similar services. I had heard so many stories about such places that I eventually came to think of Vivermeyer as its run-down, dirty cousin. Was this the key to Vivamayr's success? Could the ultra-wealthy be convinced of the program's benefits only if their destination was somehow less than ideal?
When I chronicled my relentless pursuit of sweetness with my doctor at Vivameyer, her eyes lit up like sanding sugar onto a grocery store cookie cut into the shape of a season. “In our first meeting, she said, “I have something on my mind.'' It is a “functional muscle diagnosis'' that tests for “food intolerance.'' I had no idea what it was. It sounded great.
On the appointed afternoon, I climbed the steep, sunny stairs to her office. She asked me to lie down on the exam table. I used my thigh muscles to move my knee toward my head, yielding to her gentle pressure as she pushed my knee in the opposite direction. It was easy to move. She started using a wooden indenter to dab a little bit of the substance onto my tongue. They were instructed to repeat the knee-to-head motion after each crumb deposit. Doctors say that if my tongue comes in contact with a substance that my body doesn't “like,” my muscles will become weak for up to 20 seconds before they recover. This way she identified allergies, weaknesses and deficiencies in my diet. I moved my knees without any problem until she put a fine white powder on my tongue. Suddenly I could barely push her. “Actually, I thought so too,” she said.
According to the doctor's report, my muscles had a bad reaction to some yeast bits, which meant my sweet cravings were caused by a fungal infection in my intestines. . She explained that infectious disease microorganisms live on sweets, and I was constantly feeding them. “We have to starve it,” the doctor said about what was growing inside me. “Do you know what that means? No sweets. No yeast.” I also had to take medicine. I staggered. Apparently, what he believed to be his taste was the insatiable appetite of a foreign invader. “What causes this?'' I asked. Doctors believed I had had this infection for a “very long time.” She said it probably came from antibiotics I took at some point in my childhood. She was “completely surprised” that my body wasn't destroyed more.
Decades ago, I wasn't ready to give up sweets just because I lost control of my humanity to an alien fungus that took over my mind in its relentless pursuit of sugar. Since I had been doing well despite the infection, I wondered aloud whether trying to eradicate the infection risked disrupting my body's chemistry. The only risk, doctors say, is that the disease continues to grow unchecked. If left “too long,” she said, “intestinal damage can occur.” “It can cause a lot of damage to your intestines, and your sugar cravings will never end.” If I can successfully eradicate the infection, my already good digestion may somehow become even better. “I can't,” she added.
