I was utterly taken by Broughton Sanctuary during their Immersion Retreat. My snaps show my wonder. You can’t copy paste the community and eco-activism that inhabits this place, while also offering five star hospitality within a context of living antiquity. Add in a world class retreat and spa program, and it’s hard to beat.

The internet surface appeal is clear: Leading wellness retreats host here (The Hoffman Process, Path of Love, Expert-guided re-wilding for men and women, consciousness meets science gatherings, and so forth). National Geographic deemed it one of the “Coolest Places on Earth”. They’ve earned far-reaching acclaim for their nature recovery efforts across a 3,000 -acre historic estate, and the mythical Yorkshire landscape surrounding Broughton Hall has been featured on both big screens and Netflix (A Woman of Substance, Emily, House of Guinness).

The estate has been in the Tempest family since 1032, and still feels so alive. It’s a wonder what active multi-generational custodianship can create. Here you meet people who reignite your passion for living in tune with the land.

Even the apple pickers seemed inspired.

At breakfast, I sat next to Broughton’s Re-wilding Manager and Creative Director, Kelly, who shared that she had committed to a period of not flying for 10 years. This was to really turn her focus to the land. I yearned for that life.

My room generously overlooked the steeple of the Conservatory. I’ll take you into the bathtub with me shortly. I’ll also take you off-road into our wild lake plunge.

For now, some of my favourite details.

The conservatory had communal areas as well as these sneaky little perches along the sides. During unexpectedly crisp weather, I could be surrounded by tropical fronds and flowers - much like my Singapore.

Every room is unique. We were falling asleep amongst museum grade relics - this trust inspired such care and appreciation.

The red manual above generously offers “Pick-ups and Come-ons for All Occasions.” Social wellbeing is also wellbeing after all.

It started drizzling as I was staring at this gorgeous butterfly. And a beautiful smaller bee or moth… flew under its wing, and asked for shelter. You can see the butterfly accommodating this little guy. Even though there wasn’t much room under there.

The holy bathtub. That filled gloriously fast with hot water and aided me in blurring my thoughts into colors and feelings. Giving up the brain grind for a moment.

My beautiful bathroom in the Garden Room.

A well-placed book that educates on their purpose.

Its uncommon to find a place that is steeped in nearly a millennium of history and is making the historic landscape come alive, while also making it a mission to make you, as a visitor, come alive. Spiritual renewal is also one of their missions of Broughton.

On the second day of the Immersion program, we bundled into a wagon hitched to a tractor and set off for the cold lake plunge. Pastoral beauty lined the way.

Despite the grey skies and misty rain, the cold plunge felt delicious. To warm up, we huddled in the traditional wood-burning sauna hut. It was cellular exhilaration.

The next day, we were brought deep into the regenerated habitats. On the edge of pristine fields sat 1,000 acres of dense shaggy wilderness. In we delved, guided by River Six, Broughton’s on-site ecologist.

What first struck me was how rapidly the land had undergone major change, and how successfully ecological interventions can actually work. The estate had introduced wavy rows of over 200,000 native trees and established natural flood management systems—such as earth dams and wetland scrapes.

On the nature walk, River told the story of their resident beavers. Broughton had gone through great pains to ‘woo’ the first beaver couple to their new habitat, and now proudly have a settled family that is steadily re-engineering the river banks, water flow and helping these new habitats grow structural forest complexity quickly.

We walked lightly and in silence while viewing their carefully gnawed pathways and dam.

Roger Tempest also shared how proud they are that every species of owl in the UK has now returned, for the first time in living memory. It’s a mark of a matured habitat that owls are present, as small mammals (their food) must be in abundance.

After this enlivening walk, we communed for lunch. I had the pleasure to sit next to Alexander Beiner, author of “The Bigger Picture” and visiting resident philosopher at Broughton Sanctuary. He was preparing for a long sojourn into the beautiful landscapes of Australia, with just a camper van, his partner, and a journal.

At meals, around the fire pit, during silent discos and gong baths… I was surrounded by such a lovely array of people - across sciences, public research, historical research, food activism, urban design, and personal wellbeing missions. This Immersion felt so much larger than a retreat. I was becoming a convert to a new way of living.

By positioning public access, wellbeing retreats, and wild food foraging at the center of its mission, Broughton Sanctuary is a living functional blueprint for how modern society can beautifully coexist with a thriving, wild ecosystem.

And then there’s the spa…

The design of every corner in Avalon is stunning. The curved marble of the pool, the curved wood in the sauna, the sparkling ‘stars’ in the steam room, the Aura Soma wall…

Outside the floor length windows of the pool, there is a huge stone sculpture of a girl lying on her side, enjoying a deep rest in the meadow - as wild grasses and flowers grow about her. You can feel the eyes of the artist, Paris Ackrill, behind it all.

Speaking of Paris, she cradled us in a sound bath one evening. It was so unique to have her and Roger’s presence as active hosts and guides through the experience. I’ve never witnessed such a vast yet personal example of custodianship.

To end with, a few beautiful things…

An antique fan displayed in the beautiful drawing room.

The functional and alive church (we attended service) - another credit to nothing about this historical estate living in the past.

A book stand chair thingamajig that I wish they still made. My neck needs this.

Flowers from the property at my bedside.

Sleeping beneath the gaze of Dante Gabriel Rossetti’s Aurelia made me curious to learn more about her. The woman staring out from the canvas is Fanny Cornforth—Rossetti’s long-suffering lover and housekeeper. She was a working class girl, and true to what you can imagine - she did not have an easy life.

Staring up at Fanny in her prime, I couldn’t help but imagine who she would be if she lived today - Living on her own terms. As women, the gravity and preciousness behind an invitation to re-wild our spirits is not lost on me.

Switching gears, I will be writing you soon from my home sweet home - Singapore. My rather sought after list for lovers of wellness, authentic culture and good design.

Crossing thoughts in hyper space,

LVT

I spent the first week of August on Zakynthos, dipping my toes into the Ionian Sea that was like a moving YSL blue swatch permeated by Maldivian turquoise. It was a special vacation for me as it was gifted by very dear friends. Had it not been a gift, I would have stayed enslaved to my work. Sometimes social obligation blesses.

I came home with new evidence on why I need to migrate to a nature-based lifestyle, a notebook that filled itself, and a list I’ve been asked for five times already. So here it is — the week, the tables, the packing, the soundtrack — and a poem that emerged once I let everything else quiet down.

I love a fresh page and a pen in hand. It asks of others; let me go inward. My body is here but my consciousness is filtering through layers of sediment, finding a way. It gives chance for deeper consideration. It’s a luxury in this fast-paced world.

I sit in the middle — from the notebook


Sandwiched between young love

and retired acceptance

A small beach barely existing

in an enclave of these coastal cliffs.

Sweltering August heat and

smooth white pebbles underfoot.

I sneak glances at the dark-haired beauty -

a 7/10 once she hits her 30’s but now,

with her doe-eyed acceptance of her lover,

She’s a 10/10. It’s not about wrinkles

It’s about naivety - and how beautifully it glows

fresh as newly fallen frangipani.

Her head rests on his recently filled-in chest

Puffed up with an unearned manliness

He is educating her on something. She nods.

A Master of the Universe in the making.

With full trust, she melts into him.

I close my eyes and pick up the rumble of lazy unimportant words.

A few meters out into the turquoise blue, a couple is lounging.

Part wading, part sitting, a slow roast in the afternoon sun.

I wonder how it is to be post-menopausal,

Post career pivots, post diets, post change.

For the one expectation of me to be, well,

Acting in ways that are expected.

Marital comfort derived from familiarity -

A predictable coasting to the finish line.

The time for questioning the founding values

Long past.

Some relationships are houses

Their role is to shelter those inside from the storm

Empty nests expose the beams and space

But even the greatest spirits can be contained

By the need of knowing where is one’s place

I sit in the middle.

Fearful of both new love and resigned maturity.

How to Island Right

Zakynthos must be seen both from the land and the water. Wait until the right elements align: the right mix of friends you’d love to be stuck on a yacht with, an excellent chef, and a cellar packed with Zakynthian rosé. Then simply let the coastline blow you away. There are countless beaches only accessible by boat – one where people leave totems of stacked white stones; one with a famous shipwreck that was all but a rusty skeleton, all opening and closing with the tides.

We had a couple days on land before jetting off for a week. If you’re a rustic nature lover like me; I suggest finding a villa up in the north for these nights on land. Book in advance via AirBnB. Our mountain-top villa gave us sweeping views, with a little garden next to the kitchen that I could pluck fresh tomatoes and rosemary from. It is incredibly lush on this island for such a dry climate, and the morning coastal hikes are also so worth it.

Each outing down for groceries or dinner required stopping for various creatures to cross the road – sheep, ducks, kittens. There was wildness that I missed, seen in the unruly rows of ancient olive trees planted long before machine harvesting required straight lines and mono cropping. Peacocks that somehow landed here rested with brunette horses in the shade. However, if you prefer posh over rustic…

The floating dock at Lesante Blu

— Then I suggest Lesante Blu. Family-owned and quaint but still with a sexy three-tiered infinity pool, this spot is probably already being eyed by a larger luxury group. I loved the little boutique near the beach restaurant, run by a lady who is passionate about independent Greek designers. My huge blocky earrings below are from her.

Where to Eat

Nobelus — book the beach daybeds and surrender the whole day. I loved it so much, I went back twice. This is Greek island seafood with an Italian accent, and the fresh catch on display is the menu. The uni pasta was divine. The grilled octopus, the branzino off the coals, and the grilled sardines were exceptional. I loved the unique (for me) pairing of roasted feta and tomato on top of prawns. Stick with the local wines – they’re great. There’s a homemade gelato booth for afterwards, and the service is the best I found on the island.

Porto Roulis — the counterweight to Nobelus: a humble fisherman’s taverna run by three generations of one family. When we walked in, the grandfather was singing already – guitar on his lap. It’s a pick-your-fish kind of place. Checkered paper tablecloths, and baskets full of fried fresh anchovies – this is a cute place that hangs shells off the ceiling. We were served by two friendly sisters and chose wine from the Grampas vineyard we had dined at a few days before. When I went to pay (in the middle of a very cramped kitchen), I got to see the inner workings of the family, with the grandmother having her station by a large earthen forno, prepping the grill.

The galley — the best table on the trip wasn’t on the island at all. We sailed with a Sicilian chef on board who spoiled us daily: perfect pastas, red shrimp crudo, fresh-caught fish straight to the grill, and tarts and tiramisu baked at sea. If you charter, ask about the chef before you ask about the boat — it’s hard to go wrong with a chef from Italy’s south.

What to Pack

People think fashion designers stress about their own outfits, but usually we just wear what’s easy and minimal. Often I’m wearing old or new samples, so it comes down to what’s available. We spend so much time dressing and styling others; that I guess like chefs, we get exhausted when it comes to dressing ourselves. On that note - I packed my whole week into one carry-on luggage and one Porter tote. Here was the essentials:

On the body

– One pair of ancient Greek sandals. Metallic flats are best – can dress up or down. My friend brought a few ZARA heeled-sandals: big mistake. They injured her feet from just one walk around the harbour. Stick with real high quality leather - they aren’t vegan, but will be appreciated in a vintage stack, or at worst, biodegrade.

– A mono-color shirt set: My silk cotton set in cacao — shirt and pants, breezy and light but real coverage from wind and sun. Worn open over swimwear by day, buttoned with nothing underneath by night. I was also pairing the bottoms with just swim tops, and the wearing the top as a shirt dress. I’ve been obsessed with rich browns for resort wear - neutral but particular. Minimalist but warm.

– Functional Swimsuits: one string bikini for easy sunbathing, one monokini for secure-fit free diving, and a cropped swim set for when my chest and neck start going dark and freckly. Shoulders, chest, and arms always tan deeper than the rest of the body — so I designed swimwear that reverse-tans, covering exactly those areas instead: swim t-shirts, neck-covered crop-top sets, even full-sleeve suits I use for longer free dives. They double as crop tops - so a good swim investment.

– Sheer Cropped Pants: handspun cotton resort pants in natural leaf —Slightly cropped for the boat. These are made from organic cotton in East Java, Indonesia that is handspun using a slowly dying traditional technique. The artisanal love that goes into a piece like this is both seen and felt. It was like wearing the softest sheer gauze that still held its weight. The material was naturally dyed in Bali by the same family-owned company. I feel grateful every time I smooth my hand against these fibers.

– My usual chunky ring stacks and a few statement earrings. I love bold jewelry with very minimal makeup. Especially when you’re tanned with freckles. Natural beauty.

In the kit

– Sun Zapper SPF sticks — the revelation of the trip. I swapped cover-up for these zinc sticks: 50+ SPF, foundation in light and dark (bring both as you’ll need range as you tan). Zero clogging, total coverage. I’m literally still using these on the daily….

– Anessa SPF 50 for moisturizing and protecting the face overall. Zero clogging again, and absorbs to a matte finish.

– Momori brow gel — the extra-large wand swipes unruly brows and baby hairs into submission. A must, for the constant wind on-board. Also, smells lovely.

– Kérastase Curl Manifesto leave-in — blow-drying on a boat is futile given I’ll be jumping into the water multiple times a day, so I air-dried into a wavy, messy bob. Wet hair, Add this, do not touch until it’s crispy dry, then tousle!

– Fruit of the Earth Aloe Vera Gel — The slick look created by totally natural, easy to wash and comb out aloe. I had my usual industrial size bottle of aloe vera on hand, for an easy slick-back bun. Only use this brand if you want a really great hold.

– Lip liner stain + simple balm — the lowest-maintenance glow-up trick. Draw on your liner, and your lips loo defined all day. Natural lip texture shines.

For the Mind

– I finished Pool House by Mary H.K. Choi. — Great read for a non-intellectual, leisurely cruise. The ending was a tough pill to swallow. Moms….

– I got mid-way in Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer — This is the sort of writer that brings me back to the things that matter the most in this life: How we live in relationship with earth and other living beings. Still immersed.

What to Listen To

One song owned this trip: “Hot Blooded” (slow reverb version) — New Constellations, on repeat drawing me into day-dreamworld. Around it, the week sounded like this:

– “Golden Light” — STRFKR (arrival)

– “Weak in Your Light” — Nation of Language (open water)

– “Saltworks” — BEA1991 (the swim)

– “Bond Girl” — John Glacier (4pm heat)

– “Priestess” (Shura Remix) — Pumarosa (golden hour)

– “Blood Type” — Turtle (dinner on deck)

– “Black Willow” — Loma (the night crossing)

That’s the island. Next month I’ll be writing to you from a retreat in Yorkshire at Broughton Sanctuary – named by National Geographic Traveller as one of the 30 most exciting places in the world to visit.

Crossing thoughts in hyper space,

LVT

One year ago today, I was hosting a birthday dinner in Singapore with my nearest and dearest and surprised myself by bursting into tears. Around twenty of us were gathered in two long tables at Tempt - the (now-closed) special concept by juicy chef extraordinaire Candice Leong. It was a balmy tropical evening hidden in one of the historic shophouses lining Purvis Street, and we had the space to ourselves.

Well hydrated by spicy margaritas, someone had started a speech round. She was one of my wildest friends, and in moments, could also be one of my sweetest. As the mic went around, with guests pitching in impromptu Lisa stories, I began to feel weird. My usual composure got shaky. My husband was in Milan and had been too tired to travel with me. After being ground to dust in his world, such adoration felt almost illegal. It was just me and the friendships I’d built over 18 years in Singapore.

The mic ended with me. In work situations, I always know what to say. Or when it’s about someone else’s life, someone else’s problems. But in this case, I was speechless. I babbled on auto-pilot about feeling so overwhelmed from the love, and then from somewhere deep within, I shared a truth that I hadn’t known before it escaped my lips. Tears came. My voice was high and stretching to a finish line.

We ended the night with deep conversations and DIY karaoke - made particularly better given that we had some proper musicians in the house. Looking back, my subconscious must have known that something bad was about to befall me, only one month later.

I always liked dramatic men. What others found perplexing, intimidating or unhinged - I found charming. Especially if they had good style. I’m a Leo, an entrepreneur and run a fashion business in a retail downturn that should have my wee brand in liquidation already. I wear my heart on my sleeve and have an appetite for risk.

Without sharing personal details that are not mine, I let myself be convinced that this marriage was a healthy choice due to his heroic offering of amends for the past. Apparently, this time around, our relationship would be safe, calm, and finally, the much needed peace that I had been craving.

His proposal felt real, as there was a dually notarized contract, laying out each detail. I let him lead - his legal team drafted it all. I had no Italian legal advice. I assumed this was all to protect his wealth, as it was the most unequal prenuptial agreement that my Singaporean lawyers had ever seen. I didn’t mind the cheapness. I knew it was because he liked to always be in control. It was enough for me and I trusted him.

Marriage across two passports and two countries takes a lot of admin work. To even go through all the paperwork and two weddings (one in Milan and one in Singapore), felt like evidence that this wasn’t just another grand gesture or empty promise. It felt like real commitment. Italian men are good at passion. I was overjoyed that there was also practical planning this time too. In return, I gave all my love and loyalty, and made him the centre of my existence. My feminine era began.

This was my second Sagittarius ADHD husband. The first Sagi is still one of my best friends. This second Sagi will not be.

Being neurodivergent myself, I understand this specific mode of intelligence that is either too fast (for normal thinking/conversational speed) or too slow (the epiphany comes much later in a totally different context). I like deep, committed relationships where you can get to know each other over time. ADHD/ADD people are radically different aspects of themselves depending on which slice you magnify. Its only by zooming out on the timeline, and connecting the dots, that you can understand the whole thing. There is a coherency. I will always find this way of thinking refreshing.

I spent the third year of my relationship with him mostly in our countryside home. He supported my fashion brand, but we put it on the back burner. The main priorities were his work, and there was something feminine about caring about my partner’s goals more than my own for once. He was the driver, I was in the passenger seat.

However, one year after our Milan wedding, I was asked for a divorce. No cheating on my end. No betrayal, no lying, nothing. It was a preemptive move.

It seemed as though there was some awful surprise coming, and he needed to reduce all liabilities from me ahead of time, and also not rock the boat - so as to keep me dumbly assuming that it was still safe to trust him. The comforting realness of a marriage that had been detailed and planned dissolved in front of my eyes.

Apparently his lawyers had already started drafting something that he wanted me to sign whereby he would not have to honor the agreement from when we married. It was a cheap marriage, but he needed it to be cheaper.

Before I get into the figurative murder, the saddest and the most difficult piece for me to reconcile has been that I was never given the basic respect to be told the truth. Even worse, I was further lied to as a cover-up. If you’re currently someone in a relationship where you are doing wrong - trust me, the other person prefers to know everything, and have a heartfelt sorry. It helps both of you to at least know that during the good times, it was actually real. Otherwise, everything is fake.

So, last year, mid September: I’m asked for a divorce on the eve of Milan Fashion Week - and Paris is around the corner. This means that my husband and I will be both hosting and attending events for the next two weeks together. I am asked to pretend to be a happy wife. I have a wardrobe of designer clothing - the kind that actually flexes; overpriced ready-to-wear made in limited quantity sold in a few fleeting boutiques, and appreciated by even fewer fashion nerds. No Birkin bag. No Chanel. I have friends and business contacts flying in for the next few weeks of programming. I am on the verge of breakdown.

All this happens in one week-

1. I tell him I cannot pull these fashion weeks off. I’m in shock. We need marriage counseling. I need to be around family and friends in Singapore.

2. We agree that I skip the fashion weeks. My return flight gets me back to Milan around the time he returns from Paris - giving us a few weeks of space.

3. I send a love note from the airport lounge. He blocks my cards.

4. At the airport at my gate, it becomes impossible to buy a bottle of water. I ask why my cards aren’t working. No response.

5. My flight lands in Singapore. I open my email to see notifications that my only income at that time (my brand was not making profit) has been switched off. I had been consulting for his company, and he has terminated me. This was bad.

6. I arrive with a few luggages to my best friend’s home in Singapore. I receive another notification that my Ibiza pop-up store that he had been operating will not be renewed. They will close my store. I need to collect my stock.

7. Meanwhile, he suggests we speak through lawyers, and skips three scheduled marriage counseling appointments. I get the feeling that I am being starved now into a position so desperate that I will settle for whatever he proposes to me.

8. I faint and get sent to the ER. My blood is hypoglycemic and I can’t stop shaking. I pay with my own Singapore bank card, because I have no other way.

9. I am discharged and upon returning to my best friend’s place get a flurry of new messages accusing me of stealing his passports. Plural. I mention that I’m weak and hope he can find them. I get berated for being an awful Stealer of Passports.

10. He finds his passports. He never apologizes. I lie like a mummy for many days.

Now we’re in early October. Before my return flight to Milan, I am feeling anxious and check my digital access to the house (two apps). I’ve been logged out of both. That was my only mode of access to my own home. I never used physical keys. I ask him why I can’t come home. He says if I want to return, I need to book an appointment with him first. At the time, I don’t realize that is illegal.

I receive a legal letter accusing me of ‘abandoning’ him and initiating our divorce proceedings. The irony…

“Abandoning”. They say that the most prolific cheaters accuse their spouses of doing what they themselves are ashamed of. It makes me wonder if he ever had the idea of stealing my passport.

I ask him to send a photo of all my belongings in Milan (art, furniture, clothes, etc) because I have a sinking feeling that he is trying to extinguish all of me. He responds that all of my things disappeared, and accuses me of magically taking everything with me on my flight to Singapore - as part of my master plan of abandoning him.

Its easy to lie when you’re the one in power. How can I respond, ‘but that’s not possible. I had two checked luggages. I would have needed a shipping container.’ Logic, truth, none of that matters. And some people sadistically love it.

Surprise surprise, I did not use my return flight. The truth had been revealed that nothing was done or said in earnest anymore. As an update - I got access to the house months later (organized by the Family Court) and of course, all my things were still there - albeit all packed up. No apologies for trying to make us all believe that I had somehow fit a bookshelf into my suitcase. Boh.

I’ve learned that some people will go to such gnarly lengths in order to free themselves of “liabilities”. In modern society, perhaps murder can be carried out in ways that are not physical; for example, character assassination and attempted bankruptcy. What’s strange is that…. is depravity ever worth it?

There are easier ways to do whatever it is that you want, while married. Ask permission. Apologize if you’re caught. Try to make amends. Go to marriage counseling. Or at a minimum, honor whatever agreement you had in place in case things go south. I think my soft spot for dramatic men is finally cured!

As of today, we are almost one year on from this debacle.

I went into work overdrive in order to turn profit from my fashion brand. This meant I had to close my Singapore store. Let go of all full-time staff, and then re-hire assistance on project bases. I have never worked so hard. Those who know me, know how much I stretch myself. My reward is that the brand still lives on, and so do I.

In fact, LVT continues to be celebrated as a brand partner with some of my favourite luxury lifestyle brands and shops worldwide. One of them is Agora at Six Senses Ibiza, recently named as one of the best boutiques in the world by BOF, and helmed by women who deeply care about sustainability and spirited design. Our network of wonderful hotel partners, who also value designer merchandise and creative collaborations, select members clubs, and award-winning spirits have come to us for partnership - not even knowing the steep hill I had personally been climbing.

What a year. Polite friends say, ‘Nooooo, Lisa’ when I tell them I’ve been aging in Obama years. I roll my eyes, and say its okay - I’m embracing every new line. Then with this reassurance of my hardiness, they offer, ‘well there’s so much new beauty technology these days… ’ But as much as I complain, I’m happy to age.

There was an aspect of myself that was very green when I met my ex. A little girl who wanted to be loved, saved, and taken care of by a father figure that I never had. Independence seemed overrated. Instead of being burned out, I wanted to be cradled.

Well as karma would have it, I married a mirage.

In coming back to myself, post crisis, I have finally realized that no one external to ourselves can save us. I saved myself. I’ve never felt so proud. And I have relatively so little.

At my birthday dinner a year ago… I cried because I had felt seen and loved. The easy permission to just be, without servitude, without expectation, without punishment, as the most natural thing in the world - it made me realize how stark my life had become. I blurted out into the mic, ‘I’ve been feeling so isolated, and so far from home’ - immediately embarrassed and hoping people would drink enough to forget.

But as luck would have it, I was pushed home, quite expediently. A hard shove back to Singapore, and back to myself.