IF THE sky is clear, it’s possible to lean out of the windows of Paracelsus Recovery, a luxury rehabilitation clinic in Zurich, and gaze along the lake to the Alps in the distance. It’s the kind of view, of blue water and white peaks, that promises immediate rejuvenation, a purity close to holiness.
The clinic, meanwhile, offers more elaborate treatments at a cost of up to 120 000 Swiss francs (R2,3 million) a week for the typical six-to-eight-week stay.
I’m not a typical arrival at Paracelsus, named after the 16th-century Swiss physician who believed, contrary to popular opinion at the time, that those suffering from mental illness weren’t possessed by evil spirits but deserved humane treatment. My rucksack is marked by old coffee stains and my coat has a hole in the back from which feathers regularly drift.
The staff here are used to people who don’t carry their own luggage, and for whom a million in any currency is a forgettable sum. Clients are typically members of Middle Eastern royal families, self-made billionaires, famous actors or sports stars and the troubled children of all these types who’ve inherited their wealth and its attendant burdens.
More striking than the material luxury of the Paracelsus office, with its high ceilings and rows of white orchids, is the attention bestowed as soon as I walk through its doors. I’m not here for treatment, but will be staying in one of their apartments while I interview the staff.
Even so, well-groomed nurses, doctors, administrators and nutritionists emerge from every room, smiling. Looming behind them is Jan Gerber, the chief executive, tall
