I consulted a Chinese herbalist and spent two weeks on an island

Francesca Annis once reflected with simplicity and depth: “I consulted a Chinese herbalist and spent two weeks on an island off the coast of Zanzibar. I was away from any kind of contemporary technology.” In these words, she describes not merely a retreat, but a return—a return to the ancient rhythms of life, where the healing touch of nature, the wisdom of tradition, and the silence beyond technology remind the human soul of what it truly needs. Her journey is not just personal but symbolic, an echo of humanity’s timeless search for restoration when modern life grows heavy with noise.

The origin of this reflection lies in Annis’ own experience as an actress living within the glare of modernity. Surrounded by the demands of performance, publicity, and the constant pace of the world, she chose to step aside and seek renewal. By turning to a Chinese herbalist, she sought healing not from laboratories or machines but from remedies rooted in ancient knowledge. By retreating to an island near Zanzibar, she entered a space where the rushing demands of modern technology could not intrude, allowing her body and spirit to rediscover balance.

This longing for retreat is not new. History recalls how philosophers like Diogenes renounced the city’s distractions to live in simplicity, and how sages of India sought forests to meditate beyond the clutter of worldly duties. Even emperors, like Marcus Aurelius, wrote in their journals of the need to step away from power and return to nature’s stillness. What Annis expresses in her quiet recollection is part of this long human tradition: the recognition that when life grows suffocating, one must withdraw from contemporary technology to hear again the whisper of the eternal.

Her words also highlight the contrast between two worlds: the ancient and the modern. On one hand, the wisdom of the herbalist represents continuity with practices that healed bodies for centuries, relying on plants, roots, and harmony with the natural order. On the other, the silence of Zanzibar’s shores reveals the possibility of living without the constant tether of phones, screens, and machines. In both, the lesson is the same: life does not depend upon technology alone; there are deeper reservoirs of strength and healing that lie in simplicity, in earth, and in the self.

There is also a heroic courage in her action. For many, the thought of leaving behind contemporary comforts fills the heart with anxiety. Yet Annis demonstrates that stepping into silence is not a loss, but a gain. To be “away from any kind of technology” is not to be abandoned, but to be restored. For only when the mind is freed from constant noise does it rediscover its own rhythm, and only when the body is released from haste does it feel the strength of true rest.

The lesson for future generations is profound: do not wait until exhaustion consumes you before you seek restoration. Recognize early the need to step away from the grasp of endless machines. Cultivate balance—let technology serve you, but never enslave you. When possible, retreat into nature, even briefly, to remember that your life is not built of wires and signals, but of breath, heart, and spirit.

Practical actions follow this wisdom. Seek out moments of disconnection. Walk among trees, listen to rivers, let silence wrap around you without fear. Honor the ancient wisdoms of healing, for they hold truths that modern science often forgets. And above all, remember that you are not defined by the pace of contemporary life—you are defined by the strength of your inner being, which grows clearest in moments of stillness.

Thus let Francesca Annis’ words endure as a quiet but powerful teaching: to step away from technology is not to regress, but to rediscover. In simplicity, in ancient wisdom, and in the silence of nature, the human soul finds what no machine can provide. And only by remembering this can we carry technology wisely, without losing the essence of what it means to be human.