If you’re tempted to put your feet in a fish spa, read this first

Have you ever been tempted to have one of those fish pedicures that are offered in backstreet spas in many Asian cities?

I admit that the idea of tiny fish nibbling at my cuticles and callouses is both repulsive and attractive.

Feel-good fish treatment or fraught with dangers?Credit: Getty Images

Surely, it must feel nice at some level, pleasantly tickling, once you get over the concept of plunging your extremities into a fish tank of warm water shared by many others?

But is it sanitary? Will I pick up an infection? Is it cruel to the fish?

Animal welfare group PETA says it’s both cruel and unsanitary. The “nibble fish” don’t want to eat your skin. They’re severely starved so they need to do it to survive.

They also excrete, and their waste remains in the tub, making the water a breeding ground for infection, which can’t be sanitised as it would kill the fish. The fish are not technicians, and they often bite, leaving blood.

You really don’t want to know more.

Interestingly, the fish pedicure, or ichthyotherapy as it is formally known, is not a gimmick invented by a Thai spa entrepreneur, but a treatment that has its roots in Anatolia.

The warm waters of the springs at Kangal, Turkey, are populated with Garra rufa, “nibble” or “doctor” fish. Shepherds in the 19th century started soaking their feet in the water for relief from tramping the hills all day. A thermal centre was established there in the 1960s, certified by the Ministry of Health. So, even if weird, it’s an authentic treatment in Kangal.

In recent times, fish pedicures seem to have become wildly popular with tourists in unlikely places, from Tokyo to Croatia. You can find them in Australia too, where they’re legal.

It’s one of those strange beauty treatments you’d never dream of doing at home but think “why the heck not?” when you’re on holiday.

We’re often in a different headspace when away from our comfort zone. Relaxed, game to try new things.

Paradoxically, that’s when we’re likely to be more vulnerable to rip-offs, accidents and unpleasant reactions to something we’ve never tried before. I know people who have acquired life-long ailments, such as skin conditions, from visiting dodgy spas at tourist hot-spots.

But travellers still do it, mostly as a reward, I think. That cheap massage in Bali is part and parcel of the whole Bali experience for many.

A straightforward massage is hardly a revolutionary or dangerous thing, unless the therapists don’t know what they are doing. There is still a strong element of trust involved, especially when the therapist hops up on the table and walks down your spine, as I’ve experienced in Japan.

In the competitive world of massages, kooky treatments lure curious travellers. Has anyone had a snake massage in Indonesia, where one’s body is covered in slithering pythons? It’s supposedly calming. I think not.

Snakes aside, I’ve always been open to trying different therapies while travelling. Like sampling street food, traditional wellness practices can reveal something about the culture. And those that are plainly confected just for tourists, like fish pedicures and python massages, can be memorable just for the novelty. Or the challenge.

I’m not a particularly “brave” participant. I’ve been known to panic when wrapped like a mummy in mud and bandages.

A couple of years ago, a therapist in Thailand set fire to my belly. I went along with it because it is a time-honoured tradition for stomach complaints, not some new-fangled thing.

It’s about the most extreme thing I’ve done. But the pyrotechnics worked. The application of poultices that were lit was, surprisingly, very soothing. I’d do it again.

Overall, there is a lot to be said for trying a traditional treatment in its place of origin, in the way the locals do. Swedish massages in Sweden. Saunas in Finland. Acupuncture in China. Shirodhara (warm oil dripping on your third eye) in India. Brazilian waxes in Brazil. (Or maybe not.)

I would happily be gently lashed with birch branches in Russia. Or take a warm “bath” in hay, a tradition of the Dolomites.

A Mongolian yak dung bath? I’d give it a go.

My advice is to steer clear of anything you don’t see a local doing to themselves. There’s a reason for it.

And treatments with live animals are usually a bad idea for the animals.

So, unless you’re in Kangal, Turkey, leave those little fish alone.