Guide to visiting a spa: nine things to know
Spa etiquette is a bit of a cultural minefield, especially if you are heading overseas into saunas, steam rooms and pools. Here are nine tips to know before you disrobe.
I’ve been moisturised with creams containing caviar, diamond dust, 24-carat gold and slug mucin (that’s slime, unless you’re at a luxury spa).
I’ve been beaten with twigs in Germany, hosed down with a pipe akin to a water cannon in Switzerland, buried in sand in Barbuda and had a hay bath in Italy.
Then there was the facial with nightingale droppings in Japan and the time my stomach was set on fire in Thailand. Here is what I’ve learnt along the way.
1. Go naked sometimes …
Does anyone need the glimpse into life in a residential care home that pulling on those nappy-like paper panties offers? Not me. Here’s the thing: you don’t have to suffer that humiliation. I breezily say “It’s easier for you if I don’t wear them, isn’t it?”, cunningly making myself appear to be caring while avoiding the gross indignity. The truth is that therapists prefer you to go commando because that midpoint elasticated obstruction interrupts full-body massage strokes – the most relaxing technique in their armoury. A further irony is that the sense of vulnerability when they adjust the pants to work on your lower back can make you feel far more exposed than actually being naked.
2. … but not always
I’m contrary, so while I’m relaxed about being naked in the privacy of the treatment room – where, in reality, my modesty is protected at all times by the cover sheet – I’m not keen on baring all in other spa areas. I’m referring to the “no textiles” saunas most of us detest. I rather enjoy the hysterical overreaction of those who prefer to flaunt their nudity in confined, hot spaces when I arrive semi-clothed. Seriously, guys, it’s a swimming costume, not an unclipped hand grenade. I’d argue that it’s far more traumatic for Little Miss Modest me to have to avoid looking at their various intimate piercings. There is a compromise: whip off your cossie but wrap yourself in a towel – this seems to stop them blowing a gasket.
3. Make every minute count
The average spa massage costs about $250 an hour, or a bit over $4 a minute, and nothing makes me less relaxed than time being wasted by the therapist popping out of the room so that I can disrobe and get on to the treatment table in privacy. They’re about to have their hands all over me, so is privacy a meaningful consideration in this context? More annoyingly, the therapist is often gone for a couple of minutes. So, instead, I suggest they stay in the room and simply turn their back while I ready myself. Similarly, if I’m having a facial and have forgotten to remove my mascara, I ask them not to worry, otherwise they spend ages cleaning it off – more lost time; besides, it’s a pointless exercise, as I can’t ever recall a facial that involved creams being applied to my eyelashes.
4. Massage is not a team sport
Couples treatment rooms: why? Who wants their “me time” compromised by having to listen to the person on the other table explain their sports injuries and sinus issues? Someone who then shuffles around noisily until you know they’re finally comfortable, because they’re snoring. Let’s limit the shared experience to the relaxation lounge, please.
5. Don’t be afraid to speak up
I’m not sure what’s worse, the massage with menaces, in which the pain is tantamount to waterboarding, or the exquisite torture of the Ming-vase massage, with the touch annoyingly light. If the pressure doesn’t suit, say so. I must admit that although I have no problem asking for one adjustment, if it doesn’t improve, I often struggle to answer the follow-up enquiry with anything other than: “Lovely, thank you.” My advice is to always soften up your muscles before a massage with a hot shower or a stint in the sauna. And if the pressure gets too much, take long, deep breaths and exhale as the therapist works into the muscle; if the massage is too soft, suggest they concentrate on smaller muscle groups, such as neck and shoulders, calves and ankles.
6. The ones to avoid
In my opinion the least appealing treatments are scrubs and soaks. A full-body exfoliation is usually followed by a quick shower and the main event, a massage – invariably ruined (for me at least) because when showering I’ll miss a bit of scrub, which the therapist finds alarmingly quickly. I’ve come out of a massage with deep scratches. As for sweet-smelling, flower-strewn baths … if someone can explain how turning on a tap and pouring in aromatherapy oil is worth close to $100, I’m all ears.
7. The ones to book
Given treatment prices, I understand the reluctance to experiment, but I urge you to try the following: sound healing, which I find deeply calming; one-to-one breath work, which gives the instructor time to teach you stress-busting techniques that can genuinely be life-changing; watsu, a water-based stretch that is wonderfully relaxing.
8. Best foot forward
Bring your own thongs or slides as those provided never fit, making stairs a health and safety risk.
9. No one’s perfect
Spas are often badly designed. Here are my pet hates: glass-fronted saunas that overlook the pool, because if you’re in one you can’t help, inadvertently yet repeatedly, making eye contact with someone in the other; marble-lined pools, which may look posh but one splash of water and it’s hard to avoid slipping over; changing-room lockers that are so short you can’t hang your clothes and store a bag without crumpling your outfit; lockers that are crammed into a tight corner, so if more than one person is trying to retrieve their clothes it becomes an impromptu game of Twister.
THE TIMES
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