S
Susan d’Arcy
Guest
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.
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.
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 anyway — I’m not keen on baring all in other spa areas. I’m referring to the “no textiles” saunas that most of us Brits 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.
There are plenty of rules when it comes to sauna etiquette
GETTY IMAGES
The average spa massage costs £120 an hour, or two quid 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 onto 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 — or, as I tend to think of it, £4 worth of lost time. 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 about it, otherwise they spend ages cleaning it off — or, as I tend to think of it, at least £2 worth of lost time; besides, it’s a pointless exercise, as I can’t ever recall a facial that involved creams being applied to my eyelashes.
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.
• Revealed: 50 of the UK’s best spas for 2024
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 inquiry with anything other than the stiff-upper-lipped, “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.
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 — the latter 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 £50 I’m all ears.
Scrubs and soaks are not always the best value for money
GETTY IMAGES
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; and watsu, a water-based stretch that is wonderfully relaxing.
Bring your own flip-flops — those provided by the spa never fit, making stairs a health-and-safety risk.
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 I’m having to walk like an arthritic 80-year-old to avoid slipping over; changing-room lockers that are so short you can’t hang your clothes and store a bag in one without crumpling your outfit; and 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.
What are your spa tips? Let us know in the comments below
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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 anyway — I’m not keen on baring all in other spa areas. I’m referring to the “no textiles” saunas that most of us Brits 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.
There are plenty of rules when it comes to sauna etiquette
GETTY IMAGES
3. Make every minute count
The average spa massage costs £120 an hour, or two quid 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 onto 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 — or, as I tend to think of it, £4 worth of lost time. 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 about it, otherwise they spend ages cleaning it off — or, as I tend to think of it, at least £2 worth of 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.
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• Revealed: 50 of the UK’s best spas for 2024
5. Don’t be typically British
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 inquiry with anything other than the stiff-upper-lipped, “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 — the latter 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 £50 I’m all ears.
Scrubs and soaks are not always the best value for money
GETTY IMAGES
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; and watsu, a water-based stretch that is wonderfully relaxing.
8. Best foot forward
Bring your own flip-flops — those provided by the spa never fit, making stairs a health-and-safety risk.
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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 I’m having to walk like an arthritic 80-year-old to avoid slipping over; changing-room lockers that are so short you can’t hang your clothes and store a bag in one without crumpling your outfit; and 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.
What are your spa tips? Let us know in the comments below
Become a subscriber and, along with unlimited digital access to The Times and The Sunday Times, you can enjoy a collection of travel offers and competitions curated by our trusted travel partners, especially for Times+ members
Sign up for our Times Travel newsletter and follow us on Instagram and X