fruitybeauty

Boy, did we get our rocks off.

I know how dull it can be reading about other people having totally excellent experiences, but TRY to stay with me here.

The spa was kind of on par with being a five year old (a lactose tolerant one) and being given an ice cream factory for christmas, and walking into it for the first time.

All that Thai style decor with dark woods and wild flowers that documentaries are made about and oil burners and serenity and ponds and double, triple, quadruple room, half-outdoor, half-indoor treatment 'rooms,' that have pink flower petals in massive, full, dark marble (stone? slate? granite? fairy floss?) spa baths and mega size two-people showers and steam rooms and outdoor showers (you CAN NOT escape here dirty seemed to be the message) hiding in the garden and tea, fresh tea everywhere you
look and... so on.

Ok. So we've put on the funniest disposable underpants known to man - a fetching black, 80s style g-string for the ladies, and mini-hotpants slash belt for the gentleman. Both made of black, sheer panty hose material. Hot. As. As Boyfriend is a treatment virgin (SACRE BLEU) he's particulary amused.

Once we've stopped laughing, we:

Lay down
Have lovely treatmentaticians rub beautifully-scented, hot body oil (mind out the gutter thank you) up and down us. And it's really, really, car-bonnet-on-a-summer's-day-in-Alice-Springs, hot.
Then, the stones. Lovely dark, smooth big pebbles that are equally hot, either A. Placed under pressure/energy points and in our hands, and B. Rubbed, with the oil gently up and down our bodies.
Sounds odd, even a little creepy, but it feels very, very excellent.

Boyfriend asks me if 'My girl did that vibrating thing on my back?'.
What?
'You know, when she puts the rocks down and then walks away and the rocks send vibrations through your back.'
Er, no.
Seems he got the bonus round with the particulary energy-filled rocks. And the tea with the LSD.
[But, actually, that's exactly what's supposed to happen: the rocks are meant to release energy and 'heal' and as his back is bung at the moment, this is actually a bit spooky. Ish.]

After all the massaging and loveliness, they leave us alone to sit on a little Thai bed in the middle
of a pond and reflect on life and drink lemongrass tea and breathe deeply and pretend this is our backyard and take a furious frenzy of photographs because it was just so stunning.

Oh, look. Here are some now:

Off to get stoned.

We're about to go to the Mandara Spa here at the Marriott for an Elemis stone therapy massage. And it will be in one of those wicked couple's rooms that i've always wanted to try. And i love Elemis. And stones. And massage. Yessssssssssss.

It all makes me VERY EXCITED AND HAPPY in advance.

Stone therapy massages, for those, like me, who didn't know what they were until, uh, nowish, are where they place hot stones on your nudie-rudie body on energy points to release tension and make you feel all delicious and relaxed and excellent and like you're The King of The World. (Or at least Thailand. They really really really love their King here. Even more than Americans love Burger King. They even wear those Lance Armstrong yellow rubber wrist bands, except they say 'We Love Our King'. Adorable.)

Here are some pictures the website offers, but i'll tell you what it's REALLY like in a few hours or so.

Drunk on spa.

This is the Botanic Spa in Singapore. No, no, my mistake. This is a blog. What i meant to write was: These are some photos of the Botanic Spa in Singapore. The rest is video and too mammoth to email right now. As my new best friend, Renee From Reception very animatedly and proudly told me, maybe three times, this puppy came number 6 in conde naste's UK edition of Asia's top spas. Which is a big call, because as we all know Asia heaves with superb spas. They have the perfect weather for delicious open treatment areas and saucy marble outdoor showers, as well as an astonishing propensity with dark timber and shiny black pebbles and perhaps most importantly, staff sporting perennial smiles and VERY quiet slippers to make magical things happen when you slide on some hilarious disposable knickers and scramble under a towel. (Oh, and no idea who Enya is. Crucial.) But after a wander around, i understood why Renee was so dingin' proud. It. Was. Glorious. Massive. Billions of themed treatment 'rooms' set in gardens Don Burke would dribble over. Black granite pools and deep cobalt tiled spas and roman style couple quarters with double outdoor showers, baths and spas. Women's only pool area. Mud baths with the good stuff imported from our kiwi friends. A grass maze for contemplation that socrates would've loved if he hadn't drunk poison. Showers the Hilton would copy in a flash. Walking around in 856 percent humidity, i was drunk with amazement.(Different to being drunk on beer. Less slurring.) And then i got bored of looking and mentally storing adjectives about tiles and so i covered myself with mud. And it dried and felt tight but then it washed off and i felt soft. The end.