Self-confessed ‘spa virgin’ Raul Dias chronicles his premiere pampering tryst at a day spa in Macao, an experience that has now gotten him hopelessly hooked!
Location: The Venetian Macao Resort Hotel’s V Spa. Time: 17.30. As I entered the swanky coolness of the plush reception area all done up in pale grey marble with Murano glass scones the walls and inviting velvet covered chaise lounges scattered here and there, I had one singular thought raging in my mind. “There couldn’t be a better place for me to lose my virginity in than this,” my inner petulant voice kept repeating itself like a stuck vinyl record. Now, before you jump the gun and assume this piece to be one of those that go into a detailed narrative of a boy’s perilous journey to manhood, let me disappoint you in saying that it is no such thing. Au contraire, it is about a day in the life of a ‘spa virgin’ a.k.a. me who finally bit the forbidden fruit with a delicious realization.
You see, usually I am one of those guys who isn’t particularly chuffed at the idea of getting disrobed in the presence of a stranger who then proceeds to give me a rubdown with cloyingly sweet-smelling oils, hence I’d never been to a spa or ever had a massage in my life. But that very moment I needed all the pampering that I could possibly get. Earlier that day at The Venetian’s casino, I had bid a tearful adieu to a substantial amount of my hard earned dosh that went down the bottomless stomach pit of the ‘Hungry Tigers’—as the slot machines in Macao are affectionately referred to as. Moreover, slouching over the machines all day had begun to take its toll on my neck whose nerves were as raw as meat hanging in a butcher’s window. Yes, a massage was what I needed and a massage was what I was going to get, virginity et al be damned!
So, after a quick glance at the V Spa’s exotic therapy menu that listed mellifluous sounding treatments such as the Hawaiian Lomi Lomi massage and the Chinese Tai Na massage, I opted for the two-and-a-half hour Limoncello massage that would set me back by 1,900 Macao Patakas (Hell, I could always try my hand at the ‘Hungry Tigers’ again in a bid to win it back!). My choice of the Limoncello massage was influenced by two factors: my love for the yellow-green fragrant Italian liqueur in honour of which the massage is named and for the fact that I was in a Venice-inspired resort replete with singing Gondoliers and even an indoor St Mark’s square.
My fears of stripping in front of a stranger were quickly abated when Lily my masseuse directed me towards the changing room asking me to slip on a pair of disposable briefs and then lie on the mahogany massage table, covered with a towel. That task accomplished, I waited while Lily began to unravel her magic on me. With deft strokes she went to work, kneading onto my back and arms the warm Limoncello-infused lotion, that I must say I was tempted to sneak in a taste of. “Why have I deprived myself of this luxury all this while?” I asked myself aloud, much to Lily’s silent surprise, as she continued cautiously pulling, pushing and pummeling, first easing and then after a while, almost telepathically freeing the knots in my neck, back and shoulder blades. My scalp was then anointed with lemongrass oil and the most divine champi oriental style was administered by Lily using her delicate, yet surprisingly strong fingers that worked in tandem to ease my gambling-induced stress away. If this was heaven, I was ready to meet my maker that very instant.
With seconds melding into minutes, and minutes into hours, a gentle tap on my shoulder roused me out of my stupor, indicating that I was done. A quick plunge into the troika of Roman-style plunge pools—the frigidarium (cold water pool), the tepiderium ( luke-warm water pool) and finally into the caldarium (hot water pool) was the grand finale of my first de-virgining spa experience that has left me desperately wanting more.
Shiatsu, swedish, shirodhara—bring it on. Any time, any place!
(First published in DNA Me)
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