No Baths Please, I'm British

And what's that headline supposed to mean, anyway?

Nothing really. Just a way to work the word "bath" into the headline. It's really a terrible play on words (I'm as bad as my husband) about a show that was called, "No Sex Please, We're British." Oh never mind. I mean, I'm sorry I made you read all that. I didn't mean to waste your time.

Coincidentally (or is it?) the important thing here is: never waste money or time having a bath be part of your spa experience. It has got to be one of the stupidest offerings I've ever seen on a spa menu. Yes, they're called menus.

Think about it. Do you really want some stranger helping you into and out of bath water, leaving you alone to "meditate and relax" for 20 minutes? What kind of crap spa treatment is that? Don't worry, I'll tell you: it's a sneaky way to waste water, charge a fortune and give a therapist a little down-time. It just had to be some corporate suit thinking up this gem: "Now look at this profit-wise, Frank. We fill the tub with scented water, maybe scatter some flower petals on top. Plop the broads in and get your employees to do some real work. It's win/win!" said my imaginary CEO.

Except maybe not so imaginary. I had exactly one bath treatment. Or shall we say "attempted" treatment at one of the Red Door Spas. Now, I've had a massage at the same place, so don't rule this chain out. Just say no to taking a bath. So I'm ready for the next part of the "ritual" treatment. Oh yeah, everything is a "ritual" or "traditional" or, more typically, a "signature" treatment. All I know is a rose is a rose is a rose ....

Some rituals you can live without, you know what I mean? Anyway, the first part of the "ritual" was fine--a wonderful exfoliation (I'm being sarcastic, in case you hadn't read previous posts, I HATE exfoliating scrubs) followed by being oiled up and massaged. I think. Sometimes there are so many parts of a treatment, it's hard to keep them all straight.

So, either I'm exfoliated and then massaged, or vice versa. Doesn't matter because the important thing is: When I was in the bath for about 5 minutes, I realized I felt like an errant child whose mother just made her take a bath to get a skunk smell off, or something worse. I hated it and opened up my big mouth to say so. In a nice way, of course. Point is, if you are at a spa, ANY spa, and you're creeped out, uncomfortable or anxious in any way by anything, you simply say: "That's enough. I think this was a bad idea. Maybe another time. It's not you, it's me."

Say anything, just get thee ass out. So I told my WONDERFUL massage therapist (Denise! I remembered! A miracle!) that I was uncomfortable in the bath and please get me the hell out. And because she was a smart cookie (what's a dumb cookie?) and I already knew she had a great sense of humor so she wouldn't take it personally, she wisely said, "No problem," and helped me get out of this HUGE, unnecessary plastic pod like some old geriatric patient. Because it was one of those high-up bathtubs with stupid steps like you're ascending a throne.

All I kept thinking was: what a tremendous, stupid waste of water!!!!! Who needs to waste water in the middle of a drought! Or in the middle of a desert! Sheesh. I think if enough spa-lovers who really love this planet and would like to see our children's children thrive in it one day, we better change our stinkin' habits.

Like coal-burning and mining, deforestation and mountain-top mining. Yep, thanks to dear old 43, mine owners will soon be blowing the tops off revered and holy mountains in Appalachia. Then the Rockies and Southwest mountains. You'll see. Nice job, Brownie. This president has done more damage to this planet than any other before him.

Before I start to sound like Michael Moore (or Mary Moore) let me just throw this out: my husband read me a quote today from Thomas Edison, who (paraphrasing) said "I sure hope people figure out they should be using the sun for energy before they run out of coal and gas." THOMAS EDISON!!!!!

Ok. I'm done.

Don't take a bath at a spa.

The end.

Spa Life Rocks

I know, stupid headline. But I just like seeing the word "spa" because it brings me peace. And I'm learning how to do cool things like "indent" and "change fonts" and webby things I have no business dealing with.

And please ignore the picture of me. Because my designer (cough, cough) was sent the wrong photo, and it should SOON BE REPLACED by a much better one. And when it's up, I'll tell you all about that adventure in a Caribbean villa.

Isn't it weird how many women still don't feel comfortable enough with their own bodies to have a massage? Maybe you, too. But once you realize that you're ALWAYS properly covered so your personal areas won't be seen, you'll be able to relax. And since the spa industry is growing like the weeds in my so-called "back yard" you have no excuse not to indulge yourself. Most spas have decent locker rooms (a little junior high-ish, but come on, we've seen it before) where you strip. Or you can strip in the bathroom or private stalls. Most spas get it. That some of us are a tad inhibited about our bodies.

After all, didn't we all grow up on magazines with toothpick models with no hint of cellulite? Of course that's a factor. But we also must remember that NO ONE has a perfect body, there's simply no such thing. Those wacked out Hollywood starlets are all anorexic, probably use drugs up the wazoo and never eat. And they end up looking like 12-year-old boys. This is what we want for our daughters? Hell no! So, be proud of your saddlebags, cellulite and belly rolls. Sure beats the alternative.

Admittedly, I was shy the first time I had a massage, because I was an adult and had no reference point. But I pretended I didn't care, and you know what? It worked! I ended up not caring because the massage was so relaxing. Now, be warned, not all massages are created equal. Some "body treatments" just rub me the wrong way, so to speak. Especially the scrub things. They always make me feel like an infant on a changing table.

I don't want a stranger loofa-ing my butt or any other extremity. It's just a little degrading somehow. Other people LOVE scrubs. Me, I'll pass. Had enough of them to know I don't like them. And if you have ANY sense of unease in crowded spaces, please re-think EVER getting a body wrap. My first one was okay, although the seaweed made my skin break out in a rash. You're not supposed to shave your legs before this. Who knew? No one told me and I was too dumb to bring it up.

So that wasn't the greatest, although while wrapped up (pre-rash) the seaweed made these cool popping sounds, like those bubble-wrap things (I love bubble-wrap). So I was amused. Until the stuff was peeled off me and I looked like a deep fried tomato. Not a good look for me.

And then there's the time I was in a Boston spa (I'll be nice and not name it although it starts with the letter "G") and the therapist wrapped me up real good and took off! That's a big no-no, I know realize. Therapists should always be in the room with you unless they specifically tell you they need something and will be right back. This one merely said, "You'll be fine and I'll be back in 20 minutes." And off she went, before I could object.

That was the day I realized claustrophobia was another adjective I could use to describe myself. I felt like a mummy, or a mental patient ready for electric shock treatment. Not a warm and fuzzy feeling. So I broke out. Literally, I somehow managed to get my very-tightly-wrapped arms out and broke free! I have not had a body wrap since.

And I didn't write such a nice review of the spa, either. Hey, truth is truth. Don't leave your client and make sure she isn't too tightly wound, so to speak.

And it was a day spa, something I'm not crazy about. They are rarely terrific. This is my experience, I'm sure some are lovely and wonderful, yadda yadda. So far I've only been to two that I would recommend. One was in Portland, Oregon and was simply delightful and gorgeous. In a big loft-area. I think it's moved but it's still around: Aequis Spa

Even the website is relaxing. I remember a very dimly lit, seductive space (not in a bad way) that was just beautiful. And some lovely young girl doing this foot bath ritual before my massage. It's just something they do! And man, that was fantastic. So, if you're ever in Portland, you have to check it out. If anything, it's probably even better now.

Another amazing day spa is in Vancouver and offered incredible facials without all the frou-frou and fancy-dancy spa distractions like waterfalls and sleepy flute music playing in the background. Sometimes annoyingly so. This one is in a cool neighborhood, too and is called Skoah.

Spaaaah Memories.....

Where do I begin? Well, first let me point out that I'm using what's known (in 'font' language)
as "Arial" and then I wanted to make it bold. So I am now writing boldly in bold.

Sorry about the so-called humor. I never could tolerate puns. And then I met my husband, the most horrible pun-person (I refuse to call them punsters, it legitimizes them somehow) I have ever known.

Until I met Tracy. Tracy (here's a little celeb news) Nieporent (brother of the famous Drew who started Nobu, co-owns myriad Tribeca Restaurants yadda yadda) Tracy is as adept and fond of puns as Lew is. And, like Lew, is also a hockey nut. We met a loooong time ago when I was hustling stories in New York City.

I was doing okay, interviewing whom I wanted, and pitching only stories that interested me.
For instance. When I was working as a weekly entertainment columnist it was like manna from heaven. I had two young kids, a husband who worked nights and never saw us, and very little money. Not only was I going to get paid for this gig, I was going to see whatever the hell I wanted and write about it! A theater nut, daughter of a theater nut, is now a mother of a theater nut. Emily learned to love Broadway because that's where I took her and Ben, who hated every minute.

Except the time we saw "Phantom of the Opera," went backstage to meet the star who let him wear his mask and then gave him a toy! That he liked. Didn't matter. They were going to get culture if it was gonna kill me. Or them. I worked the phones like a madwoman, staking claim to a reputable (once upon a time) newspaper and being able to interview whomever I wanted. Usually.

This zeal and drive, lest we all forget why I'm posting this, transformed itself, once the kids were out of the picture. Into luxury travel. Spas. My back always hurt, why not get some freebies and then write about it?

So, dear reader (if she's really out there. hello?), if you want some basic spa stuff in (my case) a nutshell, here it is:

Go for the best. And the best just happen to be Fairmont spas, Four Seasons spas, and Starwood spas. I wrote that alphabetically, just to play nice.

You pick one of these, (unless it's San Francisco--the Four Seasons has yet to add that necessity but it's still AMAZING!!!) and you will NEVER go wrong. They're all pricey, yes. But look at it this way: would you rather spend a lot of money (don't buy that bedroom suite) on an idyllic experience you know will be superb, or do you want to cheap out and be miserable? No-brainer. And yes, I have been comped at these magnificent, fantastic, wonderful resorts. And I have written many many things about them. And was always truthful. As I shall continue to be.

Things may have happened INSIDE one of those properties (remember when I mentioned being screamed at in a Four Seasons lobby?) but not while staying at one. Stay tuned. It's a great story.

Spa Trek

Trek of the Spas

Thank you for the rousing ovation welcoming me to the blogging community! A lowly ink-stained wretch unaccustomed to praise of any sort (especially from an editor) is starting a blog.

Write what you know. That's what they always say. Well, I know spas. I know traditional techniques. I know Hot Rocks have been dropped on my head. It wasn't a relaxing treatment.
I have one of those non-jobby jobs that everyone thinks is so glamorous. If they only knew. Originally I was a poet. In third grade.

That continued for a long time and I guess it was my bliss. 'Cuz I sure followed it. Or let it guide me. Or something. It's a Joseph Campbell reference that everyone has copied, including me.

But, what on earth is a freelance writer anyway? Let's see.


Imagine you're an airline pilot and have to convince the tower to let you land EVERY TIME YOU HAD TO. Now, picture a writer trying to "pitch" an idea, or two, or three, to an editor with whom you've hopefully, been in email contact.

Sometimes you get lucky, and get a "yes." And the landing is smooth. Usually, not so much. Expect lots of crash-and-burns in the idea-rejection pile.

Goes with the territory. It's a lousy profession if you want to make money. It helps to have a meal-ticket, I mean spouse or partner with a real job. (I love you, Lew.)

Mostly, it's the perfect job for someone with low self-esteem and lots of scatter-shot ideas, to begin with. Unless you figure out one important fact: it's not personal. Once I figured that out (and it took a loooooong time) I let a lot of baggage go. Even getting fired over the phone while the editor is chewing a sandwich. It's history. And that was for a 3-year-old weekly entertainment column. For a daily tabloid on Long Island. Hope that narrows it down for you.

But I'm not bitter.

That's when I decided to make this lousy-paying job work for me. As in travel writing and spa writing. When the whole massage industry was still considered illicit. So I learned about spas. And went to many, many spas. Some were good. Some were amazing.

And some really sucked.
But I decided that if I couldn't afford to go away to these places, it would be really fun to pretend to be able to afford to.

Here's the dirty little secret about the travel industry and magazines that write about it: Travel writers get comped all the time. Staff on reputable papers won't allow this, as they think freelancers who get comped are mere shills for a resort. A hack, bubbling over in praise and BS flowery description.

Not me. I have never allowed a free trip to prevent me from pointing out flaws or turn-offs. If I have a REALLY awful experience I might do the place a favor and NOT write about it. But it depends.

Mostly I write from the hip, which is a fun phrase to use, considering I've just recently moved from New York to Tucson! Talk about change and culture-shock. Don't say it. Tucson DOES have culture. I just haven't discovered it yet. But it has some amazing spas. And I'm sure I'll ferret out the culture. Or culcha, as New Yorkers might say.

About the comps--It's a known thing in the business, probably not so much in the consumer world. Magazines have staff members who go on trips for free. But they don't have out-of-pocket expenses and they're on staff. How could a freelance writer afford to take a spa vacation? On 50 cents a word? (That's if you're lucky.) Most outlets pay crap and freelancers are thrilled to be invited on what's deemed "Press Trips." Which are freebie vacations.

Some who go on them are legitimate writers. Others might write little ditties for their local Pennysaver. Many are older women bored with staying home, maybe divorced and looking for a thrill. And then there's always a crazy or two. Demanding, impossible to please and annoying as hell.

And these "Press Trips" are usually over-managed by zealous public relations folk who want to make sure all their clients get in on the exposure.

So an "Itinerary" is always planned, with every minute accounted for. Go here, go there, eat now, chat with strangers, pretend to be happy with your undercooked chicken. I'm not complaining, just reporting.

So I stopped taking those "Press Trips" after one too many horrific experiences, about which I may divulge later. Now I go on individual trips, thanks to the fact that I'm fairly well known in the industry as a "producer." Meaning, I write for glossy, consumer publications. Now I'm trying out this blog thing. Since I'm such a technophobe, it took me only 7 years to plunge in. With help from one cheer-leading editor, this blog (I prefer the word "column") was born. Yesterday. And if you notice typos, blame me because there is no filter and I don't always re-read what I write. So bear with me as this thing of mine progresses and I get less reticent about posting.



So the Spa Trends idea came into fruition.

I'd love to share some of my experiences, even the wacky, insane ones. Like the time I was screamed at in the Four Seasons lobby. But that's another story.

Now, I'm concerned about global warming and the environment and not because it's a trend now. I was writing about this subject 10 years ago. Of course, Rachel Carson was sounding the alarm, say, 40 years ago. No one listened then. Maybe there's a slight chance that we're not on our merry way to extinction.

So I narrowed my focus even more. To eco-conservation, to sustainability, to protecting the environment. Not in some crunch-granola rah-rah way. In an adult, professional way to introduce the notion of having a great old time at the spa, but supporting one that treats water and other limited resources, like the precious commodities they are.


You can google me if you'd like. Some really old stories are on there, and many of my more recent ones aren't. Go figure. But if this blog-column-thing becomes more than a pipe dream, then keep checking in and I'll start telling some wacky, true stories. And let you know where the really good spas are--especially the ones that walk the walk of real conservation. And if you stumble upon this and want to comment, please do. Maybe I'll even figure out how to read them.


Til next time.