The Land of Spa

Good vs. Bad TV

noreply@blogger.com (Rose) — Mon, 06 Jul 2009 17:01:00 +0000

The other day I saw an ad for "The View," the daytime show hosted by a lineup of female hosts, their bios of which get less distinguished in direct relation to their age. (You're surely familiar with veteran Barbara Walters but who's Elisabeth Hasselbeck, exactly?)

The show, which aired on July 2, did not include Barbara Walters. Maybe she's no longer a host; I wouldn't know because I've never watched more than a snippet of it in passing. I DVR'd it because it featured the top-of-their-profession luminaries in enlightened circles: John Edward (clairvoyant), Dr. Brian Weiss (past life regression expert), Sandy Anastasi (tarot reader, psychic), and Joanne Reeves (astrology).

Now, you may or may not agree with my descriptions above--either of the gals on "The View" or my undeniable bias toward the guests. But this is my blog and I can do whatever I want on it, right? No one's paying me and I've never entered any journalistic pact with my readers to be fair and unbiased.

On the other hand, these woman are responsible for hosting a major ABC television show. Presumably, when you agree to invite guests on your show you will 1.) exercise due diligence by informing yourself on the work for which your your guests are known and, 2.) make a modicum of effort to stay balanced and neutral regardless of your personal feelings.

Now, I guess the conceit of the show is the hosts are supposed to be lady hell raisers. They've got opinions, informed by their age, color and religious orientation and goddamit they are going to tell you about them. I get that.

I also get that the folks invited to participate on the show are guests. I doubt that they were told in advance this was going to be a rather malicious feeding frenzy. If the ladies didn't like or approve or believe in what the guests do, DON'T HAVE THEM ON! Instead what the audience what subjected to was an exercise in intolerance and ignorance. These so-called pros were stunningly rude and downright cruel. They behaved like whining children in need of a timeout. One saving grace: You're familiar the hated Class Bully character? Each host, in her own inimitable way, came away looking like that while the guests stayed unspeakably gracious under fire.

You should see for yourself and if you agree.

Here are viewer responses to the show. I encourage you to first watch the episode. You may first have to sign up or "launch" something, though. Then let me know what you think.

This is not so much about beliefs; this is about BAD TELEVISION. Without getting all lecture-y about it, we've got a lot of garbage floating around under the guise of "media," and most thinking people agree. It'd be great if we took back medialand to a kinder, gentler and decidedly smarter time.

Rose

Body Brushing Redux

noreply@blogger.com (Rose) — Fri, 22 Feb 2008 18:42:00 +0000

On yesterday’s post, I neglected to mention what might perhaps be for some the most important benefit of body brushing. For those of you who wax or shave various body parts, you know that those irritated and irritating red bumps are often the unfortunate cost of the clean-cut look.

In that case, we’re told this is the brush for you. You can purchase it at the Grass Roots Store.

Do report back.

Body Brushing, Aha, aha

noreply@blogger.com (Rose) — Thu, 21 Feb 2008 14:03:00 +0000

I just had an Aha moment. Before the Aha moment, I decided to do a little research on body brushing because I keep hearing about it, that it’s supposed to be really great for everything from lymphatic draining to—and here comes the Aha moment—acne prevention.

So back up, Spadette.

Until six or so months ago my regular face-washing ablutions (I love that word) included the use of a face brush—I was a body brusher and didn't even realize it! It did take me awhile to grow accustomed to the brush because it felt pretty abrasive to my skin at first. But for some reason I stuck with it and got to the point where the brush felt like a nice face massage. And my skin looked great.

Then, again for no particular reason, I stopped using it. (Actually, it was because I attended the International Spa Association conference and came home with a bag full of products that beckoned to be sampled.) Not long after, I began noticing bumps on my face—like pimples that were not quite ready, if you catch my drift. It’s been a frustration ever since. What’s going on? No matter what pricey products I switched out for other pricy products my skin was not as clear as it used to be.

So after boning up on body brushing, starting today I’m pulling out my face brush and shall begin using it ASAP. I am also going to start making use of one of several body brushes I’ve owned for awhile. (Thank you again, ISPA.)

Body brushing—with a DRY brush— is just a full-body version of what I do to my face. Think about it: Our skin is our largest organ. As such, it acts as a shield of protection from the environment. Sloughing off dead skin cells for five minutes is a simple way to stay healthy and maintain that glow—even as the winter continues to press down upon some of us.

Here’s how to do it: Get a soft-to-moderate natural-bristled brush. (It is said that the stiffer the bristles, the better lymphatic circulation you’ll generate, but speaking from experience you’ll want to start soft and build to the harder bristles.) A brush with a long handle will help for those hard-to-reach spots.

Here’s what it will help:

+ Body brushing allows nutrients and oxygen to come to the surface of the outer layers of your skin, thereby increasing blood circulation. Great if you are prone to cold hands or feet.

+Brushing the chest promotes lymphatic drainage to release body toxins, which takes the load off of large organs so they don’t have to work so hard.

+Body brushing promotes collagen and elastin production, which is great for keeping cellulite at bay and generally for healthy skin tone.

+By keeping it optimally healthy, the skin becomes an immune-system support, so you’re less likely to be at the mercy of colds and infection.

+Don’t forget the benefit of muscle relaxation as you gently massage your skin.

+And, when you think about it, since you’re increasing oxygen flow, it’s got to affect the brain for improved focus and clarity.

Start gently and build to short, brisk strokes. Watch dead winter skin fall away. Now take a warm bath.

Aaaha.

Touch Yourself This Valentine’s Day

noreply@blogger.com (Rose) — Thu, 14 Feb 2008 18:00:00 +0000

Not having a partner shouldn’t exclude you from getting your fair share of The Touch. Strong, able hands are available to soothe your aches and pains as well your heart. For that matter being strapped for cash shouldn’t be a deal breaker either.

I’m talking here about massage, but in this case it’s self-massage and I'm not the only one advocating it.

People tend to get all stressed out about what to do on Valentine’s Day, and non-partnered people tend to get a double dose of that stress. Hooked up or not, it’s enough to make you need a massage.

The inspiration for this blog is a neighbor I had years ago. He was single—and a little creepily, he was always looking for sympathy because of it. But there was this one thing that he did that I came to believe was a sign of healthy self-nurturing: he’d give himself massages. I thought it was weird at first but then I tried it myself. He’d cross his left arm over his torso to his right and begin kneading the side of his neck. Then he would move down to the always-knotty shoulder muscles and focus there. He could easily manage deltoids, bi- and triceps, the forearms and hands. And then he’d do it all over on the other side.

Legs and feet are easy to get to too. And who can’t do with a good belly massage after a meal? It’s a great aid for good digestion.

The thing about self-massage is that you’re in complete control of the amount of pressure you receive. You also know how to zero in on the exact spot that needs the most attention. You can use classic Swedish style or incorporate some shiatsu or acupressure.

There are lots of props you can use, too. I’m sure you’ve seen those self-massagers made of wood. They resemble a three-dimensional image of planet constellations a là your high school science project. Do they work? I find them a little cumbersome but you may not.

Tennis balls, for the bottoms of your feet are great. Just have a seat and roll that puppy under the sole of your foot. Be careful not to apply too much pressure and that you don’t do it too long. I got a foot cramp once. Tennis balls are also great for neck massages. Just put one inside a regular gym sock, place it on the floor and then carefully position the center of your neck over it. Now roll it around. Feels great.

Feel free to pass on any self-massage tips that work for you. And have a happy, stress-free Valentine’s Day!

Spa Trends 2008

noreply@blogger.com (Rose) — Mon, 04 Feb 2008 14:23:00 +0000

As soon as the calendar flipped to 2008, spa publications and other experts began rolling out their predictions of what spa goers would be asking for in the upcoming year. (But as these things go, what they are really doing is telling spa goers what the industry is telling them they should be asking for.)

Within the various lists there was some overlap, but also striking opposites.

One prediction said we’d see more luxury spas with designer “labels.” There is now an Armani-branded spa in Tokyo and the Versace empire has a spa in Australia. Bulgari, Prada, they’ve all entered spa land. Is cross marketing the term for this? (Yes, yes, there are other names for it, too.)

On the other end of the spectrum, and perhaps a proletariat pushback of sorts, young people, they say, are beginning to seek out places of relaxation before spa was spa as we now know it—ethnic bathhouses, saunas and mineral springs that were once all the rage. They fell into disrepair when painkillers, being a much more expedient way to deal with arthritis, etc., were developed.

But I believe young people have been long onto these “best-kept secret” spots because of their retro feel. In Chicago there’s a Korean bathhouse called Paradise. My friends and I discovered it about 15 years ago. It’s on a sleepy (though used to be sleepier) stretch of Montrose Avenue and it’s the real deal. You have sauna, steam, hot and cold baths. But there are also massage therapists on hand, a restaurant and even a quiet zone with reclining chairs and television. The cost is well under twenty bucks and for westerners it used to be a spectacular portal into the traditional Korean spa experience. I don’t think they liked having us around, though I can’t be sure because there was not much English spoken on the premises.

Last year I had another old-time spa experience that I still think of fondly. Hot Springs, Arkansas used to be the water cure destination of choice for 19th and early 20th century seekers. People flocked. Bathhouse Row, as it’s called, is now making a comeback. Grand, free-standing buildings tricked out in beautiful mosaics and porcelain everything. I had my traditional spa day at the Arlington Hotel, though the Buckstaff is also a good choice. The Arlington was once the poshest of hotels but not much has been done to update its look. Original signs still announcing crazy-cheap prices hang and everything is musty and saggy and a bit dingey because of the high humidity levels and the absence of a fresh coat of paint.

But prices are still cheap by modern-day standards and there are lots of elderly regulars who have been going weekly for years. In fact I was told the Buckstaff frequently has a line of locals waiting. (If they are put off by the onslaught of newcomer tourist types pushing their way in they won’t be able to hide it behind a foreign language.)

Don’t expect much TLC. This was the era when clinically speaking bodies were slabs of meat—which I suspect had as much to do with the era being more rough-and-tumble as it did with ye olde Protestant ethic. That’s right, no co-ed experiences here. There is a lady's side and the men’s side and never the two shall meet. I was scrubbed and slapped and kneaded and talked to in assembly-line tones by gritty gals who’ve been doing this work for years. . . having taken over from their moms before them! I kept pretending it was 1800 something and I'd crossed the country by rail to heal my lumbago. It was just great.

Everyone should check out one of these throwback spas if only for a basis for comparison. And, after all, the spa experts say, you know you want to!

Here’s a fine photo of me wrapped in steamy hot-springs-water-soaked towels.

Is the Personal Massage Heading Into the Toilet?

noreply@blogger.com (Rose) — Fri, 25 Jan 2008 13:39:00 +0000

Kind of looks like a giant commode, doesn’t it?

Wipe that thought clean out of your head.

It’s called a Spa Capsule and it’s surely something the Jetsons would have owned had massage been popular in the early 60s. One of these babies can be in your home tomorrow, just pony up for what it would cost you to buy a new Honda Accord—about $30,000.

It reminds me of that time, not so long ago, when people started realizing they didn’t have to go to the gym to use a motorized exercise machine. Now they could purchase one, throw it in a big room (and therein lies the rub: who’s got the space?) and you’re good to go. Some collected dust while others allowed people to never step foot in a sweaty gym again. Depends on your personality.

Home spa-ing is not new. We've all read the stories—heck, some of us have even pitched and written them—on how to spa up your home. It’s just that now it’s been elevated to new heights— and widths, in this case.

The concept was created by doctors and comes equipped with aromatherapy and an audio-video system with Bose speakers, all controlled by a touch screen, and . . . a dry water massage! What’s that? I hear you ask. The water pulsates over your body but it’s circulating inside a silky-comfy sheet so you never get wet. And your head stays outside the toilet—er, capsule—the whole time, so claustrophobia, they say, is kept at bay.

Cost aside, what do you think? Are you willing to give those human healing hands up for a revved-up automated de-stressor?

Hopping the Wellness Train

noreply@blogger.com (Rose) — Wed, 23 Jan 2008 15:20:00 +0000

I’ve been feeling kind of medical minded these days. I guess that’s not so surprising since, individually, as a group and out of necessity we’ve been slowly shifting the paradigm from treating disease to the much more optimistic model of staying healthy to begin with. Hence the birth of wellness centers and integrative medicine, which makes use of the best practices from the west and east.

So again I draw your attention to two items from one of my daily resources for what the heck is going on in the world, the New York Times.

In yesterday’s paper, in the Science Times (my, how I love that section), Jane E. Brody’s column was about how we can cut unnecessary deaths during one routine hospital procedure: IV insertions. People die unnecessarily of infection all the time! A physician and researcher at Johns Hopkins named Dr. Peter Pronovost came up with a simple five-point checklist that, when used, not only reduced patient death by infection to zero but also saved billions of dollars in Michigan hospitals where the checklist was put into place. These are points about as elemental as they get: first point on the checklist? Wash your hands.

And if that’s not staggering enough, though Pronovost has proposed implementing the checklist universally in our country. . . yep, you guessed it, he’s gotten nothing but resistance. Spain, however, approached him and is going to implement it.

It should be mentioned that Brody got this story from my favorite doctor/author Atul Gawande. He and Pronovost recommend writing members of Congress and the Department of Health and Human Services.

Do it!

Second item needs way less exposition. The story made the front page. Here’s the headline: High Mercury Levels Are Found in Tuna Sushi Sold in Manhattan.

Ugh. If it happens so rampantly there, please don’t be eating sushi in Kansas City.

Reggae Spa?

noreply@blogger.com (Rose) — Thu, 17 Jan 2008 18:25:00 +0000

It seems Bob Marley's family has opened a spa in Nassau, Bahamas. It's called Natural Mystic Spa and will use a fusion of African, Asian and Caribbean beauty treatments. The website, however, does not indicate any details about spa offerings; it's focus is mostly on accommodations. Hopefully, they'll include more information about the offerings at the three treatment rooms. Other facilities will include a tea lounge, and a limestone steam room. Stay tuned. Or please share any information you might dig up.

Not Clear on the Concept?

noreply@blogger.com (Rose) — Thu, 17 Jan 2008 15:30:00 +0000

It seems that athletes participating in the 2008 Olympics in Beijing will not be allowed to be treated with Chinese herbs. This, they say, is “in order to avoid doping problems.” Acupuncture and any other “non-drug” traditional treatments will be allowed, however.

As I try to process my sentiments on this ruling, I'm wondering if others have thoughts on this?

Aura Cleansing

noreply@blogger.com (Rose) — Mon, 14 Jan 2008 21:15:00 +0000

Feeling stuck and on the treadmill of old patterns and behaviors, revisiting them again and again though you no longer want to own them? Here's a recipe--given to me by one super-duper talented tarot card reader and numerologist. It's a bath and it's to be done once a week for 6 weeks.

1 small unopened box, the entire contents
1 cup from an unopened box Epsom salts. You can use sea salts but she likes the simple and beneficial properties of Epsom. (It's important that the seals not be broken on the boxes. Since you're trying to remove psychic matter that's attached to you, you don't want to anything that's been exposed to the elements. That's her theory.)

You should soak for about 20 minutes, making sure that you wet all seven chakras. The crown, third eye and the throat chakras are hardest to get to. It's best to submerge into the tub but if you're not inclined, make sure that you wet them.

As you're doing the soak, first invoke Archangel Michael and ask him to clear your field, your home and all aspects of your life.

Next pull in Archangel Rafael. Since your auras have now been cleared, empty spaces that are vulnerable remain. Ask him to fill them with his golden light.

Finally, grab Archangel Gabriel and ask him to fill you with white light of clarity.

Do this once a week for six weeks—it gets a smidge costly but only with the Epsom salt. I did find 16 oz boxes, which means you can use half per bath. That size costs 99 cents and baking soda costs about that too. So total price is about $12.

Out with the old and in with the new you.

Good luck.

The Unbearable Lightness of Spa Writing

noreply@blogger.com (Rose) — Tue, 08 Jan 2008 19:59:00 +0000

Bear with me. I promise I will soon come round to discussing spa, the theme of this blog.

The other day I saw a most original documentary called "Helvetica." It’s a thoroughly entertaining feature-length film about the font. That’s right. The filmmakers took a subject that just as easily could have appealed to only a demographic sliver of geek designers and art snobs and turned it into an enlivening and playful pleasure. Plus I learned a lot. So, win-win!

While reading one of the many spa magazines that are spreading throughout the publishing landscape, that film popped into my head. I think it was somewhere in the midst of plaintively asking myself, Why is spa writing so boring? Am I right? Do mainstream spa publications put you into a soporific stupor like they do me, a reader who is really, truly interested, who wants to read about the topic? And many of the stories are delivered in dreaded first-person accounts—nothing looks more beige on the page than one person’s drained-of-all-signs-of-life spa experience.

How is this good for spa land?

It doesn’t have to be that way, and "Helvetica" proves it. Many single-themed magazines, especially those that are wellness oriented, have somehow swapped out good and thoughtful writing for story copy that sounds like every other story copy and every other writer. It's the Spa Voice. I think they want us to think that the writing mirrors the peace and tranquility of the topic, but it doesn't; it's just sadly safe.

This, in fact, is how the documentary filmmakers entertainingly explore attitudes about the Swiss font. It's the story of how Helvetica quickly became all the rage in the design world because of its clean, modernist lines. Everyone went Helvetica crazy and fifty years later Helvetica is still used everywhere. Once you start looking for it you’ll see Helvetica is the font of choice for the majority of corporate behemoths—from the Gap to Crate & Barrel to IRS tax forms. It's sad and spooky. For many designers it’s become a symbol of the stupefying sameness of no-good corporate brainwashing that has infiltrated every aspect of our lives.

What are the ramifications of this corporate writing for spa land?

As a spa lover who wants spa to flourish and to truly be an instrument of positive change for healthier and more mindful living, I fear spa may have become co-opted by big business, with all the interesting edges rubbed out so that we think: spa = good so don't ask questions. If the mainstream writing about spa is any indication, it’s a bit worrisome for those in the wellness industry because they believe in healing the planet, not milking it.

See the movie for the fun of it, and think about what kind of spas you want to support next time you run across an article or a spa menu that’s so lightweight it practically floats out of your hands. That's not the kind of mind emptying we should be after.

P.S. I tried to write this post in Helvetica, but surprisingly Blogger doesn't include it as one of its eight options. So yay for Blogger.

On Nasal Irrigation and Living Spiritually in the 21st Century

noreply@blogger.com (Rose) — Fri, 04 Jan 2008 14:32:00 +0000

Happy New Year to all.

A couple of items in the New York Times struck me:

The first was in the Styles section, a piece about neti pots, though according to the writer I think I’m behind the eight ball on this story. Oprah apparently talked about neti pots months ago, which sparked a spike in purchases, which prompted the NYT story. The gist of the story is that neti pots are very good for cleansing the sinuses, and they are. But for those who can’t seem to master the neti pot or are put off by the looks and bulk of it, I have a suggestion.

Instead of a neti pot, I use an item you can purchase at any drug store for a couple of bucks. In the infant section you’ll find something that looks like large eyedropper. (See photo.) It’s about five inches long and about ¾ inches in circumference. You can get the very same results with one of these. The amount of liquid that fits into such an eyedropper is a perfect fit for each nostril. Using it will help you feel much more control and eliminate that drowning feeling of the ongoing stream of the neti pot, which is what prevented me from using it for so long. If you have sinus issues, especially as a result of winter dryness or cold, a rinse is great way of alleviating pain.

The other item that struck me was on the cover of today’s NYT. It was about Alcides Moreno, the New Jersey window washer who made a miraculous recovery from a 47-story fall last year. The story describes the extreme lengths that emergency care doctors went to in order to save his life. The only other person to survive such a fall took a plunge from only half that height. Most die after a fall from a height of only a few stories.

The headline used the word “miracle,” and the word was repeated several times within the story, even from the doctors who worked on him. (some nine operations, and he faces several more.) But nothing about his survival, short of the fact that he lived at all, struck me as miraculous. Instead, it is testament to the technical advances of modern medicine.

I’m no philosopher but you don’t have to be one to feel a little queasy or questioning about this story and others like it. To me the miracle was that he survived‚—apparently he was even semi-conscious when the paramedics arrived, which is amazing—not how they were able to keep him alive using artificial, or man-made, means. That he stayed alive is something I wonder, even worry, about. Should he have? Was he supposed to? Spiritual thinkers talk about how difficult it is to live “mystically” in the 21st century. Our world is filled with distractions. Years ago if you wanted to get closer to God you went and lived in a monastery or cave and the more earthbound would take care of your worldly needs. Today we straddle our spiritual quests with modern day realities, like the need to go to work to afford health insurance. It’s much harder to understand where we fit into this scheme. If a loved one of mine survived such a devastating trauma, would I want such extreme measures to be taken on his poor racked body? It’s something to ponder.

To read a story on the paradoxical topic of medical advances and man, Atul Gawande wrote a fabulous piece in the New Yorker. Here’s the link.

Too many / Too few

noreply@blogger.com (Rose) — Fri, 07 Dec 2007 17:12:00 +0000

I just read an interesting, if flawed, story in New York magazine. Still scratching my head on how I came to be a subscriber, but for the first time since it started showing up in my mailbox I didn’t feel that I was contributing to the demise of more trees and increasing carbon emissions when I flipped the magazine pretty much straight into the recycle bin.

The story is called The Economy of Touch and though it is one in which it appears the author was intend on her thesis and set out to find sources who would corroborate it, I learned something interesting: If the New York mag stats are accurate, there is a proliferation of nail technicians—at least in New York and I would suspect in large US cities. Yet massage therapy is suffering from a distinct shortage of trained professionals in the spa industry worldwide. In spa land, the certification requirements change from state to state and country to country and it is much easier to slip under the radar and work illegally as a nail technician than a bodyworker. This means a lot of naturally skilled but not formally trained and certified bodyworkers are prohibited from working. This is true especially in Asia. There are organizations that are trying to change by setting up foundations.

Where Are We Going in Spa Land?

noreply@blogger.com (Rose) — Sun, 02 Dec 2007 22:48:00 +0000

I heard an unintentionally funny story while at the International SPA conference in Orlando, Florida in mid-November, one that is both telling and thought provoking.

I was talking to an Asian spa entrepreneur who I admire and like a lot. He was telling me that he was recently diagnosed with a gallstone. He decided to treat it with Chinese herbs as part of his ongoing research on the efficacy of the treatments that he promotes, to live his beliefs. It took ten days for the TCM cure to dissolve the stone, which cost him considerably in time—he didn't work unless he could do it from bed—and pain, for which he offhandedly mentioned that he was regularly popping pain pills. . .

Meet the health dilemmas of 21st century seekers.

I know the feeling. I’ve been harboring a freaky super-cold that has come and gone for over a month and counting. During that time I’ve had massages, acupressure and acupuncture and chiropractic. I’ve taken homeopathic and Chinese herbs. And I’ve been popping Benadryl faster than you can say (correctly) thassalotherapy.

We're straddling two worlds: the modern, quick fixes that we know aren't particularly healthy for us, and the desire to live a more natural, healthful lifestyle. Who's got the time or the patience for that?

With just a small leap, the themes above figure into the ongoing discussion that has been on the tip of everyone in the spa industry’s collective tongue these days: Where spa is heading. Where should it be heading? The general consensus at spa conferences and summits, to varying degrees, is that it is, it must, it should move away from surface-y pampering and in the direction of wellness. Mind-Body-Spirit, the whole shebang working together.

On the part of the spas, it is about creating environments conducive to the promotion of well-being rather than just repeating the overwrought and overused bliss-heavy terminologies and think that's going to cut it. And to the spa goer it is about empowering and teaching people to participate in their own good health by, say, posing questions regarding their expectations for this spa experience rather than expecting external quick fixes for internal—spiritual, psychic, emotional—stuff.

The fact that no clear one-size-fits-all model has yet been arrived at is no surprise; these things take time. It’s a new paradigm that is being put forth. What pace should be set for these changes to take place? After all, some people just do want to go a spa where they can plunk down their cash and call it a day. All the bells and whistles are great but really they just want to get away from the kids, or the job, or the whatever for an hour or two.

Others, likely the more frequent spa goers, are a bit more discerning about spa. Whether it’s because they’ve had enough experiences that left them cold and empty, perhaps even taken, or because from the get-go they’ve used spas as part of a larger personal wellness program, they are seeing the cracks in veneer.

It’s no surprise, then, that many of the media stories that have appeared lately fall into one of two categories. One half is targeted to the first group and feature “the next new thing in spa land” stories, and some of it is getting just plain weird. The stories beg, What’s next? (Grocery store spas! Spas from a vending machine! Spa funerals!)

The other types of stories are complaint stories. Are-prices-getting-out-of-control-with-insufficient-return type stories. You’ve seen them; you’ll see much more of them.

It’s no accident that these are the stories being reported, and they should be. That’s what happens when we’re saturated with a topic. The microscope comes out and the talk gets tougher. The industry is growing so fast but we’re still are not so sure what it should look and feel like.

One way or another, we’ll get there.

Spa-ing in Asia

noreply@blogger.com (Rose) — Tue, 06 Nov 2007 16:43:00 +0000

Spas are woven even more firmly into the Asian culture. No surprise since so many of the spa treatments we enjoy today originated there. This is a photo of Boracay's Caticlan airport. These massage stations are a common sight at airports for "quick fixes."

More on the Farm at San Benito and Energetic Healing

noreply@blogger.com (Rose) — Thu, 01 Nov 2007 16:13:00 +0000

Did I sound too high-minded in my last post? What I really meant to say was that it felt great to visit this place of healing where I could talk freely about alternative practices and energy healing without having to clean up my language for fear of sounding too woo-woo. I’ve gotten bad responses in the past. I remember going to an ear, nose and throat doctor about my sinuses and telling him that I’d had acupuncture for the condition. He was silently disapproving except for how his eyes narrowed. I think he disliked the fact that I was actually participating in trying to get myself well. He didn’t like being questioned, even when it was for a $5000 CAT Scan he proposed. I never went back but was none too happy when I got his bill and realized that the probe that he casually put up my nose cost $500.

By the time I sat down with one of the Farm doctors, Dr. Marian Alonzo, it was dusk. I was several hours late because of bad weather that put my whole day behind schedule, which ended up being a blessing because the doctor was finished with work and free to talk. I remember being aware that I should begin our conversation slowly despite the late hour. I thought she might be cautious or even defensive speaking with a journalist and I didn’t want to get too deep too fast. But it was she dove right in.

Dr. Alonzo was mesmerizing. She is young, petite, pretty and appeared . . . breakable. She wore flip-flops (practically the uniform of tropical countries) and a crisp white coat and her perfectly silky hair was perfectly pulled back. She shared stories about being green when she first started working at the Farm, and of her first patients and how she was afraid. When was the last time you heard a Western doctor admit that? She actually hid from one of them, she told me. It was a woman who came in quite ill but very feisty, angry and demanding. Dr. Alonzo called her a—and if you could see her you would know how out of character this is—“the bitchiest patient I ever had.” The woman came with a tumor in her colon. Dr. Alonzo and she ended up being great co-partners in restoring the woman to health. They had a ritual after the woman left: at 7 AM each morning, no matter where they were, they would both envision the woman’s colon being healthy. She said they’d often have wild images while doing this. I recall her saying something about an octopus. . . Seven months later, the woman’s colonoscopy showed no sign of a tumor.

Caroline Myss, the teacher and medical intuitive talks a lot about this type of energetic healing. If you’re interested, she has lots of great CDs on the topic. She also travels the world, teaching. And then there’s Dr. Mehmet Oz, of course, who's done wonders in bringing healing practices that were previously considered quackery to the mainstream.

After medical school Dr. Alonzo studied naturopathy at Chi Med Asia in Manila. The Philippines is very advanced in their acceptance and use of alternative therapies.

The Farm at San Benito - Unplugged

noreply@blogger.com (Rose) — Mon, 29 Oct 2007 17:34:00 +0000

There was something about going to the Farm at San Benito that felt like I had come home. Yes, the grounds are spectacularly designed—feng shui’d within an inch of its peaceful and serene being. (Have I mentioned how inadequate I feel writing about the beauty aspect of spas and wellness retreats? To me, the experience is sublime and visceral, yes, but these are feelings that don’t lend themselves sufficiently to a block of words on a page. They are better experienced through stillness and an acknowledged sense of awe. So please don’t take my abrupt descriptions as anything but an admission that I choose not to attempt to properly do justice to works of beauty that are designed to create an emotional response within.)

The facts are that the Farm sits on what once was a coconut and coffee plantation—hence the term farm. It sits at the base of Mount Malarayat and any footpath you choose will take you one of many private oases where you can sit and . . . breathe in the beauty.

But as a follower and user of complementary therapies, what most compelled me to want to visit is the fact that the Farm is one of the few—and certainly one of the first—wellness facilities to seamlessly and unabashedly weave medical and complementary therapies into their core reason for being. They have a staff of 150, which includes 5 medical doctors, nurses and one medical secretary who can field calls from guest 24/7.

Now, to grasp how radical a concept this was when they opened in 2002—and apparently continues to be—can be put in perspective best this way: Just this morning I received in my inbox a media release from the National Center for Complementary and Alternative Medicine (NCCAM), which is a part of the National Institutes of Health, announcing that their medical journal, Academic Medicine, is about to publish research studies on why CAM (Alternative Complementary Medicine) courses should be required in medical school—just now, on the cusp of 2008!

It’s good news that the allopathic establishment is finally realizing that there must be something to this trillion-dollar wellness industry. But something makes me wonder if trying to crack the code on energetic healing quantifiably is a doable task. When Albert Einstein came up with E=mc2, he was saying that mass and energy are both manifestations of the same thing, that mass can be converted into energy and vice versa.

In the most simple language I can safely conjure, that’s the kind of healing that is happening at places like the Farm at San Benito: Medical doctors are looking at real diseases and, along with close medical monitoring, are using natural healing practices to excise disease. The owners say they chose their location because they found that it possessed four distinct energy wells—locations that vibrate at a higher level. They include a 200-year-old mango tree, the amphitheater, the orchidarium and one of the villas.

The Farm at San Benito is located in Lipa, Batangas, about 2 hours from metro Manila.

The Heart of a Massage Therapist

noreply@blogger.com (Rose) — Fri, 26 Oct 2007 12:35:00 +0000

A big debate is quietly raging on Anitra Brown's blog about.com/spa regarding necessary qualifications for being a good massage therapist. This one started because a spa bigwig was quoted in a Luxury Spa Finder saying something along these lines: “good therapists have to have the heart of a servant.” This seems to be the call to action among spa professionals these days—especially because it’s becoming harder to find and keep good therapists.

That fact kept coming up at the Wellness Summit because apparently the level of talented healing hands entering the industry is not sufficient to keep up with the demand. Good technicians, on the other hand, are easy to find. You go to school, you study your anatomy, you learn the skills necessary to set up shop and you get a job. But when you have the heart of a technician apparently your heart may not in the right place. Your heart is probably in your head, which is more focused on your bank account. And burnout is a big issue in the spa industry these days.

In this country, of course, peddling flagrant descriptions of employees as servants is like issuing a battle call. The politically correct contingency will rear its head and Western therapists—some, not all—cannot, will not, wrap their heads around the word. Here, someone making minimum wage in a retail setting is called an “associate,” not a clerk. We’re big on titles, small on customer care. So people latch onto their title, the fancier the title the bigger the head. I’m not promoting classism; I just think that we put too much emphasis on impressive-sounding titles and not as much on putting in the work to fulfill the title.

After experiencing Asian massage therapists, I think it comes down to attitudes. I really believe there is a cultural precedent in the argument for the superiority of Asian practitioners. I mentioned how the staff at Mandala Spa greets visitors: right hand to heart and a slight bow. At another spa, which I’ll talk about another time named Nurture Spa, I was greeted by a man who put his hands, palms up, out in front of him and then brought them both back to his heart as he said, “Welcome home.” The gestures felt so genuine it nearly took my breath away.

Chinggay, my massage therapist and Mandala Spa told me that the massage therapists start each day with a Sivananda yoga class. In fact, I read on the spa’s website that even the kitchen staff and gardeners must attend a yoga class once a week. I hope they like it. I know Chinggay does. She told me that as a result of taking yoga classes she’s decided that she wants to spend time on an ashram. I credit Mo-Ching Yip, a yoga instructor, spa consultant and wife of Dieter Schrottmann, Mandala’s co-owner with Karen Villarica-Reina (see personalities on website). I believe that together they are creating an environment that is not just a pretty construct but a living breathing thing.

Levitating Yogi

noreply@blogger.com (Rose) — Thu, 25 Oct 2007 14:21:00 +0000

I recently stumbled upon a great spa blog called Asia's Best Spa and Massage Review. (See blogroll.) The author, Katherine, lives in Singapore and is a wealth of knowledge on the spa scene in Asia. In a recent post she has included a video of a levitating yogi. It's a must see. Go visit her.

Mandala Spa and Resort is So Much More Than This

noreply@blogger.com (Rose) — Tue, 23 Oct 2007 14:43:00 +0000

I learned about the two-to-a-room practice while at the Mandala Spa on Boracay. Our little group—three of journalists who had attended the Spa Asia Wellness Summit in Manila—arrived at dusk. On our rickety jipney we turned off the rackety main road to follow the simple sign (see logo, top left) that would lead us to a little piece of paradise—one of many. The grounds were enchanting. The design was so simple that I felt absolutely absorbed into its purity. A lovely woman named Preeti,, all dressed in white, held her right hand to her heart and welcomed us. Soon hot ginger tea arrived. I drank in the beauty and serenity along with my tea. I think I sighed a lot. As I wended my way through the wooded grounds—left to the Watsu pool, right to the yoga studio and upstairs to Prana, the vegetarian restaurant, where all the produce is grown onsite, and which overlooks White Beach—I wanted to pull out my credit card and book a room right there, right then, for the remainder of my stay. The place felt like The Land That Time Let Be.

Soon, Chinggay came to take me to the massage room. There were two beds. I didn’t know one of them would soon be filled with K, an American woman living in Bangkok that I’d only met that morning and who was part of our entourage. MC, who I’ve mentioned in my last post, was also in our group. She and I had rooms across the hall from one another at the Sofitel, where the Wellness Summit had taken place, and we had become friendly. MC told me that morning that she knew K, that K had lived with her and another friend a few years earlier in Bangkok. She also told me that K had skipped out on the rent. Just what an overly sensitive, people-pleasing Libra like me needs: to be caught between two women who are not speaking to each other.

In fact, I’d been handling it pretty well. Somehow I managed to float a few inches above the tension. Dare I say I even felt pleased with myself for being the human cushion that they both leaned against occasionally so that it wasn’t even obvious to our guide Rene that the two of them never actually spoke to one another.

What I didn’t know was that shortly after I’d been whisked away to my own room, K and MC were being led—together—to another. Luck of the draw. But K couldn’t handle it; in fact, she refused to enter a room with MC. I can only imagine how the lovely and gentle staff felt by this sudden burst of . . .rancor. What did they do? They separated them and put K in my room. By this time I was about 5 – 10 minutes into my session. Here I was, face down with my head in the face pillow and I hear someone entering and sotto voce talking.

What is that? It surely took me out of my own peace. Fortunately, I was done 5 – 10 minutes before K so we weren’t forced to dress or undress together. But I was scratching my head the whole time, metaphorically, of course. The massage lasted 2 hours and 15 minutes and on and off, I wondered who the heck was in my room. Remember this was my first twosome experience so I was doubly confused. I don’t know that all the other treatment rooms were taken, and I don’t know that they weren’t. Again, tradition has it that sharing is nothing unusual and so the doubling up was pro forma.

I can’t help but wonder how the outburst affected K’s therapist. After all, negative energy flows both ways. She may have had great difficulty working on K. I know I felt it, though it wasn’t until afterwards when MC fairly pounced on me to relate K’s scandalous behavior that the gaps were filled in for me. Let me just say that for the Libra that I am, always looking to smooth things over and make everyone else in the room comfortable, I stood up for myself when MC approached me. I put my palm up, shook my head and gently said, Please.

MC got it and apologized and floated away. K left early the next morning.

Two in One

noreply@blogger.com (Rose) — Mon, 22 Oct 2007 21:18:00 +0000

One of the surprising things I found about spa-ing in Asia is that it is common practice to book friends and acquaintances in the same treatment room. Here is the US we are so private that it would be considered a real breach in etiquette to do so. Yet I shared a room during all of my massage treatments, except when I arrived alone.

No, I didn’t like it much. I especially didn’t like the pre- and post-treatment times when I was in various stages of dress and undress. I felt awkward and it put some of the tension back into me that had just been removed in the last hour or so. Also, ever aware of maintaining my roommate's privacy, I sometimes felt at a loss as to where to focus my gaze.

But I also felt that my awkwardness was my problem, not theirs. In other words, part of entering another culture is that you expect to conform to it, not the other way around. I think Americans are especially guilty of fancying ourselves the center of a universe in which everyone and thing should revolve around us. So I tried to give myself an attitude check and as time went on each session got a little easier—and I got a little better at covering up strategically and at figuring out how best to allow my roommate as much privacy as possible. It started working out pretty well.

I think this is a really important point for all spa goers to consider, no matter if you’re in your home country or not: Not everyone likes what you like. What might be considered absolute heaven for someone else might turn out to be your particular nightmare scenario for you. That’s why—even though I know I have a hard time practicing what I preach—you’ve got to let your feelings be known so that the spa can do its best to accommodate you.

In fact, I have a rather funny story about that, which I will share in tomorrow’s post.

The Unbearable Lightness of Spa-ing, Part II

noreply@blogger.com (Rose) — Thu, 18 Oct 2007 22:08:00 +0000

No, I didn’t complain, and I got into a “thing” about it with a Dutch journalist, MC, who also attended the Summit and who I was spending a few days with. The day before we’d gone to a drop-dead fabulous spa called Tirta, which I’ll talk more about another time. She told me after the massage, having been given forms on which to grade our therapists, she had given hers the lowest rating. She said the therapist was awful because she pulled her hair. (This hair connection is totally coincidental.) Worse than just giving her a lousy rating, the other therapist—mine—noticed it and pointed it out to her while we were still in the treatment room. (Note: In Asia, all massages are couples massages. If you come with another person, they will use one treatment room. But that too is another story.) MC saw her therapist grow completely deflated after seeing her rating. She was annoyed that the other therapist pointed it out while she was still there, but I think more than that she was looking for reassurance because she felt a little bad. I couldn’t give it to her.

I agree the therapist shouldn’t have looked at the ratings until we were gone. But we were there as journalists and were given, I’m sure, what the spa manager thought were the finest therapists. So I think the rating shocked them. But I was more shocked that MC was so cavalier about giving a bad rating. We had a big debate about it. MC is a tough cookie. I always thought I was a tough cookie but it turns out that on these matters compared to her my personality is like, say, Ellen DeGeneres eating cotton candy while holding a hot water bottle, sitting on Buddha's lap .

For customers, it's always hard to know when is the right time to complain. If the treatment isn't great many people feel it's easier just to get through it. Some people just get bored and start making a mental grocery list. But what about journalists who are given free treatments? What is our obligation? MC, who was sharing a treatment room with me and was situated less than three feet away, said she didn't want to talk loudly and disturb my peace. (She does have a heart, after all, just not when she's in review mode.) Do I as a journalist receiving free massages have a right to complain? An obligation? Should the journalist complain right then or there or save it for the mass printing? When is the right time for any of us to complain?

The Unbearable Lightness of Spa-ing

noreply@blogger.com (Rose) — Wed, 17 Oct 2007 23:42:00 +0000

Now that I’ve described my least favorite spa experience while I was in the Philippines, here comes the more difficult task—attempting to pick a favorite, which I already know I cannot do. So maybe let’s go for the second least favorite. Maybe process of elimination is the only way to do this.

At the risk of sounding incorrigibly spoiled by too much of a good thing, I have to tell you that I was not at all impressed with Chi Spa, in the Edsa Shangra-La Hotel. I know, five-star hotel, award-winning spa brand, what’s the problem, Spadette? It’s probably more a function of the fact that Chi is located in a hotel. I don’t care much for hotel spas because they have to appeal to such a wide variety of people. The hotel is going to have visitors from countries all over the world who come from all walks of life. That’s quite a segment of the population to please. How do you tease out levels of spa expertise, the tastes, the cultural disparities of such an enormous group? You don’t. So you go middle of the road.

That’s what I disliked about Chi Spa. But what really bothered me is that it didn’t deliver what it promised. The Shangri-La hotel has a distinctive Asian flavor and the spa menu reflects that. It offers several exotic treatments unique to Asia. When I was booking my treatment, however, things became a little muddled—or clearer, if you buy into my theory of hotel spa gentrification. When I asked the receptionist about the treatments under the heading “traditional massage,” as explained they didn’t sound so traditional to me. For example, they offer Tui Na, which is a Chinese treatment, except that when she described it the treatment suddenly included Swedish massage. Wha? The Philippine Hilot, I think, also had Swedish, and some Shiatsu, which is Japanese.

No matter, I was signing up for the Himalayan Head and Scalp Massage. By this time, I’d had several full-body treatments for several days in a row—I know! I’m so sorry to brag! I craved a break. Also, I’d heard of this head and scalp treatment, which sounded so luxurious, but never had one. Who doesn’t like to have their head and scalp massaged, I ask? Let them mix it up with a little Japanese this or Chinese that, I’m going to have an hour and fifteen minute head and neck massage orgy! I felt I covered my bases—or at least the most important base, my head.

We can skip over the look of Chi Spa. It’s totally beautiful eye candy, so enough said. We can even skip over my lovely therapist, D. Or maybe we shouldn’t. D, in fact, sort of muddled my spa experience beyond my menu issues. When we were walking to the massage room Dang asked me why I didn’t consider having a whole body massage in addition to the scalp and head. This question was a little like being offered a plate of delightful food—take your pick of whatever would be most scrumptious to you—and as you select your one or two pieces, thank the server and are about to take a bite, the server says, “That’s it? Really? Why don’t you take a few more pieces? Come on, there’s plenty. You know you want it.”

It throws you off your game. First I didn’t question my decision. “No, that’s okay." I said. "I’m fine with just the head massage. In fact, I’ve been looking forward to it.”

“Alright,” she says, sounding deflated.

Now, an hour and fifteen minutes is a long time, so as she’s working on my back, which surprises me since it’s a HEAD and SCALP massage, D points out that I have knots back there. Knots that, if they have not been removed after the amount of massages I’ve had thus far, it should be assumed I will have forever and ever. I own them. Or they own me. But instead of telling her not to worry about it, I cave. I tell her it’s okay to work on my back a bit. It seems to make her happy. More time passes and though she should well be on the head by now, she asks if it’s okay to work on my legs. Oy.

I like D, she told me her story—teenage daughter she’s raising alone, loves the States, hopes to be transferred to one of the Chi Spas that will be opening here in the States within the next couple of years so that she can fulfill her dream and have her daughter attend a good university. As I’ve talked about so many times, it’s hard to complain to a massage therapist about your treatment when you’re in the throes of it. You’re naked, she’s not, and she’s being so nice. And if I were paying full price ($90-ish—cheap by US standards) things may have been different. I may have stood up for myself. Instead, I just got bored. I totally give up on the idea that this was going to balls-out fun for my head and now it’s not.

You get pretty good at calculating time when you’ve had a lot of massages and so I sort of mentally check out until about, oh, ten minutes before the treatment is to end. I start coming back to life when she begins to zero in on my head. “Here it comes,” I think. “So what if it’s short, it’s going to be sweet sweet.”

But it wasn’t. I’ve had better scalp massages at Sine Qua Non, my hair salon in Chicago. Sometimes my stylist asks the adorable Mexican lady—whose job is usually to sweep up shorn hair and such—if she’s got a sec to shampoo me. Now, that lady knows her way around a scalp. Dang did a sort of gentle tugging at little chunks of hair, using a rhythmic beat. Is that what they do in the Himalayas? I have no idea. But it was weak. And I think I can safely say that I’ve still never had a Himalayan Head and Scalp Massage.

Look for Part II on this story tomorrow.

By the way, I don't know what The Unbearable Lightness of Spa-ing is supposed to mean, either. I just needed to title for the blog.

By the way again, if you click on the Himalayan Head and Scalp Massage link in this post it will get you to an Indian Head Massage. I couldn't even find anything with the words head and Himalayan.

Happy Birthday to Me, Korean Style

noreply@blogger.com (Rose) — Tue, 16 Oct 2007 19:12:00 +0000

My own birthday was on October 10. I spent it at the base of Mt. Pinatubo, a not-much-thought-about volcano until it erupted in the Philippines in 1991, after hundreds of years of slumber. I’d heard about hot springs occurring naturally after the eruption near the crater, and that a spa—called Spa Town—had opened, somewhat making the best of Pinatubo’s ghastly emission, which made the area a ghost town and displaced a local tribe called the Aita. (Though I’m not sure you can displace nomadic people. Actually what happened is that they ended up taking root in the area and, with some help, they’ve been taught to make touristy objets d’art from the ash that almost destroyed them. Progress? You decide.)

I should preface my day at Spa Town by saying that in the 10 or so days I spent in the Philippines I visited more spots that I can only describe as paradise and experienced more insanely divine Asian spa treatments than any mere human like myself should be allowed. (Not really; I deserved it, but so does everyone else. I wish I could have taken you all with me.) So if my birthday wasn’t spent in total bliss, hey, it’s an interesting story to tell and like I always pray, May I live an interesting life, I got my wish.

Spa Town is a decidedly different kind of spa experience. First, it’s Korean and though I can’t make judgments, the only other Korean spa experience I’ve had is in my hometown of Chicago and is called Paradise, which has become a sort of post-modern cult-y spa-esque experience for a small group of hipsters and lots of Korean-Americans. I’d post their website, if they had one. But I don't think they're in on the joke. In fact, I think they wish those hip, young Americans would just go away. Like Spa Town, the style and vibe in Paradise is not relaxation-, or luxury-, or pampering-focused. In fact, it’s sort of the antithesis. It’s a little gruff and, I found out, it can be a lot scary.

At Spa Town the facilities are totally outdoors and look beautiful, peaceful and serene. There is piped-in music that’s not quite ethereal spa music we’re accustomed to hearing. It is more like classical with a contemporary Asian flavor. I liked it. An enormous covered pavilion sat in the center of the grounds. Ladies in beautiful gold tunics were giving Thai massages while other workers industriously polished the pavillion's wood floor and the like, and generally emanated gentility. Off to one end, there was bricked-in area, this one filled with grey sulfur that had been raked smooth. On its edges were two ovens with attendants feeding the mouths kindling to heat the sulfur (check out the photo on the left). Another one exactly like it but filled with salt sat next to it. Circling further, there was a great mud bath, some showers and then a locker area.

I’m going to somewhat spare you the comical/grim trip to the hot springs, which are higher up alongside the volcano and require a 45-minute drive on what looked like the moon but was actually just a rocky, craggy and sometimes-covered-in-water expanse. I'll just give you the thumbnail sketch of that portion of my birthday. Yes, the drive up was surreal, sometimes spooky. But what was spookier is that Spa Town is located just next to Crow Valley. For the unacquainted, the U.S. essentially colonized the Philippines at the turn of the century for about 40 years, until the 1940s. They used Crow Valley to test bombs and munitions, and it continues to serve that purpose for the Filipino Air Force. We were stopped twice while trying to get to the hot springs by soldiers wearing military uniforms and carrying big guns, which was admittedly freaky except when you looked at their feet and saw that they were wearing flip flops when it became sort of sad.) Apparently, even though we were given the OK to proceed by the major on duty, target practice was in full swing and so we had to keep stopping to avoid, um, death.

It was idyllic Spa Town that really put me on the edge, however, and tested my will. Once it was decided my spa treatment was to begin, three staffers, one of them carrying a shovel, took me by the arms and walked me to the sulfur pen. It’s highly unusual for the Philippines, but none of these people spoke much English—and I was beginning to need some reassurance. All I heard was great discussion in Tagalog on how big a pit to dig—for me. It was dug quickly and they motioned for me to step in. What I remember most is the inner battle I was having with myself: Should I bail now, just say No Way, and regret forever that I will never know what could have happened, could never write about it like I am here? Or should I foolishly, cavalierly and because I don’t like to offend, get in that pit, get buried and risk a full-out panic attack?

I got in. They started shoveling. I didn’t like it. It felt creepy, grainly, itchy. And very hot. Shake your body! Shake your body! They kept saying. It wasn’t until my left leg felt like it was on fire that I understood what they meant. By shaking, your body settles into the sulfur, the better to feel the hot spots. As I lifted my legs as much as I could, the guy with the shovel put more sulfur under them. Better. But not much. Someone took a cloth and put it over my eyes. I don’t like that I can’t see. Not. One. Little. Bit. For the ash! For the ash, they say, when I struggle to get it off. I am now buried up to my neck, though they’ve taken the cloth off my eyes.

Half hour is my sentence, I’m told. I’m already sweating hotly and two of the attendants are gone. One young boy remains, but I don’t know that yet. I think I’m alone and so I gather my senses and begin to breathe as deeply and as evenly as I can. I think of the Sanskrit mantra Elizabeth Gilbert recites in “Eat, Pray, Love:” Ham-Sa. I Am That. And for now, “that,” for me, is terrified and sweating profusely.

Suddenly, I feel a hand holding a soft cloth to my face, and, with the same expert touch a mother has with her child, the boy begins wiping the sweat off my cheeks, around my eyes, on my chin and finishing on the forehead. He’ll do that every few minutes, or whenever he sees me twitch. That boy saw me through my half hour burial and I love him for it—though I think he was lying to me the final ten minutes when I began to ask for a countdown; I KNOW how ten minutes feels, and my friends, this was longer than 10 minutes. I struggled again and again. Just get up. Just get up. But I stuck it out until the boy gave me the okay.

I am super lady! For a moment, anyway.

After showering the sulfur off I am led to Dante’s next level of hell and am packed in mud and told to bake in the sun. This time a female attendant sits with me. She asks me questions about the US and why I am there. She is a nice distraction.

By the time I had my Thai massage, boy, did I need it. The therapist was great and the spa feeling I love so much returned. Best of all, I lived to tell the story here. Whoo-hoo. Happy birthday to me!

Blog Action Day Dedicated Post

noreply@blogger.com (Rose) — Mon, 15 Oct 2007 12:08:00 +0000

Today is my dad’s birthday. He would have been 87 years old if he hadn’t died this year in May. My dad was “buried” in a mausoleum, a practice that saves land space. I was just there yesterday with my mom and sister and we were all commenting on how much nicer it is to visit him in the covered outdoor space instead of having to go tromp to a grave, especially when it’s raining, like it was yesterday.

Though mausoleums help the environment, my dad was still embalmed, and that’s not such a "green" practice. Had he been cremated it wouldn’t have been much better, since that wastes a lot of energy and fossil fuels.

For those interested in eco-friendly ways to consider burial, for yourself or a loved one, here’s a great web site to look at the facts and some options.

Also, in 2005 the writer Tad Friend wrote an interesting piece about a man named Tyler Cassity and Fernwood, his eco-friendly burial business. It’s just the abstract—the New Yorker doesn’t make their archives easily available—but maybe you can do better at finding the piece in its entirety.

Left is a picture of him when he was already pretty sick. He's posing with my sister Anita.

Happy birthday, Ralph Spinelli. You were and are a sweet and lovely father. I miss you lots.

And Yea for Blog Action Day!