If you are going to spoil yourself, do it right. The Philippines is either the land of malls or spas. I mean we have many things to worry about – traffic, FPJ, singing songs in Chinese, bad conversation, inflated cellphone bills and all other delilahs. It is said that what makes us humans different is that we are gifted with rational thought. God said what makes us special is that we have free will. Somehow I think that an extra perk of being human is having the chance to be kneaded like a Kobe cow and surviving it in fight spirit. The end part about getting skewered happens only in dodgy joints.
Now pampering has gone from a day spent being pelted in a Russian bathhouse to perhaps a quick 30-minute back rub in the middle of the workday. This espresso shot of lux, I have discovered, can be the sweetest yet.
Welcome to Essenses Spa, the Pandora’s Box for the indulgent lot. It’s quite easy to miss actually. Its smoked glass doors fooled me into thinking it was an access door for the corporate offices. Well like they say, "Stealth is wealth." I discovered the treasure of its pleasure when one day as I was walking with my friend Joel Tantoco, who perhaps knew more than anyone else what that door was all about and introduced me to my biggest vice yet almost a year or two ago. It was the portal to a netherworld where stress ceased to exist, a mouse hole for the meek and weak, a refuge for hangovers.
The spa boom was probably the result of Pinoys still refusing to see a shrink. There is nothing like the comforting touch of a stranger who does not know that you cheated on your wife, who doesn’t know that you cheat on your taxes (too!), that you spend far too much on shoes than on food and that you secretly sing Ketchup in the shower. It’s almost like emotional whoring – you pay to feel good. You can see it in a clinical manner and say that it’s nothing more than being someone’s lavender-scented roast chicken. A slap of oil and some presses that if they are good enough, elicit a couple of satisfying pops. Or you can see it as a way to escape and float away in the sensuous strokes. The difference is as different as one sees sex as a natural requisite for evolution or as a romantic indulgence of the senses. For me, being the silly romantic that I am, as I’m being rubbed away like a sloppy squid, I can’t help but feel that this is sort of a rebirthing. Cleansing you from the toxins of thought, freeing you from any action that may entail responsibility (except for paying the bill and tipping fairly but that’s for later) and just requiring you to remember how fight you are – that you deserve every minute of this unspeakable yet chaste pleasure.
Essenses Spa is the Disneyland for the stressed and wired. Remember how Samuel L. Jackson’s and John Travolta’s characters discussed the intimacy of a foot massage. A massage is intimate yet detached, like a one-night stand or dancing the tango with a sexy stranger. At that moment it’s only you and your masseuse. Nothing matters except if the Enya soundtrack is killing you. You hardly know each other, and yet the pleasure that you reap from this stranger is far more sublime than anything given to you by your childhood friend, mother or even lover (unless you are really lucky).
Given what a massage can bring, the luxury it possesses, a day spa is the pimp for such indolent and insatiable appetites. One afternoon feeling spent after a night of embarrassment and debauchery, my lymph nodes were inflamed like popcorns jumping out of their corn shells. I knew that this was it. I had shoot to do in an hour. I could hardly remember my name. I needed to be saved. This is when Joel, after a quick lunch that failed to remedy my hang, introduced me to the spa-tacular portal that would become my healthy habit. Unlike the chair massages available in most places, this one requires you to take your top off and put on a backless apron and choose from an array of oils (peppermint still is my favorite, altoids for the senses). For the weary set this sort of decision making and extra action may be seen as unwelcome. After all, all you want to do is to plop down and forget that there was such a thing called flow chart at least for some minutes. But believe me, it’s worth it. You are rubbed, pounced and gently chopped into ecstatic surrender. It’s the DP of chair massages. No, make that a vintage Krug of a massage.
For a more hedonistic turn, a facial (my favorite is the oxygenating facial; it frees my skin from the debris of gossip, pretence, unwashed makeup and lies served the night before, trying top take on a more poetic level makes my face breathe again (sucker!)) or the orgasmic stone massage, prove to both hits not to miss. The stone massage especially is a treat. Imagine warm stone kneading your weary muscles, the warmth melting the residue of a day gone bad and its firm surfaces not leaving a knot (or called nodule) uncrushed. You forget that you are in a building filled with bustling action. Time stops and you don’t want it to stop from stopping.
I may have been fooled by the spartan entrance of the no-nonsense spa, however many were not. It can be quite a pain to get a booking since its facilities are limited and its demand plentiful. Make a reservation, this is not a place to take chances (although sometimes the stars are smiling upon you and you find you and your weary mortal coil in walk-in heaven in the company of an expert). I know day spas mean walk-in, but this is not your usual day spa so you should not treat it like one either!
Just remember: Life is hard enough, your back shouldn’t be.