Watch Out for Hot Stones

I don't mind admitting that I am a bit of a tart for spa treatments and massages. I have long since learnt to appreciate the 'holistic' benefits of a good oily rub down from my early days in Kuala Lumpur, before the words 'male grooming' or 'metro sexual' were ever mentioned in one sentence, and long before David Beckham had ever ventured to Chiva Som.

The establishment where I succumbed to my first massage was rather appropriately named 'The Spa', located on the 7/F, of Menara Lion on Jalan Ampang, KL. The place featured an assortment of hot pools, cold pools, saunas and steam facilities, from where you would venture through into a large relaxation area showing TV and films, where you could crash out until you ready to go for your massage. The place was way ahead of its time, completely above board, and was the perfect way to spend a Sunday afternoon, ridding your system of the toxins which you had drank the night before.

Since then, I have been more than happy to spend a couple of hours being 'kneaded' into a state of total relaxation, particularly if it gets Darling away from the shops. On our trip to Bangkok we made reservations at a rather plush facility, booking a 2 hour slot in the afternoon. From the menu I decided to opt for a body scrub, followed by a hot stone massage which sounded intriguing, whereas Darling opted for a 2 hour aromatherapy massage. We then went our separate ways for our respective 'treatments'.

Mine started off with an exfoliation (rub down with emery/ sand paper - not sure which), followed by an apricot scrub (did I mention tart earlier?). After a quick shower I was ready for the main event. My therapist (no, we do not say masseuse) laid out hot volcanic stones onto the bed, placed a towel over the top, then invited me to lay down on my back. After enquiring whether I was comfortable (which I was), the massage started. After about 5 to 10 minutes I became quite aware that indeed the stones were in fact hot. After another 5 minutes or so, I was aware of a burning sensation, but chose to ignore it (not wanting to appear soft)thinking that this was all part of the treatment. I did try to manoeuvre myself on the pile of stones to alleviate some of the discomfort, however this did not really help. For some reason whilst I lay there I kept recalling an early episode of Prison Break, (where Schofield presses back accidentally against a hot pipe, to avoid being caught by a guard), and after a while drift off to sleep.

It is soon time to turn over, the stones are cleared away, and I fall asleep several times whilst the knots in my back are worked on.

Back at the hotel, Darling asks if I have burnt my back. I tell her that I had not been out in the sun long enough to get burnt today, even for me. It is at this point, with the aid of a couple of mirrors, that I notice the burn mark on my back, as evidenced in the captioned photo.

Although a touch painful, it did not stop me going back to the Spa the next day, although I decided to give the hot stones a miss this time.