Spa-going for Men, Borneo
Mandara Spa at Sutera Resort, Kota Kinabalu, Malaysia
By Simon Ramsden
A visit to a spa has to be one of the most positive things you can do. Google the words “(spa OR massage) AND (side effects)” and you will find hardly any relevant results.
If you are especially delicate, you might be alarmed about the potential for increased sensitivity or irritation from oils. Otherwise, it is hard to find much to grumble about, especially if you are lucky enough to waltz into Sutera Resort’s beautiful Mandara spa, which lies on the edge of the resort’s impressive yachting harbour, beyond a green glass canopy that immediately softens the light and tone.
I have just finished a round of golf at the resort’s commendable course, but can’t justify a spa session due to excessive exercise, as all I’ve really done is to prop my paunch on a buggy between intermittent and embarrassingly erratic swipes at the occasional ball that was plonked in front of me. I’m not much of a golfer. If a hippo could stand he’d look more elegant with a golf club in his paws than I do. When I drive, the monkeys take cover. My putts are like slow-motion ricochets off the edges of the greens, backwards and forwards they go, yo-yo-esque, from edge to edge. I inch so infinitesimally slowly towards the hole that my golfing partners have been known to fly off back home for meetings while they await their turns. Despite my abysmal performance at golf I have had a thoroughly enjoyable round with some good friends and am in an excellent mood.
Inside the Mandara spa the mood is Moorish exotic. Think dark wood, black filigree ironwork and a discreetly tinkling square fountain. Pipe music plays.
My slender and gracious masseuse, Lina, leads me up to a balcony where she offers me not one but four choices of oil. I dither indecisively between Harmony (strengthening and rejuvenating mandarin, lavender and bergamot oils to balance body and mind), Island Spice (a mix of clove, ginger and nutmeg to revitalise and brighten the spirits), Mandara (sandalwood, patchouli, cananga and ylang-ylang), and Tranquillity (a stress-busting jetlag tonic mash-up of lavender, vetiver, ylang-ylang and cananga).
So you do not know what vetiver or cananga are? Join the club.
Vetiver is a grass with heavy, fibrous roots, used to distil an oil which has the scent of moist earth with woody undertones. Cananga is the tree from which ylang-ylang comes.
I love the smell of ylang-ylang which, in case you’ve never come across it, is rich and deep with notes of rubber and custard, and bright with hints of jasmine and neroli. I choose the signature Mandara blend because of its ylang-ylang content rather than its supposed uplifting, romantic flavour – not much point in getting romantic when my better third’s not around. I used to call her my better half, but then I expanded and she didn’t, so now “better third” is more accurate. I can’t say I’m too thrilled that that makes me into her “worse two-thirds”, but she doesn’t seem to hold my increased girth against me, bless her.
The subsequent massage is as diverse as the oil concoction I have chosen: a mix of Balinese, Swedish and shiatsu styles, with the Balinese style forming the core of the experience.
Intended to renew, strengthen and heal body and mind, it consists of stretching, long strokes, skin rolling and palm and thumb pressure techniques. Specifically aiming to relieve tension, it improves circulation and promotes euphoria. The euphoria was however in somewhat short supply when the masseuse seemed to attempt to touch my forehead with my toes, but thankfully she immediately desisted from more extreme forms of massage when I explained that they weren’t for me, as my toes have more chance of reaching the moon than my forehead.
Rigorous and luxurious. I feel smothered in relaxation from every direction and wallow in the experience. Applying a meditation technique I learned years ago, I concentrate on the sensation of air coming in and out of my nose. I watch different thoughts and emotions arise and mentally let each one go, attempting not to attach myself to them. After a while intuition has a chance to be heard and I suddenly realize that I’m not spending 60 hours a week at the office because I’m securing my family’s future (as I’ve been telling myself) but because I want to outshine my peers. This is not a new insight, my subconscious has been nagging me about this for a while.
With massage, for me, there’s usually an episode of embarrassment. Today the face-reddening started while I was undressing and realised that, under my shorts, I was wearing Speedos: it felt almost worse than being naked. The embarrassment factor was then increased considerably when I was asked to don a pair of skimpy disposable massage shorts that, whilst very practically affording unimpeded access to my gluteus maximus, to my eye resembled nothing so much as lady’s knickers. Thank God nobody had a camera, I’d have to resign immediately if pictures of this went round the office. Then there’s the even more unnerving thought of trapped wind. Initially, because of the embarrassment factor, any spa visit actually serves to make me more tense and nervous – all the more so because I am still a bit of a novice.
My wife tried for years to initiate me into spa therapies before recently succeeding. I had always thought of the whole thing as slightly suspect and had insisted that I couldn’t possibly do something so effete as go to a spa. Ridiculously and completely immaturely, I viewed anything that was not actively bad for my health as slightly unmanly. Every Monday at the office I would positively boast about all the toxic trash I had managed to ingest over the weekend: waffles and syrup, black beer, cigars, Chunky Monkey ice cream… no wonder men live less long than women. Thankfully and thanks to my lovely wife Fon’s necessarily persistent persuasion I eventually gave up most of this foolishness.
Of the variety of jobs I’ve had in my career, running my new company is one of the most stressful. When I walked into the Mandara spa an hour ago I couldn’t imagine any oil on the planet being able to do much to diminish my rampant hypertension, but the ylang-ylang appears to prove me wrong. Afterwards I left floating on air and feeling as if I could skim across the waves like a hovercraft or walk on water like Jesus. I remembered to pay a visit to what seems to be KK’s only beach, just a stroll from the entrance. It is all the more alluring for being tiny and fenced off with a shark-net and is the ideal spot to shift down yet another gear - if that’s humanly possible.
When in Thailand, why not visit one of the country’s currently best three beach destinations:
Koh Lao Liang: http://www.andamanadventures.com/kohlaoliang.shtml
Ao Nang: http://www.andamanadventures.com/ao_nang.shtml
Railay/Tonsai: http://www.andamanadventures.com/railay-tonsai.shtml
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About the Author
The author runs Andaman Sky Co., Ltd, specialising in climbing and diving trips to Thailand’s best beach destinations.
Lao Air Show 2008#3
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