You Call This the Royal Treatment?
|Bones About It||Wear What?||DIY||Not for Rubbing||Unwelcome Guest|
|First impressions can be misleading. The pixie-esque masseuse who appeared on the lanai of my private villa mere steps from the Caribbean Sea didn’t look like she’d have strong hands. Sixty minutes of torture later, I discovered her secret. She learned her technique from her grandfather, a bonesetter. Maybe next time I go to the orthopedist I should expect to get a massage. — Lori Barbely||“Put this on,” said my Ko Samui masseuse, handing me what looked like a headband. “Put it where?” She smiled and pointed down. I unfolded what turned out to be a tiny pair of fishnet undies. I squeezed into them, jewels exposed like a fisherman’s catch. What’s the point? I lay there as the tightness continued to diminish my chance of having kids. She giggled once. I pretended not to notice. — Jon Whittle||We heard spa treatments on Tintamarre were free. “But bring a bucket and trowel,” said a friend. The cliffs hold a clay lauded for its ability to rejuvenate. St. Martin women go there to tone flesh damaged by the sun — or by too many croissants. So we troweled clay, mixed it to a paste with seawater and slathered it on. Even my spa-averse hubby felt the difference. No tip required. — Ann Vanderhoof||I couldn’t concoct this in my most far-flung fantasy: a black-pearl massage on Tahiti’s Manihi Island. The scent of gardenias washed over me as a string of gems slid across my back. This would change me forever, except that the round, hard pearls hit everything but my pressure points. Ouch! I wanted to rip the pearls from her hands and wrap them where they belong: around someone’s neck. — Heather Mikesell||I was in the Andamans prepared for a relaxed massage. I should’ve known better. After I hiked to a remote jungle hut, a 7-foot-tall guy had me strip naked and then proceeded to beat me up for an hour. Suddenly, there’s a sound in the bushes — a 15-foot king cobra devouring a 12-foot water snake whole. I had to get out of there. By the time I limped back to the resort, I was a nervous wreck. — Tony Perrottet|