Massage of a Lifetime

A guide takes you into the locker area, sets you up with a voluptuous robe and gives you a tour of the spa's highlights, such as the vitality pool, where you can lie in hot mineral water, suspended on a cushion of air while hydrotherapy body jets massage you (think next-gen Jacuzzi); the experience shower, a funky mix of pulsing lights and water pressure that simulates tropical rain and fog; and a crystal steam room, which blends heat and steam through a giant hunk of amethyst.

Go at your own pace and try what appeals to you. Once you're suitably warmed up, you're ready to meet the high priestess of healing hands.

Transcendent Experience

Diminutive and raven-haired, Wafa met me in the relaxation area. I wasn't fooled, however -- size is an inverse indicator of the power behind this Israeli-born, Miami-raised former actress who counts film legends and Broadway stars among her devotees.

"You've booked time," she tells me, "not a treatment."

And she is right. Though you may select specific treatments in advance, it is highly recommended that you schedule a period of time instead. All of the rooms can accommodate any of the specialty treatments and each of the therapists is versed in them all, freeing you to decide what you're in the mood for when you enter the room.

If you're a spa neophyte, the therapist can guide you through the extensive options; if you're an old hand, he or she can steer you toward something new. Or like many regular clients -- "I just show up and let her save my life," says one devoted regular -- you can just leave yourself in Wafa's hands.

"We're going to start with you face-up on the table," she says. "I don't know why -- I just feel it." And so I go with the flow, breathing in and out as she smoothes on an energizing citrus oil.

There is something deep and intuitive about Wafa's touch, because she finds knots in my neck I didn't know existed in muscles I didn't know I had.

Perhaps you've heard a term that gets bandied about so casually in the spa world: "blocked." Energies can get blocked, meridians are blocked, chakras are blocked. Like those ubiquitous "toxins," you've never really understood what it meant.

	Bliss on the Table
	Photo: Mandarin Oriental

Now, however, on the massage table, I understand what it is to be unblocked as my muscles release, feeling much like a deadbolt rolling back into its cylinder. In my back, the therapist finds trigger points that cause you to flinch as she manipulates muscles back into their proper place. My mind floats; my body lets go.

There's no need to apologize for drifting off into unconsciousness -- it's your time after all, plus you've rarely felt safer at the mercy of another person's hands.

The bell tolls too soon (Tibetan chimes, signaling that your time is done). Not to devolve into spa mumbo-jumbo, but I've just had much more than a massage. I've been given a rare gift, albeit one I have to pay handsomely for.

I can feel it coursing through my veins, and I half expect to turn and see Wafa grinning, her hands aglow like ET. Cost at this point is entirely relative.

I reluctantly left the Mandarin Oriental thinking that Wafa, bless her, is cursed. She will never know what it is like to experience her own magic touch. Some things, indeed, are priceless. Or at least worth $430.

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