Ten years ago someone other than Artie cut my hair. I appeared at my high school reunion looking like I was trying out for Moe in an amateur Three Stooges production. The time before that I visited in Wales with my hair so "stylishly short" that people called me "sonny." Someone other than Artie is about to cut my hair. If it were possible to be nervous after a two-hour Banyan Tree Spa Rejuvenation Treatment, I would be.

Several hours ago, my massage therapist, Ratchaneekorn, dressed in the spa’s soft purple and mauve, led me to my treatment room on the 54th floor of Banyan Tree Bangkok. Passing a carved statue of the elephant-headed Ganesh, the Hindu God of good fortune, I added marigold petals (flowers of devotion) to the collection on his lap.

My treatment room had a spectacular view, but a bamboo curtain screened today’s view—a spectacularly overcast Bangkok. An intricately-carved stand held potions, lotions and purple orchids. A green and gold brocade cloth draped the massage bed. Pink rose petals floated in a black-glazed hot tub.

Having heard about the restorative merits of all eight possible incenses, I selected coconut. Said to renew energy, it’s my therapist’s favorite. First my feet, soaked in warm water strewn with roses and mint, were gently kneaded.

In phase two of my rejuvenation, I climbed facedown onto the brocaded massage table where lotuses, roses and jasmine floated beneath my nose. I’d selected a Balinese-style massage from the six offered. Banyan Tree Spa describes it as "an intense, medium to strong deep tissue massage" with a blend of warming essential oils that "stimulates blood circulation, improves energy flow and disperses tension."

Ratchaneekorn had her work cut out for her. Twenty-two hours crunched into an economy class seat in a full plane translates, in any language, into a ton of tension. She began with long firm strokes, then burrowed her strong thumbs into my pressure points, urging my muscles to give up their grip. Plane-weary hours began to melt away. First to let go was the cramp in my hip, then the back crick and the leg ache let go. I wasn’t sure the stale-cabin-air headache would ever relinquish its hold, but even it conceded to Ratchaneekorn’s superior skills.

Rejuvenation, phase three, was a goopy, green paste slathered on my backside, rubbed in and left to do its moisturizing thing. There were also six choices of body rubs. The Dill Moisturizer was a no brainer for my airplane-baked skin. The paste of fresh milk, rice grains, honey, sandalwood oil and dill seed, blended just before the treatment began, smelled of sweet sandalwood. After my front was frosted, rubbed and moisturized, a steaming towel—soaked in a pungent eucalyptus oil—was fanned onto my face and placed on my eyes.

A Tibetan temple bell chimed the treatment’s end. I oozed off the table, showered and drifted past the good-fortune God, Ganesh, to the lounge. Here I sit, sipping honey and lemongrass iced tea, placidly awaiting my coiffure’s demise.

"Petch," Puangpetch tells me, means diamond in Thai. This is a good omen. Puangpetch is going to cut my hair. She starts, just like Artie, with a shampoo. This is no just-get-your-hair-clean shampoo, it’s a full head massage complete with an ear-tickling cleaning. The cutting begins. Puangpetch cuts slowly, carefully. I keep my eyes closed.

My hair was not the only thing in need of Puangpetch’s attention. Her next, quite arduous task is to glamorize my toenails. After much foot-soaking, lotion rubbing and such, she applies a nail polish called "Belize it or not." And—you better Belize it—it’s red. My toenails are gorgeous.

My hair cut? I liked it then. By the time I gone all the way around the world and it had fallen easily into place after each wash, I loved it.

The next time I get my haircut at home, I’m taking Artie this article—with the part about the head massage highlighted in yellow.

The next time I go around the world, I’m calling ahead to make my appointments at Banyan Tree Bangkok’s Spa.

The Banyan Tree Spa's web site.