The Oriental Spa
Mandarin Oriental
Singapore

Imprisoned for six hours in an unmerciful meeting? Sixteen hours in an airplane? Six months in wedding planning? The Oriental Spa is the place for you.

The low-ceilinged, intimate spa is in the corner of the fifth level of the Mandarin’s lofty and imposing lobby. A silk-clad receptionist glides out from behind a sensuous-wave-of-polished-wood desk to welcome you. Soon, a cool glass of lemon grass tea and a cold towel arrive--perfect antidotes to Singapore’s hot and sticky weather. Take in the fine Chinese antiques and statuary and start your wind-down.

"We don’t use any equipment," my massage therapist, Irene Hutagauong, says as she leads me to a treatment room of exquisite Oriental simplicity. The lighting concealed by behind wood panels plays off the draped-silk ceiling, the cascade of orchids and a Chinese screen.

"It’s all in the hands," Irene adds, as she settles me onto a comfy massage bed. The rich ring of her Buddhist prayer bell marks the beginning. Irene spreads her hands with my choice of aromatherapy, Relax, and floats them over my nose for me to inhale. Relax is composed of 100% pure essential oils: tangerine, lavender and ylang-ylang—an ambrosial oil from the flower of the tropical Cananga tree.

"Relax and focus," Irene says as she begins The Oriental Massage. It is a combination of:

Shiatsu— Irene uses her fingers, palms and thumbs to stimulate "chi" pressure points,

Thai Massage—Irene pulls, stretches and kneads my body in yoga like poses

Deep Tissue Massage—Irene uses her knuckles and elbows to reach deep into core muscles, and

Swedish massage—long flowing strokes to relax and invigorate.

Between Irene’s thumbs, palms and very adroit elbows, tension leaks out of my body. Strain I didn’t know I had dissipates. A mean sinus headache I’d had for days diminishes and disappears all together some hours later. By the ending ring of the Buddha bell, I was relaxed deep into that place where I can barely speak, feeling calm, clean and lushly smooth. Irene was right, all she needed was her hands.

It’s right at this point that lesser spas lose it. Having got you to this fine euphoric state, they toss you out into a cold, cruel locker room. Not The Oriental. Irene gently guides me to a secluded relaxation bed and brings me a cool herbal tea. Sipping quietly, my body absorbs the essential oils and my soul absorbs peace.

Kate Crawford    February, 2009