The Spa
The Peninsula Chicago 
Chicago, Illinois

A long stretch of turquoise pool was checkered by the sun streaming through soaring Frank Lloyd Wright windows. The Olympic-length laps felt like swimming along the twentieth story of Chicago’s skyline. Tawny colors, serene works of art, soft leather on sleek white ash furniture, and cucumber-flavored water gently welcomed the Peninsula Spa’s guests. It exudes elegant tranquility.

Imagine, therefore, my surprise when a Chicago Bull’s player—they do basketball—turned up as my masseuse. OK. He didn’t actually play for the Bulls, and he was probably only 6’2," and he was a white guy, but still… His hands looked big enough to palm a beach ball. Physical attributes aside, Don seemed a gentle soul. Leading me to a low-lit, comfortable treatment room, he explained the "pen" in the Pen-ultimate Peninsula Essential Massage I was about to receive.

First, I must select the appropriate aroma to accentuate the desired effects of my massage. Lavender’s aroma is relaxing, soothing and calming, that of eucalyptus is stimulating and citrus, for the aroma fence-sitter, is both soothing and invigorating.

"How was a girl to choose?"

"By carefully smelling each," Don explained, offering first one than another. After each, like sorbet between courses, he offered a small bowl of coffee beans to clear my sniffer between sniffs.

Sinuses cleared by a too-hefty snuff of eucalyptus, I chose lavender. Don left the room for me to disrobe and I sunk into the cushiony flannel of the massage table, covering myself with a sheet. Returning, he made careful inquiries into any physical problems I might have and how deep I would like my muscles worked. Then, with long, firm strokes, Don worked whole groups of muscles, stopping to press his thumbs of steel into particular pressure points. He convinced first one area, then another to give up its death-grip and relax. Back, legs, sheet-held-discretely-turn, neck, shoulders, arms, and a final full body stretch left me in la-la land.

Yawning, I took my doughboy self to be steamed in the ladies locker—a fine spot to while away an afternoon. The steam finished me off, so I sunk into an easy chair, sipped the cucumber-cool water and stared at an orchid. Revived, I headed to the showers. There, botanicals in the body wash with "reconstructive whole wheat protein" moisturized my skin, while chamomile, sage, and aloe vera cleansed and conditioned my hair.

Dropping my swim suit in a gizmo that cleans the chlorine out, I proceeded to try most of J of Beverly Hills’ styling gels, polishes and hair finishes. A lighted magnifying mirror allowed me to outline, not draw circles around, my eyes.

The Spa offers classes (from power Hatha yoga to Pilates) and VR2 Cybex Weight Equipment (I assume you know what those are if you care.) Spa and beauty treatments, from the exotic hot stone therapy to the more prosaic manicure, help The Peninsula Spa do for Chicagoans and its visitors what good genes did for Gina Lollobrigida—almost.

Spotting Don in the foyer, I ask him what he likes most about being a masseuse.

"Meeting the people," he says. "No one ever really gets mad at a massage therapist."

Nor, I might add, at a good spa.