OK blokes, have you ever wondered what goes on behind the doors of those sweet-smelling vessels of female indulgence and escapism known as day-spas? Let me enlighten you.

During a much-needed retreat to Noosa with my best friend last weekend (see Long Division post below) we booked in for the ‘Ultimate Indulgence Package’ at the Aqua Day Spa in search of beautification and relaxation. I was admittedly a little nervous about the experience – particularly when I read that I’d be the subject of a ‘full body kelp wrap’. I pictured myself, dignity stripped, being served as gourmet sushi at a Japanese restaurant.

So, what was the full body wrap experience like? Well it was a little embarrassing – a feeling I suspect had something to do with the disposable paper g-string I was required to wear throughout!! I know I don’t ‘get out’ much but I honestly thought that thing was a shower cap until I joined the dots and my friend found me staring at it, perplexed, in the salubrious surrounds of the change room. “What am I supposed to do with this?” I asked her. I mean, I’m all for sexy underwear but there was something really off-putting about this little number! The fact that she (approaching two metres in height with a body to rival Nicole Kidman’s) looked so amazing in her paper g-string didn’t help! But I got brave and donned the flimsy thing and just hoped the kelp-wielding beauty therapists wouldn’t laugh at me.

On a bench in the elegant waiting area were oatmeal cookies and herbal tea…I wondered if these constituted the products with which we’d be ‘buffed and polished’. We had to fill in wordy forms describing our expectations and health status before proceeding and there were questions like “do you want your breasts massaged?” and “would you prefer a male or female therapist?” Alarm bells were ringing at this point but I just kept breathing deeply and chanting “I’m not a prude” and “there’s no need to be ashamed of my body” unconvincingly under my breath.

Shortly thereafter, I was ushered into something called a ‘Vichy spa room’ (which conjured up thoughts of complicity with Nazism rather than relaxation) by a smiling American (“Thank God, she’s a woman!”) therapist and asked to lie down on a vinyl-covered bed resting in a bathtub which was flanked by high pressure hose units. “Weird”, I thought. Then, I was cleansed and exfoliated all over with earthy smelling products that left my skin tingling and engendered an unexpected sense of mind-numbing relaxation. Next, I was asked to sit up while she spread something on the foil blanket beneath me. It smelled foully of rotten ocean debris but I wasn’t prepared for the sensation of lying in this stuff. “Eeeeeooooowww - what is this sludge?”, I asked, recoiling. She explained that it was a kelp-based gel designed to purify and dexotify the skin while helping to combat cellulite (no doubt it's also useful for achieving world peace and combating poverty). It felt like warm pureed seaweed mixed with rock salt and that sticky green viscous substance kids play with. So, I’m lying in this stuff and then she spreads another layer all over the top of me – no crevice missed – before I’m literally wrapped up in the crinkly foil layer and left to 'cook' for 20 minutes.

Despite the way it sounds, it was a surprisingly pleasant experience. I was toasty warm and felt secure, enveloped as I was, while I enjoyed a hair treatment and head massage. Bliss arrived in the form of total relaxation and mental oblivion by the time I was ‘unwrapped’ and I didn’t even flinch at being hosed down, under high pressure, like a vehicle in a car wash. “What election? What PhD? What stress? What turmoil?” I asked myself as the layers of muck were washed away.

Next came the full-body aromatherapy massage – more relaxation and much sweeter smelling. At some point during this hour I fell asleep and when I tried to open my mouth to speak I realised my tongue was so relaxed I couldn’t form vowel sounds! It was at this stage I suggested the players in the next round of Middle East peace talks sign up for the ‘Ultimate Indulgence Package’ before opening their mouths.

But the relaxation didn’t stop there. There was a deluxe facial and some overdue grooming before a pedicure complete with paraffin wax treatment – an extraordinary sensation which involves your feet being coated in hot liquefied wax and wrapped in plastic bags before the substance sets and is wiped clean, revealing the feet of a 14 year old.

Five hours later we stumbled back to our room, smelling heavenly and feeling as soft as silk. I, for one, felt like I’d just enjoyed the best sex of my life (without any of the hassles ;o) 'adminstered' in combination with mind-clearing psychotherapy (OK, so maybe that description equals a slight exaggeration - I'm not ready to replace men with a day-spa just yet - but you get the picture, right?). Later that night we ‘went to bed’ with George (Clooney), Brad (Pitt) and Matt (Damon) in ‘Oceans 13’ and I slept like a baby… Pure oblivious bliss.

So, what’s the moral to this insider’s tale of day-spa indulgence? Paper g-strings aside, gals get yourself to a day spa stat. and blokes join them if you dare.    [read more]

My best friend’s 11 year old daughter announced at dinner the other night that she simply didn’t get the concept of long division… “What’s the point of long division when you can do short division?” she sensibly asked. I just about knocked over my wine glass in furious agreement with her “I know – that’s so true!!” I said, thinking this would make a good motto for my life.

I am notoriously impatient – a character flaw which at times threatens to become fatal. I blame it on a deadline driven career - hurry, hurry, race, race, pace, pace – but it’s the story of my life. In the past few days I’ve been reminded(again), though, of the benefits of letting time stop and sucking in fresh air...

I’ve just spent three days ‘chilling’ in the Queensland resort town of Noosa with the woman who’s been my best friend for 23 years. We never got to do the end of school party-travel thing…we already had the weight of the world on our shoulders at eighteen thanks to personal tragedy and responsibility beyond our years. But this past weekend we paused and laughed and indulged and took stock and counselled one another and remembered why we’re still stuck together after all these years.

In many ways we couldn’t be more different – I’m a passionate, outspoken career-driven political animal with social activism embedded in my pores. She’s a reserved, sensitive, nurturing physiotherapist who now works full time as a mother of four and she’s not much interested in politics or current affairs. We’ve drifted apart for periods over the years and spent nearly a decade on separate continents. But what binds us together is unbreakable – an historic connection borne of times of trial and a sisterly love that cares without variation, with the power to revive friendship, bridging space and time in an instant. And it’s a friendship that thrives on laughter as well as shared tears.

We knew this trip would be a good one as soon as the Virgin air hostess opened her mouth on the flight out of Sydney. “Your devastatingly handsome pilot and the equally dashing steward join me in welcoming you on board this flight to Maroochydore” she quipped, deadpan. We giggled while most of the other passengers looked straight ahead. “You’ll find life-jackets in this season’s colours under your seat…” More laughter from our row. “And I must warn you that there is strictly no smoking on this flight. The toilets are equipped with smoke detectors and security guards”. The woman was on fire and she thoroughly deserved the applause she got from us.

Isn’t it amazing how humour can cut through the tension? It’s so stressful just boarding a flight to anywhere these days you often feel like assaulting, rather than thanking, the flight attendants when you disembark at your destination. I mean, in this post-September 11th world, there are actually signs at some airports warning passengers that “airline travel is not a laughing matter.” But on this flight, laughter was delightfully unavoidable.

The long taxi ride from the ‘Sunshine Coast’ airport to Noosa was also amusing. The father and daughter taxi-driving duo were thoroughly entertaining - she was a law student and he was a ‘kite-surfing addict’. The conversation was quick and engaging. He talked with such passion about kite-surfing (a sport which involves you being catapulted above the waves at the whim of the wind) he almost convinced me to give it a try. And I couldn’t suppress my laughter when he said “Oh yeah, it’s so addictive it breaks up marriages. People hear the wind in the trees and they can’t stop themselves.” Really? I’ve heard drug-addiction, gambling and infidelity cited as causes of marriage collapse but never ‘kite-surfing’. Perhaps I’d better give it a miss after all...

By the time we arrived at our hotel, I already felt lighter of heart and clearer of head. Further relief came in the form of a long lunch in an open air restaurant, where wild bush turkeys blended in with the décor and my friend listened while I poured out my heart and blinked back tears in between gulps of wine. Catharsis. “God, I needed this!” I said repeatedly.

After that conversation time slowed and we reminisced and projected into the future and celebrated our friendship…increasingly carefree. One hour blended into another. We wandered along the Noosa beach boardwalk and sat and sighed and laughed and just watched the waves pound the beach, sucking in all the beauty with every breath.

When we returned to the beach for dinner that night there was a sand castle built to an exacting plan - lit by tea lights, it mesmerised passers by. We came back the next night, after a day of indulgent spa pampering and a great bottle of red, threw off our shoes and lay on the beach in our fancy gear. We laughed like school girls, taking photos of each other…daring the tide to reach us and not giving a damn what anyone thought.

It’s times like these we rarely find time to value. But it’s these times – time standing still times – that keep us going when the going gets too crazy. We’re going to make this an annual pilgrimage to celebrate life and our friendship and to help us remember how to laugh out loud.

Meantime, I’m going to try to remember how to do long division and force myself to take the scenic route more often. Life is short and it threatens to race you to the finish line which is why, sometimes, you just need to push the pause button.    [read more]