Angsana flying sky high

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October 29, 2010 – Yuki is slightly shorter than me. And she speaks with an accent. Its one from South East Asia which I only manage to place when she says pountedly that she is from Thailand.

Yuki is my masseuse for the evening ladies and gentlemen, and the brand name of the product she will use for that noble task is known as Angsana.

The name may not ring a bell, unless you have been to one of the several Angsana Spas around the world and been lucky to have partaken of the signature offering. The Angsana Massage, at the Angsana Spa – seven stories high at the Sankara Hotel – was my treat for being a good girl the past few months or so.

I could see the traffic, I could see the hustle and bustle that I am sure the matatus were creating, but I couldn’t hear it. Made me feel like a demi-goddess, but literally it was thanks to sound proof glass, some dodgy instrumental asian music coming out the speakers, and the scent of orange and lemon zest slowly infiltrating the space in the room, I was ready for my crucial massage. It was the first time in a long time that my phone was going to be off for a little more than an hour – of its own accord – but I was ready for it.

Sankara has a host of massage rooms, each with a unique name. The lighting at the lobby of the Spa is part of the treatment. It sets your mind in a cool calm place that has you itching to have your muscles kneaded. As is my business, I try to recapture this moment for the website by means of a photo (insert indian accent here), but they tell me its forbidden. The only thing I am allowed to photograph is the Angsana Spa sign, which doesn’t look too good in the dim lighting.

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It doesnt end there. The spacey-ish corridor, has been caked in marble walls. Bamboo shoots and African sculptures dot the stretch that leads to the fountain (yes they’ve got one) in the confines of the Spa. Water runs down some of the walls, but since I cannot share what I see I want to hurry on to the next experience… The room theme is white and dark brown.

There is a red and black sarong that I am shown in the cupboard; white flip flops for my tired feet and candles to light the room. The horizon over westlands is getting dark and so the candles emit just a little more light every five or so minutes. As I lay face downwards, the burning zest is directly beneath me. At that precise moment, my mind is tired, and so is my body. But Yuki has an hour and some to fix things. And for a small aka short girl, she can pack in a punch when she needs to…

When the 100 minutes of involuntary oohs and aahs were over, I was emotional enough to think about turning back time.

Perfect relaxation in a city of chaos. How does that even work?!

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