Vamanos a Espana 3: Thai Massage and a dash of Mrs. Tiger Woods

Day 3. No blazing ball of moonset glory out my balcony to herald the morn, just the grey calm of the Mar Menor lagoon in the late morning. After a hearty breakfast (somehow we'd missed the man frying up eggs and omelettes the day before), and a quick stop off at the seaside for snappy snaps, we packed ourselves into trusty ol' Scooby Doo and made our way back to La Torre not to further our investigation into the carbonated wonder that is cava, but to probe the innermost recesses of its sanctuary, the Thai Room Spa.

But not before we combined air musical forces and formed our awesome air band comprised of 1 pianist, 1 recorder-player (do they have a proper name?!) and 1 violinist. Journalism was so last year.

It was only in the daylight and with minds liberated from copious amounts of cava that we could really see La Torre for what it actually was: a small little city unto itself of condos, casas and a sprawling hotel resort with golf course to match. With a slightly more corporate feel than its Moroccan-themed sister, La Torre's rates are somewhat more reasonable--a two day luxury break starting from just £160 per person during off peak season.

After a quick peek round the premises, it was off to the spa. I arrived at the Thai Room Spa bubbling with excitement for my vedic massage. Yesterday had relaxed my spirit, today would do my body. With much smaller facilities than Mar Menor's ESPA, La Torre's spa facilities were coed, and after a dripping speedo clad Englishman and his girlfriend went giggling into the steam room after a quick dip in the pool, I decided to opt for the sauna, ever-conscious of what was happening on the other side of that toasty wall.

After a quick cat nap by the pool (was unable to overcome fear of frolicking English in steam room so settled for a dip instead), we were summoned by three very authentic looking Thai technicians for our Vedic massages (from 78€). Other options on the menu? The scrumptous looking Thai Yoga Massage (from 78€), which passively reproduces the asana movements of yoga with an emphasis on stretching and a Banana Creamy wrap (78€) consisting of a mixture of banana, rice flour, milk and honey.

Back to our treatment. Of Indian origin, the Vedic treatment was allegedly an "evocation of the Ayurvedic massage. A delicious massage in which light pressure is applied to the whole body using warm or hot oil." Now, while the warm oil felt lovely, as a veteran-New-York-City-Chinatown-trained-goer of Thai and Chinese massage, I have to say, I was a little disappointed. She didn't straddle me and violate my shoulders, she didn't climb up on my back, dig her knee into my lower back and pull. She didn't even walk on me at any point. In fact, she spent a fair bit of time on my inner thighs...hmm...I really hope that wasn't a subtle message about some incoming cellulite.

It wasn't that she didn't have the technique. When she started in on my neck, I could have sworn those were the fingers of an iron-fisted angel wrapped round my throat...if only she had gone on that way. In the end, it was still a terrific massage, as evidence by the fact that I fell into a deep three hour sleep beside the pool as soon as I managed to crawl out of the treatment room.

Then it was time for lunch. Paella....mmmm




After lunch, it was back in the Scooby Doo van for the second to last time...we were to make a little unscheduled stop. Astute journalists that we are, the antics of the straying king of golf splashed all over the television (which we had been diligently watching from our jet baths) had naturally, permeated a joke or two along the way. So, that first night, Jennifer from the Times had piped up about us taking a turn on the golf course. And take a turn we did.

The belles of the ball, our instructor Javier was a charming Spaniard with the patience of a saint. He graciously took us through "ejercicios 1-3," everything from how to swing to how to putt. I must admit, after many years of decrying the pastime (I will still not grant it the word "sport"), I had a whale of a time. No spa retreat should be complete without a stint at the driving range--it's perfect for working out those last bits of tensions your masseuse may have missed. There really is nothing like swinging a club full force with an immense spread of emerald green grass beneath your feet and an open blue sky ahead. I get it completely, Mrs. Tiger.

Javi demonstrates for Sophie

Ejercisio 4: the Mrs. Tiger Woods

And then, just like that, the press trip was over. But like when summer camp comes to a close, while the experiences themselves were great--whether you learned how to make a tipi out of a sheet or the difference between Cava Brut and Cava Reserve--it's the people with whom you shared them that make it a summer worth remembering.

So to conclude my three-part Spanish blogging extravaganzo I will digo una cosa: if six strangers gathered in the back of a Scooby-Doo van for three days can make a great escape and memorable mini-holiday out of a two night press trip, how much fun do you think you'll go whence you boogy on down with your man, mates or mum?

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and here to find out a bit more about Murcia!

El Fin

Adios Amigos!