Spa Life:
Getting detailed
By Catherine Berlin
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It was also one of the most sincere considering that, as usual, he had no idea what I had been up to. I had noticed that after decades of sun, stress, and forced heat, my skin was suffering alligator moments and Shar-Pei days, so I began considering spas. Not the week-away-to-rejuvenate kind. My life doesn’t have week-away options. No, I was taking sidelong glances at the day spa treatment menus showing up at hair salons and hotel service directories. When up until then, my routine included only a semi-annual haircut for $50, including tip, moving towards three figures for something that might only last until the next shower seemed extravagant. But, for once squashing the Scot in me, I stepped into the candle-lit world of exfoliation and super-hydration, and experienced unfeigned flattery for my, um, efforts. Thus began the addiction.
Still a creature of habit, however, I always ordered the same skin tonic. I had to be away from home before I would try the Seaweed Bath (Hotel ZaZa, Dallas), Algae Mud Treatment (Westin Diplomat, Florida), or the Hangover Wrap (I don’t remember). It took a summer’s worth of fried limbs, sunscreen-clogged pores, and bonding with my teenager via glue and store-bought nails, to revisit salon brochures. Awakening to the fact that I was missing out on nature’s (or France’s, the words are interchangeable) newest advances, I decided to experiment. I begged ten day spas to fix me up. I was a bit concerned that by the end of the project I would look as poufy as a cat in a dryer or as slick as a seal in water, but all I had to do was take one look at ten fingernails severely delayered by superglue to get me to each appointment fifteen minutes early.
If you have to struggle with yourself over whether you are worth it, go ahead and struggle, as long as you win that argument. Skin is an organ that needs attention, and the brain needs a break now and then. As for the expense, come up with a few lifestyle adjustments. Skip the cracker, cookie, and snack aisles at the grocery store. For the fifteen dollars a week you don’t spend there, your face and your waistline will thank you. Ride a bike to work during the summer and squirrel away the gas/parking/parking ticket money. Ask your grown children for a spa package the next time they start fidgeting over what to get you for your birthday. Limit your trips to the discount stores. I don’t recall ever going into Target for a $20 item and not spending $200 because “it’s all so cheap and cute.” Instead of owning seven identical white stretch tees and four refrigerator magnet to-do pads, give sensory revival a shot. The biggest risk you run is that somebody might notice.
The Back Facial
When I told a friend that I was getting a back facial, her twelve-year-old son, already in training for marital bliss, started up, “What for? When do you ever see your back? If I didn’t like the way my back looked, I’d keep a shirt on.” He kept going, but I stopped listening. I have been to enough professional sporting events to know that men do not always keep their shirts on when they really, really should. Besides, I like my back. Unlike most other parts of my body, it is unscarred, unwrinkled, and cellulite-free. The back facial would allow me to atone for the sun damage earned on vacation building doomed sandcastles.
But skin care, I would learn, is only half of it. A back facial is also about product application. As skin care therapist Lisa Marie applied exfoliants and hydrants, I experienced a fantasy that would surface with each treatment at every spa: I am Paris Hilton’s older sister. Instead of tiny dogs, I have a treatment facility off my bedroom wing, with a full-time staff to keep me perpetually suspended in the land of excellent attitude. In other words, for sixty minutes, I became quite low key, chilled, a complete stranger.
Lisa introduced me to the Institut Esthederm line, with one product worth special note. Asking me to lie face down on the table with the towel rolled to the top of my glutes, Lisa put the scrubbing product on and worked it in. As she skillfully removed dead skin cells and turned my free will to tapioca, I had enough consciousness to wonder how was she going to get the grit off my back. The cozy, candle-lit room did not have a shower and I had no interest in getting up to use one. Answering my unspoken question, Lisa put a barber shop hot towel on my back and the grit simply melted, as did I.
Salon Rouge, 700 Elmwood Ave., Buffalo, 14220, 884-1010, www.salonrougeny.com.
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Purple Feet Pedicure
Going to the Pillar and Post is a little like stepping back in time and a lot about rich colors and grand floral arrangements. The connected spa enjoys a different atmosphere, with clean lines and calm colors. Last winter’s renovations resulted in a spacious nail center, increased privacy, waterfalls, woodwork, stone, and, I assume, lots of couples as clients. I was one of the few singles there.
Massage therapist Autumn Young treated me to an algae wrap and scalp massage and finished the treatment with an application of Biotone’s shea butter cream. Maybe it was the combination of the treatment products Autumn used, but something about this cream had me staring at my arms for the next forty-eight hours. The skin around my wrists and on top of my shoulders and across my chest all seemed to belong to someone else, so I kept checking them out, and running my fingertips about as if I really didn’t believe it.
The staring was briefly interrupted by nail technician Maria Antidorm turning my feet purple. I knew I was in for more grapes, but with the efficiency of a Google Earth relocation transport, it took me point four seconds to travel from Spain to Canada, a mental journey hastened by Maria telling me there was Canadian maple syrup in the grape mix. A couple from Amherst sat alongside me at the six-station pedicure lounge. The wife insisted I would love the result. Despite my respect for Marie’s talents, I didn’t expect to. On my own, I would have steered clear of such a treatment, thinking it a little too touristy to actually work.
Then Maria taught me that sugar really is the new salt. I had heard such rumblings, but I never took it seriously. Inappropriately discarded partially eaten suckers have, over the years, led me to associate sugar on skin with pain. Now, I associated it with silk. My feet had never felt so soft. With the one-and-a-half-hour pedicure, I got soaks and scrubs, the mask, heated booties to help the mask penetrate, nail care and polish, a glass of local wine, and a new BFF in Marie.
Vintage Hotels’ 100 Fountain Spa, Pillar and Post Inn, 48 John St.,
Niagara-on-the-Lake, Ontario, 1-888-669-5566.
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As a kid, I would do anything to avoid the seaweed at the beach. Today, I wish I could grow it in my backyard and wear it to bed every night. People say it pulls out the toxins, but I can’t see toxins. I like it because I think the treatments make my legs look thinner, and, well, can a plant be a saint?
Esthetician Liz Garvin dry-rubbed my skin with a pair of exfoliating mitts, applied a seaweed masque, and then wrapped me in warm blankets. While my body heated up, pores opened, and the product went to work taking bad stuff away. Liz gently rubbed my scalp and removed every bone from my body. This was pretty good stuff, as was the setting. I was struck by the facility’s contrasts and balanced harmonies. The exterior of the building is angular, while the interior is fluid and organic; the rooms are spacious, but the design suggests intimacy; the interior takes advantages of calming dark earth tones, yet the visitor feels bathed in natural light; there are many assistants on hand, but no one is visible until needed. The piece d’resistance? For me, something a bit more practical: a jar of disposable underwear in the changing room.
I lost several of my own pairs during my two week adventure, caused in part by never quite knowing how much not to wear. I mean, I always wanted to be naked enough to take full advantage of the process, but I didn’t want to seem, well, easy. The rule of thumb is simple: no bras, no undershirts, no jewelry or hair things that might get in the way of a product application or a scalp massage. Spas will often provide disposables, but bring along a thong or the briefest of briefs. In my case, when the spa provided disposables, I jammed my own pair into the pocket of the spa robe. Trouble is, I was too comatose after the treatment to remember to retrieve them. Accordingly, my underpants can now be found across the Niagara Frontier and Southern Tier.
Which somehow brings me back to the second half of the treatment. As I lay on the table, I could see an apparatus with nozzles. Liz swung the Vichy armature over me, adjusted each shower head, and turned it on. I stopped thinking Older Sibling Hilton and flashed to, “What nutcase designed this water torture?” but only for a second. My concern melted into something altogether sensual. The hydro-massage was a great discovery, and I lay there thinking that guys would love this. Then I just started thinking about guys.
The spa had a no-tipping policy, but in a world where even a hotel doorman will hold out a palm, I can’t help but extend a gratuity to anyone willing to remove dead skin cells.
The Spa at Falling Waters, 3385 Orchard Park Rd., Orchard Park, 14127,
677-9700, www.spaatfallingwaters.com.
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Fresh and light, and full of life, Chez Ann was the perfect place for this facial virgin. Well, maybe not a virgin technically. Pregnancy always brought me dwarf-planet girth and a face that tanned in a mustache-and-beard pattern. Yeah, ew. So early on, my skin care regimen zoomed right to the industrial strength, physician-assisted kind. A spa facial, I figured, wouldn’t be nuclear enough for me. But a facial does not have to be about getting down to the bone; it’s about gentle, and there is plenty of room in my life for that.
Esthetician Lauren Zebro introduced me to a diopter lamp and steamer. As I lay face up in a quiet room, she turned on the steamer. I instantly recalled a little-girl wish to one day own a face steamer and hair turban. The stream from Lauren’s device was the real deal, soothing me with warmth as it opened my pores. She then wheeled about the dioptor lamp, a magnifying glass with a circular light around it. “Ready for extractions?” Lauren asked, explaining the process of removing impurities. My exotic turban twisted into the Simpsons episode where Bart finds his Aunt Selma’s blackhead gun. Fortunately, my rascally mind went fairly blank as Lauren soothed me in and out of sleep with masks, warm towels, and a scalp and face massage.
All treatments include a series of product applications designed to cleanse, remove dead skin cells, address some issue, hydrate, and protect. Often, lying with eyes closed in a semi-catatonic state, one step blends into another. With every treatment, however, at least one product stood out. It feels good, it smells to die for, or you think, “Boy, this has to be doing something.” Lauren used a weekly creamy cleansing mask, Institut’s Osmoclean, on my face, and I immediately offered my favorite compliment: “Can I buy this?”
Chez Ann Salon and Day Spa, 5140 Main St., Suite 305, Williamsville, 14221,
632-2258, www.chezannsalon.com.
Vichy Shower Treatment with Body Polish
Many estheticians aren’t old enough to have had a personal experience with a wrinkle, but Joyce has been in the business long enough to know how to roll up her sleeves and get to work. She trained and worked in London for almost a decade, spent some time in Dublin, and travels regularly throughout the U.S. to learn about new product lines and procedures. Hers is the art of relaxation, and she enjoys enough Type A male and female clients who swear by her style to convince even those who consider sleep a four-letter word, that the body and soul need an occasional respite.
Of course, she had to strong-arm me to get me to that point. Well, not strong-arm, really, but when she led me to a tiled room with a high table and massive shower heads above, heads that seemed closer and therefore larger than the others I had seen, I felt a little like a five-year-old in a hospital gown about to get her tonsils out and with nowhere to run.
“I see in your brochure that I can get a skin treatment with the shower. I’d like the salt glow,” I say, talking to get my head into it.
“Well, it depends on what I think your skin can handle,” she advises.
Well, ah, sure.
Ever have those days when all you want to do is stand for hours under a hot shower, to let the water beat on your head and take everyone’s demands on you down the drain? Well, this is that shower. Up on the table, face down and covered in towels, the first thing I notice is a nice scent piped in from somewhere. Then the shower starts. It’s gentle at first, and then the pressure increases, until after another who-knows-how-long I feel flattened. My back has become two-dimensional. Water kneads my hamstrings, while
the pulsing on my glutes creates a sensation of calm vitality. Then Joyce enters the room. Amidst the downpour, she places her masterful fingers on strategic parts of my skull.
It taps me like a one-way Vulcan mind-meld. Joyce talks of energy and chakras and tension release, but it’s too late for a lesson on how things work for different people. Nothing is left of me, and—I’m not kidding—I start to drool. Joyce has taught me to
let go.
RChambeaus Salon and Day Spa, 5623 Transit Rd., East Amherst, 14051,
688-5354, www.rchambeaus.com.
Wine Wrap
Spa music must be important, because during my tour I have been to a rainforest, a galaxy, Beethoven’s bedchambers, an ocean, a synthesized nether land, and a gazebo complete with piano and a charm of goldfinches. The music helps with the relaxation process, and I hear it already at Excuria’s front door when I arrive for a wine wrap. I smile, appreciating the fact that I will be appreciated.
“The grapes are from the coast of Spain, a very special grape that is full of anti-oxidants and exfoliating properties,” esthetician Donna Castanza begins. At the mention of Spain and grapes, my attention shifts to neighboring Portugal and the legendary women of Porto whose delicate toes turn grapes to port wine. Well, I guess there is more to the process than that, but the point is I don’t care much for those maidens. My husband as
a young man once traveled in search of them. “It’s great for sun-damaged skin,” Donna continues, pulling me out of a Lucy rerun. “It’s very active. This grape really goes to work on the cells.” Scientists talk positively about red wine polyphenols, but I thought that the benefit came from ingestion, not topical application. Nevertheless, I have
decided that I approve of Spanish grapes and agree to donate my very living body to science. Donna, who has trained in New York City, knows her stuff well enough to
take possession.
Excuria has expanded by adding new treatment and med-spa areas. Each room has a unique décor, from a touch of Tuscany or bit of Caribbean lightness to cozy English country, and each room contains serious spa equipment. For example, my wine wrap took place in a hydrotherapy tub that hosted an internal shower system, and provided steam heat and a rinse. My body rested on an insert as steam enveloped me and readied every pore to absorb the grape.
After the mask and rinse, I transferred to a table for what marks the end of every body treatment, the application of a moisturizer. I hate this part because it means that soon I have to leave. I love this part because it feels so very good. Effleurage (from the French effleurer, “to skim over”), is the process of light, gliding strokes used to apply certain products. Here, Donna completes the vinotherapy treatment with an expertly applied coating of champagne oil.
Excuria Salon and Spa, 5725 Main St., Williamsville 14221, 839-3106, www.excuriaspa.com.
Therapeutic Massage, Optimizer Facial, Spa Manicure,
and Allpresan Pedicure
Because the last three spa visits had involved a lot of wet, I broke with my usual presentation method. I lunked into Capello’s wearing chinos and a t-shirt, without makeup or a discernable hair part. Owner Joe Frietas walked over to me with a broad smile and a gorgeous handshake, and I calculated my appearance. “Bad call, style genius,” I thought. “Bad call. I look like a boy.” I didn’t have time to wince, though. I had an afternoon research assignment on getting pampered, then a date with my Porto-loving husband at the Bills’ pre-season opener. Life was good.
Skin-care therapists are not massage therapists, and the professionals in both categories will explain to you their different training and areas of expertise. I was under instruction from a friend to not distract the massage therapist with mindless prattle during my treatment. They must concentrate, I was told. And after rapidfire inquiry into whether I could ask questions or should instead relax, my massage therapist Kari Klentos gently nodded at the word “relax.”
Kari’s fingers found muscles, moving each one this way and that, and then putting it back. She did this at each limb and then the shoulders and neck where it seemed her fingers needed to stay for awhile. “What have you found?” I stifled, not wanting to disturb the peace. And a few minutes later, I stifled: “You are back there again. Is it bad?” Her fingers knew all about neck muscles like mine, rigid enough to survive a guillotine.
Then, during the facial, it hit me. I was experiencing Kari’s focused, scientific attention to detail. First it was muscle groups. Now she was cleaning behind my ears and between each eyelash. Even the lips. She put some potion on my lips that convinced me that she cared. I wanted that lip stuff. I wanted to start caring for me, too. Unfortunately, I never learned what that product was. I was too busy practicing the lost art of being quiet.
Of course, I quit practicing the minute I hit the manicure table. It is good to have a nail technician. A nail technician is an instant best friend, and instant best friends have to talk. It’s a rule. Mine, Marybeth Rusin, wanted to know what I had planned for the weekend and how my kids were doing. She did not “tsk” me for playing Junior Nail Technician at home. This qualifies as BFF (Best Friend Forever) material. Then, as if things could get any better, during the pedicure, Marybeth pulled out Allpresan H-18 Spray, a product that so seriously attacks rough soles that the technicians wear gloves during application. I, a soft-foot fanatic, reacted as if we had just discovered pumice.
Joe then insisted on addressing my hair. How about a blow-out, a brush, a bobby pin at least? This would make me late, but I knew he was right. He was. I raced to meet my family at the stadium, but I looked great and I felt even greater. Not even the Jills would bug me tonight. I got to the stadium long into the first quarter, walked through the concession hallway and entered the seating area, where I stood for a second to get my bearings. Right about then the evening clouds unleashed a heavy rain on my unprotected head. I simply smiled.
Capello’s Salon and Day Spa, 9378 Transit Road, East Amherst, 14051,
639-8019, www.capellosalon.com.
Manicure, Moroccan Mud Wrap, and Sabai Stone Therapy
The next time visitors come to town, those that think they need to see the Horseshoe Falls may. I’m taking everybody else to the Seneca Niagara Spa. It is spectacular, with full size wooden lockers, private whirlpool, a sauna and steam room, wood flooring, striking mosaics, and a couple’s treatment room with a whirlpool and fireplace. The décor strikes a good balance for a clientele that is half male: not at all fussy, not at all severe.
The beauty of any of the wrap treatments involving muds and seaweeds is that esthetician Mary Ann Kontres will cover the glutes and all. I am all for it, imagining I look like the wispy-thin French models with even their bottoms covered in green and getting less toxic by the second. So maybe I look more like somebody’s great aunt, but such complete coverage hits the areas on my body always desperate for attention. The trick is to get all these covered body parts clean, so the treatment room features a shower with two vertical multiple-head body spray fixtures that leaves nothing unsprayable.
Massage therapist Christine Stowell uses hot stones as a tool in her Swedish massage, enlisting them to help heat and actually manipulate the muscles. This is different than how the stones would be used during a reiki treatment, for example, so a customer should ask about what a particular stone treatment involves. “This treatment is a big hit in winter, when the cold weather makes everyone’s muscles really tense,” she explains.
Maxine Walker’s eyes sparkle at me and pull me up-close. Years ago this manicurist had been featured in the Niagara Falls Gazette for her nail care cures and on this day she makes me feel as if I was the only one in the room. She massages my fingers, then offers this advice: “When you have a problem with your nails, come in every two weeks. The massaging and attention will help stimulate growth.” Then she puts out the little clam-shaped pan for soaking fingers.
In high school, my girlfriend and I would have pretend manicures. We would fill up cereal bowls with Palmolive liquid, soak one hand, use the other to eat brownies, and watch Wonder Woman. Figuring Maxine couldn’t top that routine, I ask her what she puts in her finger bowl. Maxine, who is described in the newspaper as having the Midas touch, produces an OPI soak that excites me way more than it should. “I must have this,” I whisper. “Now try this,” she says at the next stage, producing another OPI product, this one a sugar scrub. “I must have this, too,” I whimper, mentally adding another BFF to the list.
Seneca Niagara Spa Hotel & Casino, 310 Fourth St, Niagara Falls, 14303,
278-3696, www.senecaniagaracasino.com.
Thermal Hands Massage
The spa life is starting to get to me. My blood pressure is within normal limits. I’m sleeping at night. I smell good. I’m being nice to people. As I check my assignment sheet—wondering when I will start to crack—I see that I am scheduled across the border for a thermal palms massage. I have no idea what that is; it’s so new that it’s not on the White Oak’s website, and I no longer have the agitated presence of mind needed to compulsively search the internet for every conceivable answer. I figure it will be warm, but for all I knew, it could involve a big leafy branch or a machine. I give up guessing. I start thinking that Oregon might be a nice place to live. Maybe on a farm ...
Fortunately my massage therapist, Daryl, pulls me out of my stupor. He is a guy, a big, tall guy. He could hurt me if he wanted to, like say if I acted up and started asking too many questions. So I decide to work harder at feeling what was happening to me. Plus, the thermal units intrigue me. Daryl explains that a woman in Ottawa has designed a soft version of hot stones, trying many substances before deciding on oatmeal packaged inside a soft container that is, apparently, oatmeal-leak proof. The concept seems odd, but entirely spot-on. For all my attention-paying, I do not realize Daryl has been massaging me with any added devices. I just thought it was his bare palms, his perfectly warm, perfectly groove-fitting palms. Finally, the timing is perfect. I find this type of massage invigorating, more like a work out than a mental stress reliever.
The spa is pristine, accommodating, and easy to get to (visible from the QEW), and the website provides a nice section on spa etiquette.
White Oaks Conference Resort and Spa, 253 Taylor Rd., Niagara-on-the-Lake, Ontario, L0S 1JO, www.whiteoaksresort.com.
Botanical Resurfacing
Just when you think you are getting familiar with a routine, somebody artistic shows you another way. Esthetician Shannon Kucharski sat me down, told me to close my eyes, then, using wetted cotton swabs, ran different scents from the bridge of my nose straight up my forehead. I was supposed to tell her which one I liked the most, but part of me wanted to drag it out by telling her I wasn’t sure, that maybe she needed to do this again and again.
Using Aveda’s Tourmaline Charged Radiance Masque, Shannon gently scrubbed my face with a constant massaging motion, making sure that no area got too much, and another too little attention, because my skin would benefit from gentle and regular dead skin removal. Sugar provides the exfoliating agent for the masque, but most of my interest was now focused on the tourmaline. It’s a gemstone, Oprah swears by the mask, and I have no issues with getting radiant, sparkly, you name it. I’ve had dull for a long time, and this sounded promising.
Michele’s Spa is in a renovated Victorian, with each room painted in a rich vibrant
color. The large windows and high ceilings keep the rich colors from making the rooms feel too small or too dark, and the facial room is a fitting botanical green. But what
about my scent, I wondered. I tested so many and finally settled on one. “Vanilla,” Shannon told me. Vanilla? Vanilla in a little bottle in a kitchen drawer vanilla? Cookie dough vanilla? Couldn’t I be something more exotic or sensual, something that didn’t scream “mommy?”
“Vanilla is good,” she assured me. It’s actually a difficult scent because it is subtle and complex. At first I had the same reaction you had, but just think of yourself as subtle and complex.”
I told you. She is a true artist.
Michele’s Salon and Day Spa. 775 Elmwood Ave., Buffalo, 14222, 882-1180.
Sports Massage and Express Facial
It isn’t until I travel south on 219 for about an hour that somebody zeros in on my physical deficiencies. It makes sense. This is ski country. People here do what they shouldn’t be doing to their bodies all the time, and somebody has to help get them back on the top of the run to do it some more.
“Does it hurt here?” Joanne asks.
“Ow, yes. Rotator cuff.”
“And here?” she continues.
“Urrggg, periformas.”
“Your insides feel a bit dehydrated, sound right?” she says at the end.
Nothing that more wine and coffee won’t cure.
Established in a 100-year-old house on Jefferson Street between the ski lifts and restaurant row of Ellicottville, owner and massage therapist Joanne Timkey provides locals, visitors, and that group of in-betweeners a place to rest, gather, get pretty, or simply heal. Massage therapy is a big feature of the spa, and they stay busy throughout the year.
My express facial impresses me on the name alone. There are actual times when no one in the family yells out my name, but those quiet spaces are rarely separated by more than thirty minutes. A spa’s express facial or express pedicure would allow me to slip away from the rest of the group and no one would even notice.
The problem with this plan is that esthetician Janet Sutton is so fun, I would want to stay longer. Janet explains that the express facial excludes the extraction process, with the balance of the full facial treatment using the Pavonia Botanical product line was done more quickly. Then she pulls over the diopter light. “I thought you said no extractions?” I say, suddenly an expert in the field.
“What’s your skin type,” she asks.
“Normal,” I guess, blowing my cover.
“Try again,” she says, after doing my close up.
Ellicottville Oasis Day Spa, 23 Jefferson St., Ellicottville, 14731, 699-8996, www.ellicottvilleoasis.com.
Catherine Berlin is an attorney living in Buffalo.
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