We can reach spas for the again

Health clubs have reopened, so what changes can you expect before you take the plunge?

T‘Would you like to wear some throwaway underpants?’ asks Arina, a striking blonde woman from Lithuania.

In a different setting, that wouldn’t sound quite right. But when you’re in an ovalshaped room with a flickering candle here, soulful music there and a whole cabinet filled with aromatherapy oils under the espa label, it’s perfectly normal.

It’s five weeks since spas were allowed to re-open (although to their chagrin, saunas and steam rooms have to remain closed) and the word is that they have been greatly missed. There are a lot of them. In fact, the UK now has more than 900 spas, employing 45,000 people, according to the UK spa Association. The industry is worth some £2 billion in a normal year.

spa days, in particular, seem to be a growing phenomenon, popular with mothers and daughters or groups of female friends. I don’t know of too many men who book in together for a spa package, but some of us chaps are only too happy to hop up on the treatment table for an hour or so.

The word spa is derived from the name of the town of spa in Belgium, which in roman times was called Aquae Spadanae. Then in 16th century england, the roman idea of medicinal bathing was revived in towns such as Bath and harrogate.

A big spa breakthrough happened in the early 19th century in saratoga springs, New York, when the area had two huge Greek revival hotels dedicated to ‘taking the waters’. Then the first day spa was introduced by elizabeth Arden in 1910, offering manicures, facials and so on.

Today, the buzz word is ‘wellness’ and it seems to cover the gamut, but the question is: what’s it like in the brave new world of visors, masks, bubbles, track and trace?

That’s what I’ve come to espa Life at Corinthia (the biggest spa in London) to find out. Not overly taxing is the answer, although the questionnaire you are asked to complete on a sanitised tablet takes ten minutes.

The list of possible medical treatments I might have had includes ‘microdermabrasion’ and ‘sclerotherapy’, neither of which rings a bell.

AfTer this, I’m asked to wash my hands and apply sanitiser before heading for the changing room. Any towels or robes must be deposited into a string bag after use.

surfaces all look shiny and there’s nothing on them such as a pot of combs or swish cologne that were de rigueur before Covid.

Arina is wearing a visor and asks if I would like her to use a mask, too. I don’t.

‘But would you like to wear a mask?’ she asks.

‘No. I’m fine unless you would like me to wear one.’

see what I mean about the deeptissue politeness.

I’m having a detoxifying swedish massage, which promises to ‘awaken the body’. But not immediately. In fact, I fall asleep until, like a piece of steak on the griddle, it’s time to turn over.

Almost the best bit is the scalp massage at the end using a product called Pink hair And scalp Mud.

Getting dressed after all this indulgence is depressing; getting back on the London Underground is a horrible shock. But, of course, spas thrive on stresses and strains. And we’ve had a few of those in the past five months. No wonder spa days are here to stay. here’s a lot of faffing about in spas. And comedy, too, in a polite sort of way.