Completely SPAced out

When in Bangkok, the question isn't whether to visit a massage parlour or not. It is how to find one that has no dim lighting or porn magazines in the waiting room.

Mercifully, the one I found had neither. What it did have was the soft music of wind chimes and a masseuse who ended my quest for the perfect foot rub. The tab? Under $10. But before all you beauty bargain hunters rejoice, here's the real rub: such treatments closer home haven't come within nodding distance of the R word.

That's why there doesn't pass a week without a press release or two rhapsodizing about the benefits of a pricey mother-of-pearl massage or a warm herbal wrap in a new spa, even in these belt-tightening times. You can't even check into a hotel these days without the manager shepherding you to one of his many "wellness" rooms that aggressively court you with everything from waterfalls to mud baths. No wonder their clientele comprises the new royalty u2014 film stars, celebrities and politicians, not teachers, doctors or that fast disappearing tribe journalists who are not on a junket!