Spavalous uncorked

A vineyard lines the roof of natural caves at Spa Terra, a Tuscan-designed spa that also houses a small space for the Meritage Resort's signature wine Trinitas tasting bar.

It is Frank's first visit to Napa Valley, California, and I am so happy to watch him experience his dream place. But first, he needs to relax, and as the fiance of a spa writer (that would be me), it is blasphemous for him to have NEVER received a spa treatment! He had been refusing couples treatments for months, but this time he couldn't refuse, as this treatment was prearranged, and we were far from Boston. He had nowhere else to go.

So, once in robes and slippers, I met up with Frank in the meditation room, where he seemed surprisingly at ease. From there, we were led to a room of grandeur – large Tuscan doors that opened under the curved archway into spacious room with two massage beds leading to a Jacuzzi for two, already bubbling with sparkling wine and infused berries. We were breathless, but knew we had but 25 minutes to enjoy the Spumante treatment -- and we did.

As we soaked and enjoyed the jets, we drank champagne and snacked on chocolate truffles while sounds of classical music surrounded us. Frank was happy, I was happy. And just when you think you could spend your lifetime in a bubble bath, a knock on the door brought us back to reality.

We dried off and headed to the corner of the room, where we had been instructed to pick out an aromatic oil of our choice. Each of about a handful of choices were related to a lifestyle issue. As most people would chose the de-stress oil, Frank and I were both headed there, but since it was his first spa treatment, I decided to go with my second choice: a de-tox version. Hindsight would tell me that I chose this "before" I ventured into wine country, sipping toxins at every stop. Oh well.

As this would be Frank’s first professional massage, and he would have flat-out refused a full body treatment, I booked a shoulder neck and scalp massage for both of us, as part of the Spumante treatment. Frank had no clue as to how good it would feel.

Our back, shoulders, neck and head were massaged with perfection, and as we enjoyed our treatment, we never said a peep to each other. The two masseuse’s worked our knots out for about 20 minutes before sending us back to the meditation room -- in a stress-free state of mind.

Frank (pictured above) looked as if he were floating out of the cave, with a look on his face that spoke volumes of the massage’s effects. He absolutely loved what had "just happened to him," as he has since referred to the treatment. Although resistant when I first told him about the spa treatment, he will never again argue when it comes to accepting total relaxation.

We left the wine cave, crossed the courtyard and headed back to our room that overlooked both the poolside courtyard, Spa Terra cave entrance and the vineyard. And we were thoroughly and joyously relaxed and ready to explore wine country.

If you'd like to read more about our adventures in California, click here.

Spavalous in Boston

Are your legs aching like mine are -- after walking for hours? Head to the urban oasis called the Spa at Mandarin Oriental, where you will deal with the top professionals, trained by Mandarin Oriental Hotel Group managers, who were trained by Aromatherapy Associates from the U.K. On the fourth floor, you'll walk into the sounds of nearby waterfalls and feel the energy of quartz candle holders as if you entered into Superman's cave -- minus the kryptonite.

A lovely staff member will guide you to a seat and slip on spa shoes for your visit. As you wipe your face with a wet and warmed facecloth and sip on chamomile tea, you fill out a "Lifestyle Consultation Form" before heading to the water area, where you can choose one or all offerings: a four-choice shower of two color or two hot options. I chose the tropical rainstorm button to feel as if I'm really away in the tropics. Then, head to the jacuzzi, a small swimming pool, actually. Spend about 10 minutes relaxing before stepping out and into the amazingly lit steam room. Twinkling stars change colors in this sensory experience.

Changing LED light colors in the steam room!

Now, dry off and slip on your spa robe and slippers and head to the meditative room, where the aromas and sounds are soothing to the point where you'll fall asleep -- until awakened gently by your massage therapist. Mine, Sara, was absolutely amazing, and it is at the Spa at Mandarin that I enjoyed a Boston-related treatment that was one of the best treatments I've ever received -- in a setting that offered no less than the best. I was there to receive the Commonwealth Comforter. I mean, really. I am from Boston, so might as well see what the Commonwealth can offer!

Well, it offers 1 hour and 50 minutes of perfect indulgence for my dry, out-of-condition skin. But first, Sara informed me that it is Asian tradition to bathe the feet and offer a treatment before the service starts. Who was I to refuse? My feet were in a bowl of warm water -- and atop stones that soothed. From there, Sara gently towel-dried my tooties and instructed me to lie face down on the massage table and cover up. My head fit in the comfy donut hole and the view, I must say, ranked! A bowl of aromatherapy infused water with floating florals that seemed to be orchids -- the decision on the flower kept me busy until Sara returned to start my treatment. She began with an intense body exfoliation of frankincense and coffee expertly maneuvered on to my body so that I felt like she was scratching an itch I couldn't get to.

When she was finished, I stepped into the adjoining shower room and rinsed, towel-dried, and returned for more. An exotically fragranced serum of geranium and vanilla left my skin soothed and refreshed. Then, layers of moisturizing oils and body butters were applied before I was wrapped in a cottony blanket to let it all seep into my pores. Oh, but it didn't end there. An application of hydrating facial products -- all rose aromas -- and a relaxing scalp massage complete this nourishing experience. When I heard the chimes, I knew my experience had come to an end, but I was too relaxed to be affected by sadness.

I floated back to my beautiful room in the Mandarin Oriental Boston and looked out at the view of Boylston Street, at Anthropologie and Abe & Louie's -- shopping and eating and spa treatment -- oh my!

Spa-rty for one in Montego Bay

A weekend break from a harsh winter in Boston brought me to Montego Bay, Jamaica, to Round Hill Hotel and Villas, where I headed directly to the lemongrass-infused treatment room at The Spa at Round Hill for an indigenous coconut body scrub treatment. However, once I began my treatment, I realized Denise, my masseuse, was NOT using a local coconut concoction, but an Elemis product. I'm well aware that Elemis is a luxury brand, so I should have been more than content.

And even though Denise gave me a superb body treatment, unafraid of applying pressure to my newly sunburned skin, and even though I love the essence of frangipani, I was still looking for something indigenous to go with my Exotic Coconut Rub and Soy Ritual Wrap.

OK, so if I couldn't get an indigenous coconut treatment on the outside, I'd treat myself to one on the inside. So I headed to the dining area at Round Hill, and ordered a piece of coconut cream pie, made with local coconuts. I devoured the slice of pie while looking out at the Caribbean Sea. Ya mon.

Spavalous in Scottsdale

One of the best weeks of my life was spent on a trip with a group of girls in the desert of Phoenix, Arizona. One of the first things I noticed once I stepped out of the airport, into the arid desert air -- was my hair: no more frizz! And each morning, I didn't have to finish blow drying, because it dried beautifully au naturelle, quite unlike what happens when I don't finish styling in Boston.

But that's not all.

I didn't need as much coffee in the morning, or as much sleep throughout the night. Maybe it was the luxurious surroundings of the spacious Hyatt Regency Scottsdale Resort and Spa at Gainey Ranch, with over a handful of outdoor pools and jacuzzis along a meditative walk with a mountainous view. This resort is by far one of my favorite places I'd like to re-visit -- especially in the comforting quiet of Spa Avania, the resort spa.

Heal, restore and replenish thyself.

You don't just get a body treatment at Spa Avania in Scottsdale, Arizona -- you get an expert Desert Essence Body Wrap (60 minutes, $165) experience by expert Esthetician, Naira Sarkisyan, who, after vigorously dry brushing with two hands at the same time, uses infused essence of cactus flowers in her massage mix ... sans prickles. Trehelose, a natural sugar bacteria found inside a cactus plant, is the active ingredient that hydrates and holds onto the moisture in your body, says Naira, who gave me the least intrusive body wrap I've ever experienced. And I've experienced many, and being a bit modest, I can tell you that being over-exposed is typical in a body wrap -- but not this one, thankfully. Naira worked one leg at a time, one arm at a time, and then spent time on my decollatage, scalp and face.

The outdoor view beckons from the treatment room at Spa Avania in Scottsdale. Once inside, select from 10 music playlists for your treatment. I chose Classical music.

"It’s not an exaggeration to say that Spa Avania is the most musically sophisticated resort spa in the world,”explained Gordon Tareta, Assistant Vice President of Spa Operations for Hyatt Hotels Corporation of the new, $9-million treatment and fitness oasis at the Hyatt Regency Scottsdale Resort and Spa at GaineyRanch. “In addition to offering music to match any mood, we also offer music that specifically complementsthe body’s natural cycles to assist each guest’s innate journey to equilibrium.”

My gal-pal Ingrid, from Sacramento, California, enjoyed her time spent in the Spa Avania

outdoor mineral pool.

The cut of Maastricht

A destination diamond in the rough

If it weren’t for my participation as an international wine judge, I would never have gone to Maastricht, a municipality in the southern area of The Netherlands that is split in two by the River Maas.

As one of a handful of American judges in the Concours Mondial de Bruxelles 2007, and with 20 American wines entered in the contest, I was at a slight disadvantage in the large group of multi-cultural experts.

You see, I only speak English, making me – not they – the foreigner.

Amid tongues speaking French, Dutch, Portuguese and Greek, I wallowed in self-deprecation for never taking on a second language of French. A bit of Spanish I knew, but that wouldn’t help me here. Luckily, Dinos, a wine newsletter editor, and George, a sommelier, both from Athens, speak English well enough to become my friends. Upon my arrival at Hotel NH Maastricht, an industrial area in front of the MECC, where the tastings were to be held, we have lunch together and sip 1996 Orpale Champagne. Although I can order a Panini sandwich anywhere in New England, I find my Panini with salmon and sweet cucumber to be an exotic delight. A café au lait and more Champagne send me off to slumber before a Portuguese wine tasting and dinner.

Tasting food and wine reminds me of the sensuality of discovering a new lover. You judge from the outside, get a taste for a possible attraction, and become either impassioned or repelled by the smell. Is it a match? Hold it, get used to the feel and swirl, smell again and think it over. A crescendo builds. The urgency overwhelms. Plunge in. Take a taste. Feel it, swish it around, and get to know it better. Oh, no, is that an aftertaste? Now I know I’m not ready for disappointment. Like love, wine may offer near perfection, but there is always a compensation or settlement. Maybe it’s an unattractive odor, but once sipped, the wine turns out to be delicious! Upon a swallow, even better.

Tasting wine was what this adventure was all about. And taste I did. Wine is everywhere I go. White Portugal wines are fruity, clean and fresh with a light, honeysuckle scent. These were the new releases tasted before dinner. The reds are young and my mouth chalks upon tasting; the tannins are strong. During dinner, the whites go well with the Portuguese fish I eat for dinner; the red Port goes well with dessert.

After dinner a group forms outside to enjoy the night air. A round of drinks are ordered, but I never receive the beer I ordered. Bewildered, my guess is that someone new arrived and assumed ownership. I cannot advocate for myself because I am a vernacular outcast. I observe the friendships formed as many judges meet up in reunion. A man in wooden clogs arrives. He is native to the Netherlands, as are many at this table. Everyone knows him and greets him with smiles and ‘dis’ and ‘dat’ chatter. He brings cheese and gifts to be distributed amongst his friends, one being a striking woman of Portugal, who gladly poses with him for a photo.

I’m in Maastricht, a destination excluded from my Top 100 places I yearn to visit. The opportunity was hard to resist, and my intention was to venture elsewhere when I could. Three of my five mornings were committed to the Concours Mondial de Bruxelles tasting room at the MECC, evaluating 50 wines each day as one of 220 judges. My plan was to leave in the afternoon and take a train to Paris one day, Amsterdam another. But after my first tasting experience, I was lured toward a Chilean wine- and food-themed lunch in the hotel. I passed on the wine, as my teeth were still stained with grape from the earlier tasting, and after lunch, a tour through Maastricht was offered for the adventuresome.

I decide to forego my intended plans to find out what Maastricht, home to where the 1992 Maastricht Treaty was signed and the European Union formed. And I’m glad I did.

Unbeknownst to me, this area of The Netherlands is representative of the rich, cultural construction of Europe. In 50 B.C., the Romans passed through from Northern France to Germany. A bridge was built and a settlement born. As population increased, the weight of the masses took its toll on the bridge and it collapsed. Much of the medieval architecture remains along the Maas River, and the oldest bridge in Europe, the Saint Servatius Bridge, named after the first Bishop of the Netherlands, remains after its reconstruction in 1280.

The landscape of Maastricht reminds me of New England, except that it is April, and the chestnut trees have already budded into beautiful, fragrant flowers, and the temperature feels almost 80 degrees. Spring arrives early in Europe.

By my second day in Maastricht, I am feeling more comfortable with the language barriers. The tasting experience was even better, and I suspect it had to do with the flights of sparking wine, my personal favorite. By noon, I was done for the day, but lured to the dining room yet again. Today it was a Mexican-themed lunch. As I made more friends, we sipped margaritas with top shelf tequila, a welcome change from the Mexican eateries I’ve frequented in my hometown. The zucchini and coriander soup was notably delicious.

After lunch, inhibitions were lowered, thanks to the “Margarita on steroids,” a phrase coined by San Franciscan wine guru Leslie Sbrocco’s husband, and a few of us rented bicycles offered at our hotel. It is April 30, Queen’s Day in Maastricht. Outdoor flea markets and cafes are endless; Trendy Witte beer and coffee shops that sell more than coffee (crystal marijuana cigarettes) appear at almost every corner. A waffle shop beckons us to order dessert before the celebration ends with fireworks and we head to a late dinner.

After dinner at a restaurant emulating a miniature Paris, I am lured to the nightlife by a group of energetic drinkers. One whose memory served him well leads us to a specialty beerhouse, De Leeuw’s Bieren, four blocks from our parked bikes. The nasty look of the owner clues me in to what he might have done in the past -- war captain? He surveys each of our individual preferences before deciding on what he will offer us to drink. I end up with a sweet, tart beer, “Oudbeitje,” that is supposed to taste like Champagne. It’s in a bottle with a cork, but still, my taste buds are not impressed.

Drinking through the day is tiring, but shopping all day is orgasmic; Italian designs are sold everywhere in downtown Maastricht. But then again, the look is thin, clingy and most of what I browse through is not for my middle age body!

On my third day, lunch proves disappointing. Cock-a-doodle-do I don’t, so I pass on the dark rooster meat. Our last dinner was in a once underground church-turned-cave, La Caverne de Geulhem, with its ancient fresco’s still looking fresh, setting the stage for a European experience I will leave on a high note.

As I am transported to Brussels for my plane ride back to Boston, I reflect on my worldly experience in tasting over 150 wines. And I arrive home with a stunning Luisa Spagnoli designer dress I will wear the following weekend for an event, making Maastricht an insert into my Top 100 places to recommend others to visit.

Spa Ya Sisters’ retreat

Once upon a time, three friends found a way to make weekly Weight Watchers’ meetings more fun.

Cheryl, Kathy and Charlene would meet each Saturday morning at 8 to attend Walter’s group session.

“If you always do what you’ve always done, you’ll always get what you always got,” he would say each time he ended the hour-long motivational session.

The three of us would then head to a nearby breakfast eatery and order up enough calories to tip the scales for the day.

During our weekly meetups, we decided to make this time an investment for our future, well, spa treatment future. We all chipped in $5 each week so that in six months’ time we would have enough to enjoy a deluxe facial or body massage. We booked our first getaway to the condo in New Hampshire that I inherited through my latest relationship. The three of us headed north to the White Mountains, where Champagne and Boursin cheese was unpacked and ready to share before heading to the Loon Mountain Spa for our treatments. Cheryl would get the hot stone massage, while Kathy got a Swedish massage; I signed up for a deluxe facial. We called ourselves the Spa Ya Sisters and after each treatment, we would laugh and enjoy good food, dance to Mustang Sally at the town bar, sleep late, enjoy a country breakfast, go for a hike in the woods, and then head on home until our next excursion.

Nothing lasts forever, and after my breakup, I lost access to the condo, we stopped going to Weight Watchers, and we enjoyed one last Spa Ya Sisters retreat during the weekend before Andrew moved out. My Sisters slept over my house and we had spa treatments in my hometown, then dinner and a night of dancing at a local Italian restaurant and bar. The next day, they packed up and left me to realize yet another devastation of my life.

Most romantic place on Earth

Venice is by far the most romantic place on the earth, specifically, the Rialto Bridge in San Marco. And then there’s the San Marco Piazza, which reminds me of a wedding scene in the Godfather film. Pigeons cover 80 percent of the ground, mainly attracted by the food the vendors sell to the tourists to hand feed the flying rats. Nighttime is romantic in the piazza, when the air is warm but there is no blazing sun on your shoulders, and the sound of an orchestra is within touch. This is also where I developed my newfound love for espresso and cappuccino.

On the inlet, Lido, five euro will get you the best pizza and liter of wine you’ve ever tasted. I know this because for three nights, that’s exactly what I ordered for dinner.

And the Italian men — forget about it! They are flirtatious, but in a good way. I received a catcall that made me want to tip the man who whistled.

There is a certain sophistication to an Italian man’s attentiveness to women. In fact, once while dining in an outdoor café, a man with a guitar began playing in front of our table. When he was through, he handed me a long-stemmed, single red rose. I walked on a cloud back to my room that evening. But the cloud burst when I turned on the television before turning in for the evening. I had no idea Venetian porn was so popular.

From Venice, I booked a four-person couchette with one of the students in my program, Elizabeth, the Goth. She doesn’t speak to me, unless she’s desperate. We roomed with two gay French men, who kept leaving the room throughout the night for cigarettes.