When you walk in, it’s not promising. The place looks like a suburban strip-mall salon—because that’s what it is. As I sat in the main waiting area, stocked with a big assortment of fun magazines, I noticed a little girl getting a haircut, while her younger sister spun around in the next chair. It’s that kind of place.
Off to one side, behind a door, is a section that’s sealed off from the noise and bustle of the hair stations. The salon has made the most of the space. Outside the three treatment rooms, in a short hall, are chairs and tables where you can rest with a glass of water.
Roxanne, my massage therapist, guided me to the spa, where I filled out a one-page health questionnaire before disrobing and slipping under the sheet of the heated massage bed. Candlelight and soft music were a nice touch, but Roxanne’s sure strokes were all I needed to drift into deep relaxation. It was one of the nicest massages I’d had in a long while. And, at $83 for an hour, a good value.