A friendly therapist in a blue smock kneels at my feet and places them in an Oriental bowl filled with seaweed and mineral salts. She quietly chimes small Tibetan bells, and then proceeds to wash my feet.

"Take a deep breath and just let anything you want to let go of fall into the bowl," she says.

Sitting next to me, my decidedly non-metrosexual date sips mountainberry tea and awkwardly selects some grapefruit oil for the facial he's about to receive from Kresimir, a burly Turkish therapist.

I can't decide which part of this is more absurd.

Even though we have just emerged from an "amethyst crystal steam bath" ("designed to channel the healing powers of the crystal," says Denise Vitiello, the spa's director), we're not on some New Age-y retreat in the wilds of New Mexico. In fact, there's nothing "back to the land" about this.

We're in Manhattan, inside the elegant Mandarin Oriental Hotel, 35 floors above the honking taxis rounding Columbus Circle. And we're about to embark on one of the most indulgent -- and expensive -- spa experiences in the city: the $1,150 VIP Couple's Suite at the hotel's five-star spa.

What you get for $1,150

Even by New York standards, the price is outrageous. A few miles downtown, $40-an-hour Chinese tui na massage parlors dot the cityscape. Even at Exhale, a tony spa on plush Central Park South, a four-handed massage will set you back only $230.

But the Mandarin Oriental's offering isn't just a massage. It's a date -- and a fairly lavish one at that.

Tell us: What's the most you've ever spent on a date?

For one thing, this isn't just any rubdown. For the next three hours, we will be cleansed, brushed, scrubbed and massaged -- side by side -- as the two therapists deliver customized "time rituals."

"The idea is that we tailor the treatments to you in a block of time based on the initial consultation," says Vitiello.

It starts with a foot bath

We also have full access to the spa's Jacuzzi and steam room. And at the end, we will be served a gourmet dinner as we lounge on a Chinese kang bed next to a gas fireplace. When I add it all up -- the massage for two, plus dinner for two (easily $100-$200) and some quality time in a hot tub -- the price tag suddenly doesn't sound quite so extreme.

"A long time ago people walked long journeys to visit

friends and family," says Jen, my massage therapist, as she rinses my feet. "When they arrived, their feet were cleansed and they were given tea and welcomed into the home."

In modern New York, I think, people walk everywhere and I've never had my feet washed.

"How are you feeling today?" she asks.

"Stressed," I say.

It has been one of those annoying New York days. The subway pulled out of the station just as I arrived and taxi drivers honked at me in the crosswalk. By the time I arrived at the spa, I was on the verge of tears. I envied the fancy hotel guests from Hong Kong and Rome, coming and going in blissed-out oblivion, not realizing how insulated they were from the city's grit and chaos.

"We'll do something calming that works on your nervous system," Jen says to me. "What kind of massage do you like?"

I close my eyes, smell the lavender oil and flash back 10 years: I am lying on the beach in Thailand, with a shiny, shirtless man in purple pants stretching my body in every direction.

"I guess I like Thai massage," I say.

"What kind of pressure do you like?" she asks.

"A lot of pressure," I say.

"OK, so we'll do Thai massage using deep pressure and we'll focus on your back," she says.

My date decides on a deep-tissue Swedish massage with potent rosemary and eucalyptus oil. I can tell he's starting to enjoy himself.

Apparently he's not the only one. Vitiello, the spa director, has told me that more and more men are coming to the spa. In fact, she says, the spa's top client is a man, a high-powered corporate lawyer she refuses to identify. Last year alone, she tells me, he spent about $230,000 on treatments.

"It used to be considered unmanly to get a facial or body wrap," she said. Not anymore. Client X, she says, "comes twice a week -- and brings clients as well."

Jen and Kresimir bring us over to the massage beds. Bach is playing; outside the windows, the sky is pink and the city lights are flickering on. My date and I giggle and then sink into our beds for a body scrub. The therapists use firm-bristled brushes to exfoliate our skin, then scrub us down with aloe and spearmint body polish. We "ooh" and "aah" like kids.

After a rinsing shower, we get facials with cleansing milk; Kresimir rubs pink hair-and-scalp mud through my date's hair. The massages last for a long hour. By the time Jen is done, I feel like I'm floating; my date looks like he's going to fall asleep.

Afterward, a waiter delivers two bento boxes while we sit cross-legged on the bed in big, fluffy white robes. "I hope you enjoy your meal, Mr. and Mrs. Lehmann-Haupt," he says, using my last name.

'Steamed, rubbed and scrubbed'

My date turns slightly red, but digs into the food: spicy steak salad and warm chocolate cake. "This is a highlight," he says.

He doesn't know how right he is. After a stressful day, hearing his appreciation is the best part of the experience. After all, that's the telltale sign of any great date -- no matter what the price.

Published June 5, 2008

Return to the Extreme Luxury home page