Years ago my brother-in-law, Jamie, and I (with great affection for one another) agreed to disagree about travel. Where I have an unquenchable thirst to comb the globe and explore ancient cultures, his steadfast belief is that “everything can be found in the United States.” So I am more than surprised when, over dinner one evening, he announces plans to see the Eiffel Tower and Arc de Triomphe in Paris and, perhaps, maybe even head over to Venice.

 As I lift my wine glass to toast his enlightenment, his blue eyes lock mischievously with mine. “Yep, I booked my tickets today,” he says, grinning. “I’m going to Vegas, baby! Wanna come?”
      “No thanks,” I say, laughing. There’s something fundamentally wrong about plunking Paris’ most famous architectural icons down in the middle of the Mojave Desert. But months after my brother-in-law’s sojourn (and, yes, he now believes he never needs to see the “real” Paris), I, too, have come to Las Vegas — not at his recommendation, but to check out the fast-growing, high-luxe spa scene. For the past few years, colleagues, especially, but friends and family as well, have expressed disbelief that I’ve never been to Las Vegas.
      “Never? Not even once?” they’d ask.
      “No,” I’d reply, testily. Truth is, prior to the city’s recent spa boom, I had no reason to go. Gambling (or “gaming” as they call it here) is of no interest, and if it were, Atlantic City is an easy, less-than-two-hour drive from where I live. As for posh restaurants and celebrity chefs — I have Manhattan. But Las Vegas, with its flashing red-blue-pink neon lights, leggy showgirls, and round-the-clock casinos, has never been a predictable city. From its founding as a dusty railroad town to its Bugsy Siegel and Howard Hughes heydey of excess, illicit desire, and refuge from the law, this desert city has constantly reinvented itself. Just when its allure seems on the verge of fading, the old scene implodes and a second act rises — be it a new star chef, a 4,000-room hotel, a mini Eiffel Tower, or its latest incarnation: tranquility.

 YES, BEYOND THE STRIP’S famed dancing fountains and erupting volcanoes, sophisticated and tastefully appointed spas are taking hold, offering an exciting tapestry of global spa rituals and a welcome haven from all the man-made madness. Peering now, from the window of the $377,750 Maybach in which I’m riding (courtesy of MGM Grand when you book a Skyloft), I have to admit, it’s all a bit dazzling.
      I’m staying in the two-story glass-and-steel, Tony Chi– designed Skyloft for only one night because (unless I gamble and win big) it’s all I can afford. And I’ve no desire to gamble. I’ve come to play in the loft’s oversized steam shower and colored-light infinity tub, which my Russian butler Slav has ready for me upon arrival.
      After handing me a cool and healthy concoction of watermelon-and-cantaloupe juice, he shows me, with white-gloved hands, the idiosyncrasies of the loft — the allin- one remote that controls temperature, lights, music, and shades; how to operate my Jura-Capresso coffee machine; and, most importantly, how to summon him for anything — more baths, specialty pillows (buckwheat, butterfly, body), and spa treatments.
      The moment the door closes, I shut out the view, hit “mood” and “bliss” on my remote (adjusting the lighting and music, respectively), and sink into the waiting hot Jacuzzi bath. A button to my left brings tiny, champagnesized bubbles; a push to my right, swirling pink-and-blue, purple-and-red lights. For hours I play, moving from my private Portuguese-limestone-tiled steam room to icecold rain shower to comfy chaise, where I rest, drink Voss water, and savor the fresh red raspberries and blueberries Slav has somehow discreetly delivered. Once properly cooled, I ring for another bath. This time, Slav arrives with a chilled eye mask, lavender-and-green tea bath infusion, and chocolate galore.
      My evening plan is to book a treatment in the loft’s exclusive Skyspa — I was thinking an exotic Aboriginal Dreaming ritual or raindrop therapy session. But after a third steam-and-bath round in my room, followed by more berries and chocolate, I’m fast asleep under luxurious Anichini sheets and down comforter. In the morning I make a cup of foamy cappuccino before heading to two of The Strip’s most luxurious spas — the Bathhouse at TheHotel at Mandalay Bay and Spa Bellagio, both open to non-guests on weekdays.
      Black-and-grey sleek, with splashes of white orchids and low-lit candles, TheHotel could easily reside in New York City or Los Angeles; there’s no spectacle to it, just elegant style. And Bathhouse, with its suede-lined walls, dark floors, winding corridors, and hidden baths, is just as chic. The specialty here is the water chamber (men’s and women’s areas are separate) featuring hidden hot-and-cold plunge pools, high-design steam rooms and saunas, and narrow rooms with private tubs.
     After completing a sometimes puzzling, very personal questionnaire — “Am I secretly: insecure, envious, self-critical, stubborn, misunderstood, unmotivated, or self-centered” — answers are computer-analyzed and from them, a customized massage/bath oil is formulated. In my case, the result is a combination of verbena and neroli (to relax) and rose geranium (to balance) which I bring with me to one of the secluded tubs.
     At Spa Bellagio, I follow my therapist Chris down a long corridor inlaid with nephrite jade for my Deep Coconut Surrender, an hour-plus treatment featuring deep tissue massage and Pure Fiji products made from ingredients hand-pressed in small Fijian villages. Selecting a treatment here is difficult, as the spa offers numerous exotics including Ashiatsu, the exclusive Pevonia Tropical Enzyme Escape body treatment, and The Strip’s only Watsu experience. But ultimately, it’s the therapist who makes the treatment, and I’ve heard Chris, a former instructor at the Nevada School of Massage Therapy and one of the lead therapists at Bellagio, is a master. Throughout the treatment, I cannot tell where his hands end and hot stones begin, nor can I differentiate between the drizzling of hot coconut milk and the placement of warm compresses on my back. The movements are, delightfully, one. When the fantasia ends, I want him to start over again. Instead, I stumble into the candlelit meditation room, surrounded by orchids and cascading water walls for a light spa lunch of shrimp, mango salsa, and arugula — with no desire to ever leave.

 OFF THE STRIP, NEW HIGH-GLITZ-AND-GLAM spas are also rising. When Las Vegas’ famed Fertitta brothers, Frank III and Lorenzo, opened Red Rock Casino Resort Spa last April (2006) on the west side of the valley, Sting performed and celebs danced the night away in Rande (married to Cindy Crawford) Gerber’s sensually red Cherry nightclub. But for all the see-and-be-seen scene here, Red Rock offers a sophisticated, elegant spa — developed and designed by Cary Collier and Architropolis. The first of its kind in Las Vegas, Red Rock provides both a luxurious in-spa experience with standout treatments like Kerstin Florian’s caviar facial (book with Danuta, a Poland native who knows her skincare), and an outdoor adventure program including sunrise horseback riding, morning yoga in the garden, guided hikes, and mountain biking across miles and miles of trails in nearby Red Rock Canyon. Healthy spa cuisine is offered, and this fall, cooking classes and well-being lectures are being added.
     But the ambience at Red Rock is conducive to forgetting about the outside world. After entering through ruby-tinted glass doors into the chocolate-hued lobby splashed with crystal chandeliers and bowls of apples and roses, the rooms greet you with deep soaking tubs and views of either the faroff Strip or nearby red rocks. The elevator lets you off directly at the spa, so you feel comfortable traveling to it in your robe and slippers. There you’ll find more deep red and chocolate hues, curvy lines, water elements, and natural light spilling onto a private lap pool surrounded by cabanas framed with cooling water mist.
    “We really want people to see this as a sacred space, a destination where once they enter, they want to stay awhile,” says Collier. “We pushed hard for gathering spaces, such as the lap pool and yoga garden, to provide both indoor and outdoor experiences. Las Vegas is a competitive market where most spas only have interior spaces. The spa at Red Rock and its compelling outdoor amenities make it unique. Station Casinos is one of those rare companies with the gift of getting it right.”
     When Frank Fertitta Jr., built his first casino, Palace Station, critics laughed and said no one would come. But Frank Jr. instinctively knew that locals would. And they did. When his sons took over the company, they added more properties and in 2001, entered the local luxury market with Green Valley Ranch, a Mediterranean-style, old-world casino resort east of The Strip. Last year, Collier and Architropolis overhauled Green Valley’s spa, which, totally separate from both hotel and casino, offers eight “water rooms” featuring glass ceilings with water overhead (from an outdoor waterfall); cozy fireplaces; steam/sauna/whirlpool circuits; an outdoor lap pool with a watery wall; even a small grape vineyard leading to the spa. Locals frequent the spa, along with a growing number of in-the-know tourists, with the favorite treatment being the Mediterranean-inspired Orange Oasis — a combination orange-infused body scrub and massage.

 LUXURY CONTINUES FURTHER EAST (17 miles off The Strip) at the spa at The Ritz-Carlton, Lake Las Vegas. Like Fertitta, Lakes Las Vegas’ visionary Ron Boeddeker was told he’d be crazy to build off The Strip; that tourists would never come. The idea proved quite sane, however. The Tuscan-inspired Ritz-Carlton is now one of several highluxe properties here and though first-time guests typically do The Strip before checking into The Ritz for a night or two, most wish they’d started there — and second-time guests usually do.
     While there’s reportedly a casino at The Ritz-Carlton, I never find it (not that I’m looking). I am too busy stargazing at night in the garden and receiving olive oil scrubs, new Prada treatments, and — most decadently — cocooning into the spa’s signature Hydrating Blue Flowers wrap: vanilla; vitamin E; almond milk; and fragrant iris, hyacinth, camellia, and malva flowers.
     On my last night in Vegas, the intoxicating scent of those flowers still lingering, I ring the concierge. In my 72-hour whirlwind tour, only one thing is missing. Hours later — my skin silken — I’m in the backseat of a Town Car (compliments of The Ritz- Carlton), with hard-to-get tickets for a Celine Dion concert in hand. Immediately after the show (yes, the driver waited), zipping past flashing neon lights en route to the airport, it’s clear: There’s no doubt a new day is dawning in this chameleon city — a new spa day that continues to evolve. Earlier this year the luxurious Wynn Las Vegas spa opened (to guests only); in 2009, a Mandarin Oriental is set to open; and a very European Qua Baths & Spa just opened this November at Caesars Palace with lavish Roman baths, an ice room, and a special treatment in which Swarovski crystals will be applied to the body for the ultimate glamorous night out. Who would have guessed? My brother-in-law is onto something. And while I’ll always have Paris, now I have Las Vegas, too.

Trackback URI |