Hands on at Chuan Spa at the Langham Place Hotel

Chuan Spas (recently named Best Spa for Men in Asia for the Langham Place Hotel branch) are supposed to be really good. They base their treatments on Chinese philosophies of the human body and boast proficiency in traditional Chinese therapies. They also charge a lot of money.

I visited Langham Place's Chuan Spa to find out what a Chinese-inspired spa treatment with a four-digit price tag can physically do for me. Choosing something called the Tao of Detox, a two-and-a-half-hour treatment to detoxify my skin and get ready for summer baring, I went on an alcohol and red meat blitz two days prior to my appointment, using the excuse at every bite and swallow that I was merely trying to get the most value out of my HK$1,725 that is going to be spent on resetting my body at the spa.

So it was that I ended up at Chuan, puffy-bodied, eyes swollen, not happy.

Nothing could please me. The receptionist was too cheery, the view from the 41st floor windows gave me vertigo, the jacuzzi was too hot, steam baths suffocating, tea flavorless. I moped to the waiting room in my robe, dreading being confronted by some bubbly therapist about how I was feeling that day.

Finally, from a darkened doorway, emerged Ananda. Half Thai, half Chinese, short, a bit heavy, with the face of an Asian cherub. Ananda was not the intimidating therapist I had been expecting. I guessed early 30s, but I later found out she is over forty years old with decades of experience as a therapist in Thailand. Ananda pragmatically whisked me off to the treatment room, ran me through the different steps of the treatment, and asked: "You no sleep well?"

Is it that obvious? 

"You eyes very swollen. No problem. Treatment very good for you. Don't drink water before sleep, otherwise eyes very swollen." Reassuring, frank smile. There's something about Ananda.

The high level of intimacy between spa-goer and therapist is something that keeps many people away from spas. You're in a dark room, naked, prone, head caught in a slightly restricting device, and vulnerable to the actions of a stranger. But Ananda made it clear she was not here to pass judgement, like blunt therapists I've had in the past who would comment on every flaw on my body; nor is Ananda here to fawn and grovel, like the overeager therapists I've met who try to cover their inexperience with compliments.

No, Ananda is the third bowl of porridge. She's just right. Throughout the 150 minutes in the room with her, she did not irritate me once, and in fact, intuited everything I needed. Several instances stand out in my memory. First, after the full body scrub, I was suddenly really thirsty. Before I could say anything, Ananda presented me with warm tea: "Thirsty?" she asked. Creepy.

Then, after the body wrap (which was a gooey green Thalgo product smelling of seaweed), she slathered me in essential oils and performed the Chinese acupressure massage that also incorporated Thai massage techniques. It truly was one of the best and most unique massages I have had, where Ananda just knew exactly which nook or cranny of my body was hurting, when she was applying too much pressure, or not enough. As she was massaging my right shoulder, my right palm suddenly started cramping and she immediately pressed on my hand to relax it. How could she possibly have known I was uncomfortable? Did I twitch my hand? Certainly it was too dark to see. Does everyone's hand react the same way?

During the facial -- which I must point out, included cotton wool soaked in some Thalgo miracle tonic that was placed over my eyes and thoroughly de-puffed and brightened them -- I finally fell asleep. When I woke up, I had no idea where I was and mistook the cotton wool for a blindfold and towels for straitjackets. Panic rose in me as I ripped off the cotton wool and flung it to the floor. I then saw that I was in Chuan, realisation flooded me, and I called out without thinking.

"Ananda?!"

But my voice was barely a squeak.

The door opened and Ananda breezily walked in with fresh tea. A perfectly timed entrance.

Did she know I would wake at this moment? Or was she waiting at the door and heard me call? I did not ask, because by this point, I was convinced that Ananda simply has superpowers and can read her customers' minds.

Or maybe in my post-binge haze I was just being melodramatic. But at the end of the morning session, I walked away from Chuan prettier and happier than when I arrived, and certain that there are great spa therapists in the world.