Feet First

Ajune
Before I'd had a chance to shed my street clothes, a sign instructed me that I had reached "the hall of whispers." While it sounds like a kindergarten teacher's game for quieting rug rats, I appreciated that they take their dulcet tones quite seriously at Ajune. Once settled into my terry-cloth bedchamber, with the sound of gurgling brooks washing over me, therapist Mary Ellen went to town, for a half hour ($70) of vigorous but well-lubed rubbing. Using a combination of massage and pressure-point techniques. Mary Ellen began to unearth what felt like asteroids under both of my big toes. A good amount of toe-pulling, calf-rubbing and asteroid-dislodging later, I sat up and asked Mary Ellen what was wrong with me. (In a slightly romantic medieval way, I hoped that I had issues with my spleen. ) Apparently I just have a lot of tension in my shoulders and lower back. I left feeling lighter all over, conscious that my feet were made of flesh and weren't–as they'd felt before–lumps of cold, hard clay.