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| - My girlfriend booked us each, one and a half hour sessions for a pre Valentine's day gift. I filled out the necessary paperwork, indicating the areas of my body that I wanted the therapist to concentrate on. I was escorted to my room (10 minutes late) which was behind the lobby wall, and could hear the very loud conversations in the lobby the entire session. The therapist had to turn up the Zen music to the point that I thought I was at a Yanni concert. There was also someone going in and out of a room down the hallway, letting the door slam and shaking the ceiling tiles in my room and disrupting my experience to the point that my therapist had to leave me and go have the talk. So, as far as the actual massage went, I spent the majority of my time on my back, face up, with the therapist working me over like I was a football player in the locker room. I was streached and balled up, legs pinned, ankles behind my ears, to the point that I had to say "ouch" several times before the therapist got the hint. Unfortunately, I showed a slight interest in a conversation that was started by the theripist, and I guess that opened up the flood gates to tell me this person's entire life story. As I am laying their wincing in pain, listeni,g to the drivel, all I could think of was, "STFU!"
So, I finally get to roll over and have the therapist start working on my lower back, as indicated in my paperwork as an area needing most of the attention, but instead, I get scalded by super heated towels on my ham strings. I get a quick leg and foot rub down, then I'm informed that my 90 minute session is over. WTF? I never once had my lower back touched!!
This place might be good if the right therapist works on you and you can tune out all the distractions, but I had no such luck.
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