Resting our Neurons

We go to a very fine resort hotel (cheap during the cusp season) to rest our neurons for a few days. I find I am hyper-sensitive to illusions and marketing ploys. Am I ruined for enjoying a theatrically manipulated escape from stress?

The spa: Orchestrated smells, decor, music, etc. Very pleasant but familiar and ritualized. I judge the spa against others I have visited. I see past the illusions to minimum wage workers (actors in the illusion) providing personal service to people. I choose not to participate in the illusion, instead chatting with the manicurist about her life. In doing so, I am less relaxed.

The spa lap pool, perfectly situated with regard to the sun, and free of romping children is warm and very relaxing. Papa and I enjoy "extreme" wallowing: back and forth from the hottub to the pool for several hours. No illusion here, just sensation. The unwinding begins in earnest.

The room: Decorated to insinuate very expensive bed chambers in a southwestern villa. I am aware of the manipulation. Why does the bath seem so much more pleasant in the presence of lovely marble and glass? I continue to observe the illusion, but then am soon absorbed in the experience of immaculately clean-smelling crisp cotton bedsheets on an excellent mattress and perfect pillows. Only a human hug feels better than this, and this alone is worth the price of admission.

We leave the patio door open to hear the sounds outside and smell the air. I consider the effort of the musicians, playing all day in 90 degrees. We hear the exhuberant whoops of many children and see families relaxing together. Papa comments that these are people enjoying their vacations that they spent days planning, months ago. We laugh. I wonder if they buy the illusion. I remember how thoroughly I did when I was younger. I am glad this is an enjoyable day for them. I am grateful for the work of the musicians.

The restaurant: Healthy fresh food, impeccably prepared, artfully seasoned. There are no illusions here. No merengue swans, or glacee'd tarts. The food is real and whole, though it violates the tenso's admonishment to serve only plain food. I savor every bite as we sit outside in the shade of an umbrella. I do more than savor- I embrace, I immerse.

This is no zen retreat, but I feel much rested and restored despite my reticence to participate in illusion. I idly wonder if there is a retreat somewhere in the world that has all of the sensory nourishments without the theater.