Spa D'Etat: Qua Baths and Spa, Las Vegas

A Hawaiian flesh session set against Roman enchantment at Caesar's Palace

By Kevin Raub
Published: Dec 06, 2007

No matter how many times I visit Las Vegas, I never get used to the insanity of it all. Do we really need another gargantuan casino? Apparently, we do. Donald Trump is building one along with a host of others. Will it ever stop? Doubtful. Will I ever get used to it? No. Will I continue to indulge myself in it? You bet your ass.

On a recent visit, I decided to indulge myself at Qua Baths and Spa at Caesar's Palace, the Strip's latest and greatest spa—a title that ought to last all of a month or so. Like all things Las Vegas, Qua is over-the-top: 51 treatments rooms, 75 "artisans" (as the therapists are called), 50,000 square feet, and enough water (between the Roman baths and the cascading waterfalls throughout the spa) to sink the Titanic. I nearly drowned just walking to my locker.

Despite its size, though, Qua is an oasis of tranquility, far away from the bells and whistles of the casino. At first, I was annoyed when I arrived for my treatment and there was a line to check in—this is not a buffet, people—but quickly saw my blood pressure lower as I traversed the dark, soothing corridors to the men's lounge. Once I changed, I was escorted to the first of many rooms that make Qua unique—the Laconium room, apparently a tradition from ancient Rome.

Inside, heated, contoured benches fashioned from tumbled mosaic limestone feel like an overheating Lay-Z-Boy. Rockin' my comfy Chadsworth & Haig Ultimate Doeskin robe, I rapidly sink into a state of relaxation and serenity. All I need is a harem of Roman goddesses to complete my Bacchanalian fantasy. I didn’t want to leave when my “artisan” comes to fetch me.

Even though I’m in Vegas, I’ve been assured by people in the know to go for the Hawaiian Lomi Lomi massage at $170 a pop (yeah, I stayed at the Holiday Inn Express the night before). My “artisan” isn’t Hawaiian, but she did train with renowned Hawaiian medicine specialist, Dr. Maka’ala Yates.

Lomi Lomi is a treatment that, in Hawaii anyway, usually involves a physical and spiritual element. A fluid, rhythmic motion using the forearms and hands to slather on coconut oil characterizes the physical side. I don’t know much about the spiritual side, and apparently my “artisan” doesn’t, either. As she first drips on the coconut oil, the smell is overwhelming—like an orgy with the Hawaiian Tropic Girls. Soon, I adjust, and just surrender to my therapist’s excellent hands.

“Do you write on a computer all day?" she asks as she uses her forearm like a rolling pin, flattening my doughy back muscles like a freshly paved cul-de-sac. "Why as a matter of fact, I do. Ugh!" She may not be able to dance hula, but she owned the massage table. She also removed her shoes, one of my gauges for whether or not a therapist is simply punching the time clock or a true healer. When it was all over, she says, "Whew! You needed that," validating my own belief that I don’t just write this spa column for free massages, but do have actual needs here. Thank you very much.

Afterwards, I have time to enjoy all of Qua's extras, including the hottest, most functional steam room I have ever had the privilege of enjoying. From there, I switch over to the Arctic Room, a purple-hued cavern kept at 55 degrees, complete with fake snow falling from the ceiling. It's a beautiful contrast to the steam, and a little chilly, but a hell of a lot more sensible than those crazy Muscovites who jump into freezing cold Russian lakes. Or another casino megalopolis, for that matter.

Qua Baths and Spa, 866-QUA-0655, www.quabathsandspa.com

Kevin Raub is a freelance travel and entertainment writer who contributes regularly to Travel+Leisure, Town & Country, American Way, and Organic Spa, among others. When asked the usual, "When was your last professional massage?," he loves being able to answer, "Ummm...yesterday."

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