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The Nam Hai
Spa D'Etat: The Nam Hai, Vietnam
"I love the smell of paradise in the morning"
By Kevin Raub
Published: Dec 01, 2007
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YAHOOVietnam as a tourism mecca doesn't sit so well on the average American's palette -- most folks are either old enough to remember the war and have no desire to relive any of those ghastly memories (In 20 years time, can you imagine deciding on how many pairs of shoes to take on your Baghdad vacation? I think not.); or, they are so blissfully unaware of the country's raw beauty and sugary-sand beaches to consider it in the first place. Either way, these are precisely the reasons I wanted to go -- blame my rebellious nature and distrust of authority and large crowds.
That, of course, and the fact that the country's first truly luxe property, the Nam Hai, has recently opened its doors near the UNESCO port of Hoi An in Central Vietnam, the first of six new resorts under development along a 14-mile stretch of pure paradise known as China Beach (and that's not counting the new Four Seasons going in across the way on the Cham Islands). In the late '60's, this is where American troops were landing (the military base is still here); nowadays, it's where the world is going to tan and tête-à-tête. Me? I'm going for a massage.
The $56 million property, the latest resort from trendy Pan-Asian-leaning GHM Hotels (the Setai in Miami, the Datai in Malaysia …who knows…the Mai Tai in Hawaii is probably next) boasts a world-class spa, which can always be a dicey proclamation in Asian countries save Indonesia due to some touchy-feely cultural taboos. I want a therapist who's not afraid to get up in there. I mean, seriously.
So it was with past-Asian spa trepidation that I approached the first of three scheduled treatments over three days, the signature Nam Hai Indulgence. The spa here is no doubt a beauty, designed by French architect Reda Amalou with Asian aesthetics in mind. The eight spa villas were built on a tranquil lotus lagoon, a stunning backdrop. Each of the villas clock in at a whopping 42-sq-meters, besting a former New York apartment of mine and nearly equaling that of my current one in Los Angeles. Why do I live like this? Because I get to go to lots of spas.
Each villa includes an all-in-one treatment room that houses a changing bathroom and a shower (eliminating the annoying locker rooms ubiquitous in most spas) and a relaxation room, the two of which are separated by a stone footbridge across the water. My Balinese therapist -- score! -- leads me across the bridge and commences our 2.5 hours together with a relaxing Australian sea salt foot polish (an idea borrowed from India). It's more ritual than therapeutic, but I won't shun anyone willing to rub my feet. Anyway, I'm sure she didn’t mind. My kicks are prettier than most boys (two words: manis and pedis). Yes, I'm straight. Thanks for asking.
The masterstroke of the Nam Hai Indulgence is the two-therapist massage combining elements derived from shiatsu, Thai, Swedish, Balinese and Hawaiian lomi lomi rubdown techniques. I'd never had that sort of threesome before. I went in weary, though, as two bad therapists would double the displeasure if things went awry. But when I met my second Balinese therapist, I knew chances of disaster were low, however.
Unlike North America and Europe, where the birthday suit is the uniform of choice during treatments, Asian spas generally issue a small, embarrassing mankini bottom to wear. A few minutes into my treatment, I wasn't sure why. These girls nearly left no stones unturned -- and I'm not referring to the warm stones, either. They were perfectly in sync and wonderfully trained. It was hands-down the best massage I have ever received in Asia.
A natural facial treatment followed, delivered simultaneously with an Asian-style foot massage. The facial sounded fantastic — watermelon, cucumber, yogurt, honey, and brown sugar applied in a six-step process — but the smell of it during treatment was distractingly stinky. The foot massage, less like the hardcore reflexology from Taiwan or China (pure torture during, pure bliss afterwards) than a more traditional, Western-style massage designed to just plain feel good, did feel great, but not great enough to take my mind off the nasty odor. Perhaps the yogurt had turned on my face? Let's hope not.
The whole thing ends in a warm flower petal bath prepared in the relaxation room. The girls served me fresh fruit brochettes made from watermelon, pineapple and strawberries; and sesame health cookies with grape and honey that were better than anything from Whole Foods. The next two days followed with a traditional Vietnamese massage and a warm stone massage. Both were wonderful, but nothing could take my mind off that first day of pure pleasure and excess.
As is the case with Vietnamese cuisine, something pungent doesn't always equate something foul.
The Nam Hai. Villas from $550, 011-84-510-940-000, www.thenamhai.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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