Around here, the mere mention of the name Mirbeau sends people into fits of ecstacy: while most people we know haven't been there themselves, the word connotes luxury, pampering, and a healthy kind of decadence (e.g., you can order the chocolate cake for dessert because you know the ingredients are organic). Just an hour or so from Rochester, in the lakeside, historical town of Skaneatles, and one quick turn off the beaten path, there sits a spa of national merit, where one parks the car and walks into a Monet painting. Nevermind all the lavender and lillies beside the startling replica of Monet's bridge over the bubbling pond where the koi fish swim happily around the lily pads, because you have stuff to do. Mirbeau greeted us with a bottle of delicious champagne in our room (I brought strawberries from home); and somehow we managed to enjoy about half of it before stepping out to prepare for our spa treatments (previously booked). Given robes, lockers, and even the house flip-flops, we soaked in the spa's 12-person, outdoor hot tub (the nearby fireplace was lit despite it being 80 degrees) for a spell before dipping into the cooling footbath of the adjacent "relaxation room," or what Heath called "the Roman Baths Room," pictured here
(though this really doesn't do it justice--so quiet, so dark, so tranquil). This is where spa-goers rest *before* their treatments, ahem. Heath and I both thought we'd forego the typical massage route, so we opted for French Clay treatments that involved paintbrushes and heat blankets. But man, were we shiny after that! With our supple and toxin-free skin in tow, we shlepped (because really, after this sort of treatment one is no longer walking, but floating deliriously) into our respective eucalyptus steamrooms and then freshly showered with all sorts of nice lavender-y spa product to prepare for dinner.
Dinner is four courses: in short: salmon/sashimi; duck with potato and some tricky roasted veggies; beef tenderloin with in-season veggies; "mood-altering" chocolate cake. Additionally, Chef Moro sends "gifts" intermittently throughout the meal, so we also tasted fresh olive bread, champagne sorbet, fresh, still-hot madelines and chocolate-raspberry truffles. A pinot noir goes well with all of it, by the way. Comfortably full, we sashayed back to our petite chateau over the bridge.
This morning, Heath finally got his much-needed massage while I was the only member of a cardio class; once more to the hot tub and steam rooms, and it was time to go home. Ahhhhhhh. This kind of living sure costs a lot of Monet--good thing we had gift certificates.
