Organic Spa Magazine

A few months ago, when my husband and I arrived in Taipei, the capital of the island of Taiwan, we didn't head for 101 (the tallest building in the world), the Chiang Kai-Shek Memorial Hall and gardens, or one of the many Buddhist or Taoist temples. Instead, we went to Linkou branch of the Chang Gung Memorial Hospital.

I had heard it was a healing center with luxury apartments for senior citizens, healthy food, and a hospital that offered oriental and western medicine. People came from the U.S., Europe, and Asia for affordable medical treatment and cosmetic surgery. But the draw for me was that they had recently opened a Chinese traditional herbal spa that was affiliated with the hospital-the first pairing of a spa and medical facility in Taiwan.

After our long flight, my husband and I were longing for a soak and massage, but I also had a lingering cough from the flu. It was the kind of cough that made people cringe when they walked by my seat on the plane, and the sort that made my face turn red and my ribs ache as though I had gone five rounds in a ring with a wrestler.

Upon entering, I was ushered into a reception area that was decorated with niches filled with large, white ceramic pots that held traditional Chinese herbs. Then two young Taiwanese women led me to a secluded area with chairs for incoming clients. They took my pulse and blood pressure, had me fill out a form with dozens of questions about my digestion, sleep habits, and history of afflictions. Next, I was introduced to Dr. Chen who invited me into his small, sparse office. He watched me cough and slump forward onto his desk from exhaustion.

"Bad cough," he said with compassion.

"Very bad cough."

He took my pulse for quite a while, looked at my tongue, and said, "you have dampness in your heart and lung channel."

Then he turned to my husband, who was healthy as a horse but-according to Dr.Chen's pulse reading-had a little deficiency of Yin energy in his spleen. "Later, I will give you medicine," the doctor said to me. "But for now you go for massage with your husband."

It was just the kind of diagnosis I craved: a nice, long, lingering session in a spa.

"I have prescribed special oils for each of you," said Dr. Chen.

We were escorted by the women who did our intake to a couples' spa room. It was spanking new, with a shower, a changing area, natural lighting that came through a large picture window, and an entire wall covered with a sepia-toned photo of a harmonious, elegant complex of traditional Chinese buildings. The room must have been designed by feng shui experts because we felt soothing, healing energy the moment we crossed the threshold.

"Please, have some tea," the women urged us. "It is very good and very healing."

They were right on both accounts. The delicious, warm infusion contained seven herbs that included Ziziphi Fructus (to quiet the spirit), Lycii Fructus (to improve vision and increase yin), Nelumbinis Embyro (to clear fire in the heart and compose the mind) and Sterculiae Semen (to reduce phlegm, relieve a sore throat, and improve hoarseness). I drank about six cups of it while two massage therapists prepared the twin tables with impeccably white linens and pillows.

We hopped up on the massage tables and I conked out. I would like to report rapturously on the long, stretching movements my therapist made along my back or the tapping, rocking manipulations of my muscles and tendons, or perhaps the penetrating work on specific pressure points, but from the moment my therapist touched my back with Dr. Chen's oils, I was off in dreamland. And so was my husband. I hope we weren't snoring in tandem.

When we awoke, the therapists offered us more tea. Then they told us our soaking tubs were ready; they had been filled with hot water and doused with Dr. Chen's herbs. They gestured to a space under the picture window at the back of the room that I hadn't noticed before. There were two tubs: one was a Jacuzzi bathtub and the other was...a ceramic teacup. The only thing missing was the saucer.

I climbed into the Jacuzzi tub and stretched out. My husband curled up into the traditional Chinese tub. His arms hung over the edge, like two tea bags. Then we traded places. I went for the brewing and my husband for the nice, stretchy soak. It was deeply relaxing to lie in the herb-infused Jacuzzi tub, and there was a touch of the womb in the teacup because we were in a sort of modified, upright fetal position, in a confined space, surrounded by liquid.

  When we had showered and dried off, we met once more with Dr. Chen. He asked how we liked our massages and soaks and said he had something for my cough-a preparation called Ching Fei Tang. It contained l6 customized herbs that were designed to eliminate phlegm, reduce mucus, dampness, and inflammation and clear my heat. He handed me l5 packets and said I should take three a day, one after each meal. I was to pour the contents of the packet into my mouth and then follow it with warm water.

It sounded easy, until I opened the first packet. It had the consistency of sand. Every time I finished a spectacular repast of dim sum with dipping sauces, chicken with grapefruit dressing, jelly fish with cucumber, or a myriad of other heavenly preparations, I opened my mouth, leaned back with my Adam's apple pointing toward the ceiling, poured in the contents of the packet and began to cough so violently that I sprayed everyone at my table with sand. Miraculously, no one stabbed me with chopsticks and my cough disappeared just as Dr. Chen had predicted, after five days.

The next time I have a cough, a passport, and a yen for a massage and dip in a teacup, I know where I'm going.

If you'd like to learn more . . .

• Medicinal use of traditional Chinese herbs is increasing among westerners because the herbs are not synthetic and have a low risk of side effects.
• Consultation with a reputable D.O.M. (doctor of Oriental Medicine) is recommended. He or she will typically feel your pulse, look at your tongue, and evaluate how your whole system can be balanced. 
• Chinese herbs are sometimes prescribed with acupuncture, or as a stand-alone treatment. You will often take the herbs in pill or liquid form for a week or more, until your yin and yang come into balance. 
• Over-the-counter Chinese medicines from established sources are available in health food stores and natural pharmacies. Don Quai, for example, is said to treat menstrual and menopausal symptoms and also helps with endometriosis.
•  In the early stages of a cold-when you have a scratchy throat, chills, clear nasal discharge, and feel achy-you can try Gan Mao Ling. Take the pills as soon as you feel the cold coming on.