On another planet in Knightsbridge | Bamford Haybarn Spa & Treatments at The Berkeley

I once had a friend who was heartbroken most of the time – her mother killed herself with a newly purchased shotgun and in the same month her husband left her and laid a claim over her frozen eggs which had to be defrosted. She said the only time she wasn’t miserable was when she was being massaged.

Is that because she could forget about the pain in her heart if someone was pummelling her back? No. Apparently it was the only thing that could transport her from herself in a depressive state that was so intense alcohol no longer worked as a release.

I’ve never been that depressed or had that good a massage. I usually mean to have one after a long transatlantic flight. I usually never do, and if I do the pain in my neck, shoulders and back is usually temporarily worsened by the Korean lady who always seems to have too many knees and elbows. The only transportation is from dull pain to sharp pain.

Cue the Bamford Haybarn Spa & Treatments space at The Berkeley hotel. I wasn’t sure who Lady Bamford was but I looked her up and apparently she’s “Queen of Green”.  While she could have spent time polishing diamonds she spent time with her ethics and created one of the first organics farms and has won endless awards for her products. She has a Haybarn farm and yoga retreat in Daylesford, Gloucestershire and her treatments are available at Hotel du Cap Eden Roc and you can’t get more transporting or more chic than that.

The Berkeley hotel is in dirty grey Knightsbridge. The rooftop spa seems to be on another planet. Little pots of lavender, rosemary and thyme scent the air. Everything is a soothing off-white with hints of creamy mushroomy beige. On the rooftop there’s a view of a surprisingly leafy city. There’s a herb garden with sun loungers and a menu of smoothies and light bites to be taken around the Grecian themed pool. The turquoise water beckons only models and darkly tanned millionaires. You imagine the pool at the Ritz where Pamela Harriman took her last breaststrokes. If she weren’t living in Paris she would probably have died in this pool. This is London, but it seems like an entirely other place.

In the all white treatment room at the Bamford Haybarn at The Berkeley I smell beautiful oils and choose which one I want for my massage. Apparently you choose the one your body most needs. I want to get on with the massage so I don’t dispute this theory to the therapist, but I think if that were the case with men, work and life generally, there would be no need for therapeutic massage and defrosted eggs. My body has a habit of craving exactly what it doesn’t need.

I chose the rosemary grapefruit and the Bamford body signature treatment began. It’s 85 minutes long. After the first few wonderful minutes I wished it were going to be much longer.

There are chic little twists, including a cleansing footbath, so your feet are immaculately cooled before they are awakened with reflexology. The massage is a mixture of shiatsu, Swedish and meridian manipulation. And maybe even reiki. I certainly felt energy ebbing and flowing through my body and at one point I felt as if I was lifting out of myself.

The treatment is designed to detox and energise at the same time.  There’s attention given to thighs, calves, neck and shoulders, but for me the most interesting part was the stomach massage. I had just experienced a week in which I had spent 15 hours in the air. Planes dehydrate you and puff you out. During the stomach massage I could feel the de-puffing process as deft fingers moulded and tucked. At one point I heard gurgling. I was floating.

The massage also involves stones. I am not sure why the stones are needed – perhaps to keep your spirit inside of your body. I was brought back into my self by yogic breathing and then strolled by the pool to await hibiscus tea and a further wind down.

I have to say this bit didn’t go so well. I burnt my hands on the hot metal teapot when I poured tea into the hot metal cup, so I had to have some more cucumber basil water.

It was a lovely, late-summer day. The spa wasn’t crowded by any means but there were a few bikini bodies and men in trunks, while I was in a white towelling Michelin man robe that absolutely wasn’t made from Lady Bamford’s super soft hand-reared sheep. The material was so thick – and a little scratchy – that I couldn’t wait to get out of it. It was the one non-transporting part of the experience.

Once back in my usual black jeans and T-shirt I realised I was the darkest thing in the spa. There’s a shop that sells Bamford designs, including the world’s most expensive beige picnic blanket that comes with a leather handle, and various other shades of beige that take the form of shawls, sweaters, slacks and sheepskin wraps that are all made from the special sheep that must have their wool conditioned in Bamford products. The products themselves – made with 100% organic sustainably farmed ingredients – are all truly magnificent. They smell of a heavenly countryside that can only exist in the head. The exfoliator in particular leaves your skin with a sheen and polish unlike any other.

I desperately wanted to be wearing one of those conditioned sheep’s outfits, not the thick white carpet robe or my own dreary black. For the first time ever I felt I could be beige. C

 

Bamford Haybarn Spa & Treatments, The Berkeley, Wilton Place, Knightsbridge, London SW1X 7RL
the-berkeley.co.uk; 020-7235 6000

Award-winning celebrity interviewer Chrissy Iley splits her time between London and Los Angeles. When Courtney Love does an interview with anyone else she asks her publicist, “Can we Chrissy Ileyise this?”