SOWERBY'S ROAD
A serious case of rest and relaxation
A spa retreat is an indulgence that can't be beat

Three days of pampering was the plan. The first day we cruised back roads east of Toronto in a 2004 Cadillac CTS. It was an opportunity to give the 255 horsepower rear-drive sedan a workout over the maze of country roads through the Great Pine Ridge, where towns like Warkworth and Roseneath nestle into rolling hillscapes reminiscent of Germany's Bavarian countryside.

As the afternoon slipped by, Lisa and I turned our attention from the features of the agile CTS to our only time constraint - getting to dinner on time at The Hillcrest Victorian Inn & Spa, a meticulously restored Beaux Arts mansion in historic Port Hope, on the shore of Lake Ontario, an hour east of Toronto.

Over the years we've considered spas for event venues in various countries, but have never taken in the amenities of the spa world. We were excited, a little anxious even, to kiss-off the rigours of the real world and slip into 40 hours of coddling and self-indulgence.

Now I was going to get a look at the other side of the accommodation equation. I was headed for a destination where the sole purpose was providing guests an escape, and a tune-up too.

Entering the lush grounds of The Hillcrest, it was apparent Lisa and I were in for a treat. The staff was helpful and professional with no hint of pressure. On the way to our room, we encountered fresh-faced guests in white robes shuffling toward the dining room.

The bedroom was large and comfortable with huge windows overlooking the swimming pool. Beyond the luxuriant garden, Lake Ontario looked more like an ocean in a faraway land; South Africa perhaps. A pair of hooded white terrycloth robes were laid out on the Victorian settee at the foot of the bed.

"I'm keeping this on until we leave," I gloated, pulling the hood over my head.

There was no television or telephone, just a radio pulling a jazzy tune from a National Public Radio station somewhere across the lake in Ohio. There was no cell phone signal so I turned it off while Lisa pushed the briefcases, laptop computer and suitcases into the closet, out of sight.

Birds chirped outside the open windows while Lisa read through our treatment itineraries: Swedish Massage, Aqua Polish, Physique Visage, Spruce Body Wrap, Polished Radiance and Shiatsu.

It felt like Christmas Eve. Nothing to do but hang out in my robe, go to dinner and fantasize about what the morning would bring.

At dinner, innkeeper Margarete Easton fussed over her guests like a den mother. I ordered chicken breasts stuffed with mushrooms, wild rice and tasty roasted maple-glazed carrots. Flourless chocolate cake for dessert? Why not.

After dinner, we tried the hot tub. Ten minutes was all we could take. Feeling sedated, we dragged our heavy limbs to our room where wafer-thin, homemade cookies left by the turn-down staff provided additional temptation. I drifted off in a state of utter relaxation. Lisa savoured the booty while reading a magazine article stressing the importance of carving out one hour a day for ME.

In the morning I made my way to the parlour and waited for a masseuse to collect me for my Swedish massage. As she got down to business I wondered what to do. Should I talk? Forget that. Should I feel guilty? Forget that too.

A half-hour in, I realized what it was all about. Just lay there and let the masseuse do her magic while the aromas of the creams, lotions and exfoliants intoxicated my senses. As she worked her way around my limbs, I allowed myself to relax and let the stress demons disappear. I was reprogramming myself to absorb the absolute decadence of The Hillcrest.

At dinner, Lisa and I giggled like school children about our stress-relieving treatments.

"One fleeting thought of the parched African deserts was quickly doused by the six jets of water gently pummeling my spine, hamstrings and calves," she mused over a crisp bean, snowpea and scallop salad.

Kids' schedules, work commitments and household responsibilities had vapourized, left behind in favour of a chance to drift around the Victorian mansion without a care in the world. By the time we checked out, it seemed we had been at The Hillcrest for two weeks not a couple of days.

I had always thought of spas as places people went to cure ailments or as playgrounds for the rich and famous. But, for not much more than the cost of a weekend in the city, you can spoil yourself … just do it for you. Go alone or take someone you love, escape to indulgence, flush out toxins and stress.

Outside in the real world, the Cadillac CTS was parked where I had left it 40 hours earlier. I was looking forward to one more bout of road pampering on the short drive back to Toronto.

"Feels as if people will be able to tell where we've been!" laughed Lisa, pointing to her bright pink toenail polish. "It's like we've been cheating."

But we were guilt-free. The Hillcrest had taken care of that.