Inside the Time Warp of a Five-Star Italian Medi-Spa

Or...Postcards from a Midlife Elsewhere.

Every place has a doorway. Every midlife has a threshold. Postcards from a Midlife Elsewhere are fragments of travel and transformation. I write about moments that mark the shift from who I was… to who I’m becoming. Maybe you’ll recognize the terrain.

Have you ever seen one of those dystopian sci-fi movies where there is a cultish-type facility, where they are doing some kind of secret experiments on unsuspecting people wandering around dressed in their white jumpsuits with the facility logo?

May I present to you, Exhibit A…

This is us. Looking dazed and confused on our arrival at a 5-star medi-spa in Italy for a few days to get a complete health check-up. If this kind of stay is not something you see in your future, I’m here to give you the full run-down of the experience.

Now, we aren’t usually the type to check into a five-star resort. Don’t get me wrong; we are always down for a bit of luxury, but hotels are often just utilitarian to us. They are the Ibis on the side of the highway because we need to break up the drive for the night. Normally, the only time we stay in a luxury hotel is when I have credit card points to spend, and then I go all out.

But this time, we intentionally picked this place because in midlife, you realize that even if you have everything you want in your extraordinary life, without health, none of it matters. My husband’s biggest fear is bad health on a slow march to the end. He wants to go quickly with his brain and body in perfect working order. So, it was a thorough body MOT check-up to determine any areas that needed our immediate attention.

A lot happened in our hours at the spa, so instead of writing a 400-page novel, I’ve decided on a bulleted list of what you could expect if you want to invest in such an experience…

Arrival. The spa is tucked into the grounds of a five-star hotel just outside a town called Forli, which is on the edge of Perugia. We find it easily, but we can’t get in. The filigreed iron gates are closed with no indication of how to open them. Mark double-parks on the street, and I wander into the lobby to figure out what’s next. The reception staff were kind and attentive, and immediately sent out a porter who took our bags and car keys. We don’t see Zed for the next three days and have no idea what they’ve done with him. After being led through a warren of corridors we arrive at the Medi-spa reception and are welcomed by our “angel” (this is apparently a person who follows your entire experience and guides you along the way, this didn’t happen to us as after a few hours we never saw here agin, but the rest of the angel staff were lovely). We are led into a comfortable lobby where we are given a cup of coffee. Then, we proceed to sign a stack of papers and complete the medical history information, which we will be asked again (repeatedly) throughout the experience. We received our schedule for the day (only two appointments, as most occur in the morning)

Check in to our room (really lovely, but didn’t feel that different from a mid-range US brand).

We squeezed into the pristine white jumpsuits that made us look like extras from a low-budget space asylum movie.

Get sent next door to the regular 5-star hotel for a decadent lunch.

We wandered through the spa like lost ducklings, discovering chambers that wouldn't look out of place in a Roman emperor's personal playground. It was like being assessed for long-term survival possibilities in the same chambers where emperors once reclined to forget they were even mortal. This was definitely the five-star part: thermal waters, Roman steam rooms, Turkish steam rooms, saunas (two heat levels), floating tanks, cold plunge pools, and the pièce de résistance… Emotional Showers. I asked why they were so emotional, but never received a satisfactory answer, so I decided to avoid them.

First appointment. Psyiatrist. I thought this was a psychiatrist, but I was wrong. I had a translator with me, the lovely Jasmine, but I wasn’t sure what questions to ask because I wasn’t sure what kind of doctor he was. His primary medical purpose seemed to be watching me pick up a pen he chucked on the floor (My performance was “buono,” I used my knees), and then stretching my hands and legs to tell me how bendy I am (Doctors have been telling me this since childhood, so it wasn’t news. Even at midlife, I’m pretty bendy, something to do with my loose joints supposedly). His other purpose seemed to be telling me which of the “medical” treatments the spa offered, that I should be taking advantage of. His wasted a ton of his energy trying to sell me (through the ever patient, Jasmine) both a colonic and vaginal irrigation. I politely declined.

Second appointment. Gynecology. Here was a lovely old, very knowledgable doctor who didn’t speak a word of English, so poor Jasmine had to accompany me and stand by through a pap smear and vaginal ultrasound. Poor Jasmine aged ten years by translating a thorough education in the symptoms of menopause, and hot flash horror stories while trying to maintain her professional poker face. She honestly looked a little green by the end of that conversation. One cultural note to share. You know how when you are at the Gyno and they hand you a gown and tell you to change and prepare yourself on the table while they leave the room, and you change and even tuck your underwear beneath your jeans in case the Dr. spots that embarrassing piece of clothing? Yeah? Not in Italy. In Italy, the doctor says to you, Okay, climb up and they (and in my case, the translator) stand there while you undress (no gown) and spread your legs over the examination table. It’s a vibe, people. And one I would not recommend.

Dinner! We walked past the “Long Life” formula restaurant and were informed that our plan didn’t require the “Long Life” diet, so we could eat again at the hotel restaurant next door. Please recall that we are staying at a health resort before you look at this photo. Mark innocently requested the Fiorentina, only to be presented with what appeared to be half a prehistoric beast on a plate...

The waiters joked they would need to close the shades so the spa couldn’t see what we were eating, and the chef was so proud of his creation that he came out to visit it mid-meal. Mark took this on as a challenge, but given that we aren’t big meat eaters, he failed spectacularly. I would say there’s a message here about the implicit tension between knowing what’s good for you vs what makes a life worth living, but perhaps a Fiorentina the size of a cow is taking the decadence level just a bit too far. And then delivered to our plates, as if you remind us of why we probably shouldn’t be enjoying ourselves so much, was the schedule for Day 2.

First appointment. Quick EKG (you know how that goes), urine, and six (yes, 6!) vials of blood.

Then our world was shattered when we learned that we would not be visiting the hotel restaurant for breakfast or lunch, but would be eating in the Long Life Restaurant with the lovely Sylvia as our host. Mark is served juice, a piece of prosciutto with the fat trimmed off, and two halves of a hard-boiled egg. The only thing funnier than his face when he flipped the eggs over to realize the yolk had been removed, was his desperation to get what little sustenance he had been served down his throat when one of the “angels” came to inform him the next Dr. was ready (15 minutes before his appointment) and had to see him now, now, now! Mark raced out for lots of thermal stuff, and I headed to a beauty consultation.

Beauty Consultation. I agreed to a “Jet Peel” facial at 3pm.

Second medical appointment. Internist. Ultrasounds galore. I emerged looking like I'd lost a wrestling match with a jellyfish.

Third medical appointment. Straight to the nutritionist who does speak English although he often reverts to Italian to find the words needed to tell us a story about the past 50,000 years (he even draws the timeline on a piece of paper to make it clear what we are in for). It’s something about thumbs providing humans with portable food, and how humans have the smallest stomach of all the mammals, and by the way (concluding after we are both exposed to pinching and lots of calipers), we are both fat. He takes detailed notes on our daily food intake with much tutting and head-shaking, more for Mark than me, who apparently eats enough pasta for five Italians (I’ve never been happier to be celiac). He then gives each of us a very detailed breakdown of the exact things we should eat over six meals a day. I’m taking notes because some of what he’s saying is extremely helpful. Mark looked as interested as he could before we left the office, and he turned to me and said, “Yeah, I’m not doing that.”

Lunch. The “Long Life” restaurant again (maybe they saw what Mark ate last night and banned us from the hotel restaurant? They are paying for Mark’s cow-sized Fiorentina after all. The meal is outside on the grounds this time, and is absolutely delicious and healthy, and I could eat like this every day if I could be bothered to put a pan on the boil to make what is literally half a handful of pasta that ends our three-course meal. It seems like ultra-healthy diets require a lot of work.

“Jet Peel” Facial. So when I heard “jet peel” facial, I thought, like, chemical peel, right? Maybe a fast one, hence the “jet”? No. I was mistaken. A “jet peel” facial, I soon discovered, is essentially, and I’m not kidding you here, a pressure washer for your face. I expected a nice, relaxing face massage (which, to be fair, I eventually got from a very skilled aesthetician), but first, I had to suffer through the extremely unpleasant experience of being water-boarded with vitamin C. I eventually figured out that I had to hold my breath every time that thing came near my nose and mouth (through which I usually like to breathe), but the first time it snatched my breath away, and I snatched my head away, the aesthetician barked 'RELAX!' with all the soothing energy of a drill sergeant leading meditation class. Presumably, the pressure washer is dangerous if you’re thrashing your head around on the table (blinded by a facial?). Needless to say, being instructed to “relax” is not very relaxing. Did it work? I don’t know. I’m not a facial expert (I have maybe one every few years), but I don’t think I saw any difference.

Pedicure. I had the same aesthetician and, like I said, she was very skilled, so I got a lovely gel pedicure.

Spa - lots of spaing was happening in between appointments. I have pretty severe psoriatic arthritis, and the thermal water was easing the psoriasis patches on my legs.

Dinner. We got sent back to the hotel restaurant. This time, we went to Via Roma, a second restaurant in the hotel led by a Michelin-starred chef. It was amazing.

Day 3. Mark has his last appointment (Urology) in the afternoon, so we spa, lunch, and then, regrettably, accept our medical dossiers and leave. We have our appointment tomorrow to review the results in detail, but all in all, we are healthy, although, again, regrettably, overweight. If they feed you like that, is it a wonder!

So, as we drove off into the day outside the grounds of our captive but decadent three days, we asked ourselves, was it worth it?

Yes.

There is a special kind of peace that comes with knowing all is in order. There is further decadence in having the resources to do everything you can to design a longer, healthier life. But there were other lessons too.

The strangeness of the experience didn’t end with the sci-fi jumpsuit. I’m telling you the place was a time portal.

We were there two nights - arriving midday on Thursday and leaving on Saturday afternoon, but it felt like we were there a month. One afternoon, lying in the green sulfuric thermal waters in the hotel basement, I thought, “Well, the blood results should be ready by now; we had them yesterday.” My heroine, I’d had the blood tests only three hours prior. Some five-star magic, you think? I’ve had luxury before, but during that luxury time, it sped by as it always does, the days piling up faster as we age (do you feel it too?)

Maybe, I thought, it’s because we have appointments. Mark and I rarely have appointments. The corporate deadlines of our past are long gone. We’ve worked very hard to earn our time freedom, and we take advantage of days with either nothing scheduled or loosely planned around meals or activities.

But I enjoyed that time warp feeling. The minutes and hours stretched like that salt-water taffy you buy down at the shore, but never actually eat because it sticks in your teeth for hours. So I did some research into the reasons why this time warp feeling might have occurred and accidentally discovered how we might add a little of that to the authoring of our extraordinary lives.

Novelty = More Memory Anchors

A typical day has predictable rhythms. You get up, you get dressed, you go to work, etc. When we're in a new, hyper-structured environment like a spa with back-to-back treatments, our brain takes in far more sensory and emotional data. Every appointment, every robe swap, every treatment room becomes a new “scene” in our mental timeline. And more scenes equal more perceived time. Time is measured by events. More events = longer perceived time.”

Clock Awareness Increases

Usually, I’m only loosely aware of time. Like I said, we plan our days together, but loosely is the key word to most of our planning. We may pivot and shift direction multiple times a day. But in an appointment-heavy context, we’re suddenly hyper-aware of the clock. We’re navigating timelines (“Facial at 10:00, massage at 11:15…”), which puts your executive function in “schedule mode,” making time feel more segmented and thus slower.

Altered State from Treatments

Spas often induce parasympathetic dominance, which means our nervous system takes a massive downshift from constantly being in fight-or-flight mode to rest-and-digest mode. This can make time feel dreamy, floaty, or warped. Suddenly, we're not in your usual linear, task-focused mode, so your internal clock drifts.

Dislocation from Routine = Temporal Drift

If we usually don’t have structured days or appointments, this experience creates a mild identity dissonance. We become dislocated from our usual narrative identity (“I’m not someone who has appointments”), and our internal calendars stutter, creating a “what day even is this?” kind of vibe.

So the question becomes, can I build this into my Extraordinary Life? This entire experience moved me to think about designing richer days, not just a longer life.

I will consider this research and perhaps send out an extra Pocket Quest this week. In the meantime, share in the comments below. Do you fancy one of these full medical check-ups? Have you ever experienced one? Do you feel like time is flying by?

Let me know. I’m off to put on my white sweatsuit and eat a half a handful of pasta and 12 nuts.