Xxxxx xxxxx
After obscenely wallowing in all of
these, I can but manage slender
slices of iced saffron kulfi, studded
with pistachios and almonds--alas.
I’d planned to luxuriate in a cabana
at the Poolside Bar, over a panini
(made fresh with basil pesto,
tomatoes and aubergines, all from
Chef Banerjee’s herb garden). But
Carlos from Rossano Ferretti would
have none of it! The hair-dresserers
who play with Angelina Jolie and
Kate Middleton’s tresses have now
established themselves exclusively
in India at the Ritz-Carlton. Carlos
relates, as his fingers and scissors
dance in ellipses over my hair, that
Ferretti began cutting hair at 14,
became Vidal Sassoon’s protégé and
his sole approved successor. But
I’m more amused by the gossip that
whilst the Los Angeles salon has
clandestine entrances for Hollywood
stars, the London branch, where
Carlos worked, obliges queen-inwaiting, Kate Middleton, to walk
an entire four meters of common
ground to have her hair done at RF’s.
Carlos would continue, but dash I
must to the spa, Espa, for chokka.
They cannot accommodate a fullfledged body ritual, comprising
scrubs and seaweed wraps, but
I manage a Radiance Facial that
Philippine therapist Anna does
excellently, followed by the
signature four-hand Jaali massage
for which must-book-with Thai
therapist Pai joins Anna. As they
effect smooth, soothing traceries
over my body, I would lull, except
that I’m tickled by tales the
therapists tell of old men.
Spa-ctacularly naughty!
I bolt from the spa, not because I’m
alarmed by the hilarious stories, but
because it’s that time of the
afternoon for something naugh-tea;
what else but afternoon tea that the
Ritz-Carlton does so delightfully,
always, everywhere? Sadly, the order
takes its time to arrive, allowing me
but a nibble of superb scones and
sandwiches. The three-tiered
platter’s pastried pinnacles I never
attain, having to make a loftier
journey – my flight!
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