Catching a cure in Sri Lanka

The doctor in the Fuchsia Sari leaned over her desk and took my hand like a fortune-teller. "Just as I thought," she murmured, feeling my pulse. "Too much kapha." She glanced at the symptoms on my chart—fatigue, irritability and the occasional blinding migraine—and scribbled a prescription. "Don't worry, we can help you." A day later, I was in treatment, lying flat on my back with a thin stream of heated oil drizzling onto my forehead. For 40 min. two barefoot attendants poured a pungent green oil over my brow in a gentle back and forth motion. It might sound like slow torture, but the shirodhara oil treatment is deeply relaxing and said to cure migraines. It's one of the more common prescriptions in the Ayurvedic school of medicine, which is one of the world's oldest forms of healing. Practitioners have been using Ayurveda's techniques for thousands of years, prescribing gentle herbs, diet, hydrotherapy and medicinal enemas to treat an astonishing array of illnesses, including diabetes, asthma, arthritis and high blood pressure.

Ayurveda originated in India, but soon spread to Sri Lanka, where it became the main form of medical practice for centuries. Ancient Sinhalese Kings were said to be Ayurveda practitioners and built hospitals in the ancient capital of Anuradhapura. More recently, Ayurveda has attracted an enthusiastic new patient: Sri Lanka's ailing tourism industry. A growing number of hotels on the island now have treatment centers, and several Ayurvedic health spas have sprung up all around the country. As Sri Lanka hopefully attempts to lure visitors in the wake of the recent cease-fire in its 19-year civil war, its beaches and sun, cool hills and cultural curiosities may no longer be enticing enough on their own. Now, hotels sell tourists on healing body and soul in between surfing and taking in ancient ruins.

That's the theory, at least. In reality, for any true medical benefit, you need at least two weeks' treatment. Anything less may reduce stress, but is unlikely to provide medicinal value. "If you have sinusitis, I need about two weeks to treat you. For paralysis, it's about three months," explains Dr. Deepthi, my physician in pink at Beruwela, on Sri Lanka's southwestern coast. Wait a minute—she's cured paralysis? "Of course," she shrugs, "but it's a very long treatment."

Its name comprising the Sanskrit words for "life" and "science," Ayurveda is based on the principle that everyone has a unique mixture of three energies: vata, or air; pitta, fire; and kapha, earth. When one of the energies gets out of balance—in my case, too much lethargic kapha in conflict with my fiery pitta nature—illness can arise. Or just crankiness and headaches.

Sri Lankan Ayurvedic physicians are required to undergo seven years of training and to spend at least a year in a conventional hospital. Treatments range from the familiar and soothing, like abhyianga, a body massage with medicated oil administered by two masseuses working in tandem, to the out-there, like vasti, a cleansing enema of oil, milk or herbal water. Some more traditional Ayurvedic centers offer therapeutic purging and leeching, but most tourist spas stick to the treatments that actually feel good, like massages and herbal or flower baths.

Almost every treatment involves oil, and lots of it. Green oil, brown oil—all infused with special mixtures of up to 40 fresh herbs—oil on your head, your body, your feet and all while stark naked. My masseuses, a stoic old woman and a giggly younger girl, had little time for modesty, kneading and prodding me as I lay on my back without so much as a postage-stamp towel. After my treatments, it took three washings to rid my hair of green oil. By that time, though, I was so relaxed I didn't really care.

Treatment in spas starts at around $35 for a day's rejuvenation to $300-$400 a week for intensive treatments. Choosing a spa depends on whether you're looking for Ayurvedic immersion or a sideline to your beach or hill-country holiday. A wide range of hotels at most major beach resorts and in the cool hills of Kandy also feature treatment centers—but it's wise to do your research. I chose a combined resort and got a tranquil wooden treatment center with natural rock fountains; but the attached hotel was a glitzy package-tour palace that jarred my newfound bliss.

Whether or not it changes your life or heals a chronic illness, Ayurveda offers a pleasurable glimpse of Sri Lanka's living history and culture. And, for the record, I haven't had a migraine since I left.

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