Road Test: Flotation Tank

Some say it’s like drifting in outer space. Or lying on a cloud. Others compare it to being in the womb. After a particularly stressful week, Kathy Buchanan climbed inside

I can’t explain why, but I’ve always wanted to try out a flotation tank. Maybe it’s the insomniac in me: I’d read somewhere that die-hard “floaters” claim an hour in the tank is equivalent to six hours’ sleep. Or maybe the appeal was that, unlike other de-stressers such as yoga and meditation, you simply lie back and do nothing. Or perhaps it was simply because John Lennon owned one.

Excited, I turn up for my first session at the Bondi Junction Massage and Float Centre in Sydney, but when I finally come face-to-face with the mysterious tank, I’m a little disappointed to discover it’s not so much a tank as a gigantic fibreglass spa with a roof. I don’t know what I was expecting (well, someone who clearly wasn’t a fan had told me it was like being in a giant coffin), but it looks fairly innocuous to me.

Left alone, I strip, shower, and remove my make-up and jewellery as requested. The tanks are filtered after each float, I’m told, and the salt solution is naturally sterile, so I don’t worry about the hygiene factor. I pop in some earplugs, grab a pillow to keep my head above water, and happily hop in.

I slide the hatch down and I’m in total darkness. The first thing I notice is a faint salty smell, then the syrupy-feeling water. It’s so thick with Epsom salts, I begin bobbing around as if it’s the Dead Sea. It’s a weird feeling – different from swimming in the ocean or even taking a bath. I can feel the skin-temperature water around me, but when I close my eyes it’s easy to imagine I’m floating in space.

I find my mind wandering pleasantly. But after a few minutes I suddenly have a freak-out moment where I desperately grab for the roller door and quickly slide it up, just to confirm I’m still alone in my private room and the door is locked. People who feel claustrophobic or are afraid of the dark can keep the hatch slightly open, but after a while I pluck up the courage to close it again. This time, I swish around playfully with a million thoughts running through my head.

This is the first of three floats I’m having on consecutive days, because proprietor Carol Stuart says this will bring the best results and get me accustomed to the floating experience. Besides, it’s cheaper to book three sessions ($25 each as opposed to individual floats at $35).

Carol had given me the run-down on floating’s benefits: relief from aches, pains, stress, arthritis, migraines, depression, jet lag and even high blood pressure. I’m intrigued, but I’m also a natural-born sceptic, so I’m wondering how bobbing around naked in salty water can really achieve all of this.

Carol had an answer for that, too, however: apparently the sensory isolation reduces stimulation on the body’s nervous system. This, in turn, reduces the level of stress-related biochemicals released in the body. 

Like most good ideas, the float tank was invented completely by accident. In 1954, US scientist Dr John Lilly made an “isolation tank” designed to track brain activity but, unexpectedly, found it was a great place to relax. By the late ’70s, float tanks had attracted a cult following, and by the 1980s, stressed-out yuppies were sleeping in them overnight. Today they are used in health spas around the world.

I’ve been listening to a relaxation CD throughout my float, but when a Norah Jones song comes on, signalling the session is ending, I’m ready to get out. I rinse off and head to the “after-floating lounge” which is really just a couch, a tropical fish tank, hair dryers and tea.

I must admit I feel good – a bit like I’ve had a massage – but I can’t help wondering if I’ve just fallen victim to yet another simply-maaaahvellous-sweeties New Age trend. Couldn’t I have simply thrown a super-sized pack of Epsom salts into my bathtub at home for the same effect?

When Carol comes to see how I fared, she stares at me intently. Before I have a chance to speak, she says, “Stressed-out Type A personalities like you usually have trouble relaxing on the first float. You’ll enjoy subsequent floats more.”

When I ask her what kind of people usually book floats, I’m surprised when she says mainstream professionals and marathon runners. The tanks are in such demand, she says, she keeps a cancellation list on weekends.

During my second float, I’m determined to discover what all the fuss is about. This time I opt for 30 minutes’ music, 30 minutes’ silence.

Apparently, hard-core floaters don’t use music, but I find it frustrating floating with only my thoughts for company: my imagination goes into overdrive.

I splash around, pretending I’m a mermaid, and stretch out my hands and legs like a starfish to touch the walls. I make a mental shopping list and plan dinner – before I finally remember that I’m supposed to be relaxing. 

After the session, Carol tells me float tanks can stimulate creativity because the deep state of relaxation allows the left hemisphere of the brain (the logical mind) to wind down. This allows the creative right hemisphere to surface.

I put it to the test in my last session by listening to a CD with subliminal “positive thinking” messages beneath soothing surf sounds. Hey, what have I got to lose? You can also request subliminal CDs designed to help you increase self-confidence, lose weight or give up smoking.

After my final float, I do feel like I’ve let go of a few things that had been worrying me. I feel centred, rested and calm, and I’m thinking more clearly. I also feel distinctly happier. I’m usually a restless sleeper, but I sleep very deeply after each float and I’m still feeling the positive effects more than a week later.

I’m not sure that I’ve totally got the hang of it just yet, but I’ll definitely go again. I mean, at less than half the price of a massage, it’s well worth a try – right, sweeties?

Cost per therapy session: FROM $25 for an HOUR