I’M LYING ON A MASSAGE TABLE, feeling like Cleopatra, getting rubbed with warm olive oil. Here in Puglia, it’s the most logical thing to use. All around are old olive trees, lots of them from 700 years ago. Their thick, gnarled trunks twist up like sculptures from shimmering green fields, with the calm Adriatic Sea as a backdrop.

Athena, Goddess of Wisdom, is the gal responsible for olives. She and Poseidon were fighting over who should rule the Greek region of Attica when Papa of the Gods, Zeus, stepped in and said, “Whoever brings the best gift to humanity gets the job.” Poseidon stuck his trident into the earth and out popped a galloping horse. Pretty impressive. Then Athena stuck in her trident and out popped an olive branch, which must have looked puny by comparison.

But then the goddess talked her way to her win: “This will grow into a tree that will live hundreds of years. There will be fruit on it, wonderful to garnish martinis. And the oil from that fruit will be what humanity will go crazy over. They’ll light lamps with it, cure boo-boos, and no good kitchen will be without it. And by the way, this olive branch…will be the symbol of peace.” No contest. Athena won. The capital of Attica was named Athens and the Parthenon built in her honor.

Thank you Athena, for this olive oil massage. And for peace. Centuries ago this place where I’m getting my rubdown was regularly invaded by Turks. It was a farm estate and the spa its watchtower, where folks hovered anxiously, looking out to sea for pirate ships. Now it’s a most tranquil spot, where not only olive oil, but herbs and vegetables grown on the property are incorporated into their treatments. My friend Sheila is in the next room getting slathered with a creamy paste of fava beans. Sounds weird, but it’s an age-old tradition in these parts. Post-slathering, she takes a steam in the Turkish bath (one good thing that came from those mean Turks), and comes out all aglow when we meet up for a Jacuzzi soak.

We go back in to get non-traditional (for an Italian spa) Kembiki Do facials. It’s an ancient Japanese deal where the sweet technicians “reorganize the facial architecture” according to the write-up. This means such an intense massage they even put on rubber gloves to stick their fingers in our mouths to rub out marionette lines. I’m amazed looking in the mirror afterwards. Maybe I should try this at home.

Like many similar masserie (farm estates) in this stretch south of Bari, the Torre Maizza has been luxuriously renovated. Simple whitewashed stone buildings, that were servants’ quarters and stables in the sixteenth century, are now spacious suites with arched ceilings, all airy and furnished in elegant style.

All this white and perfect blue sky and sun makes Sheila and me feel extra energized. The air is perfumed with the scent of jasmine and myrtle bushes. Bougainvillea adds a splash of crimson to the buildings. There’s an infinity pool a pleasant walk away that looks tempting, but we want to get to the private beach. We have the option of taking a five-minute shuttle van, but we decide on biking it, stopping on the way to gawk at those amazing old olive trees.

The sea is calm, shallow, and warm enough for a swim, even though it’s October. There’s a restaurant that blends right in to the beach, all white of course, and done up with chic bamboo furniture. They serve sushi, but we go for the salt-encrusted orata. And why not a glass of white wine from the nearby Locorotondo vineyards to match? We clink our glasses. We feel pretty.

Masseria Torre Maizza: 72015 Savelletri di Fasano, 080 482 7838, www.masseriatorremaizza.com. The spa also offers yoga and Pilates sessions. The Coccaro Beach Club, open to guests of Torre Maizza, is a happening spot on the Puglia coast in the summer.