Living the Dream

There are two ways to go about it: the tourist way, which gets the publicity, and the long-stay option.
Neither is possible to replicate, stateside (to be expected: no durian, and anyone making fish sauce would be imprisoned for health code violations). But the analogous situations are easy.
For the tourist version, check into a swank spa staffed by people beautiful enough to compensate for their lack of training and pay a third of what you would expect.
For the local version, check into the spa and move everything you have into the steam room, where you'll see a carving of an absolutely beautiful person; beat your head against the carving while a woman who's built like a motherly gorilla--and still somehow as beautiful as the carving--twists and torques your muscles into submission in a way that might eventually leave them feeling relaxed and relieved, except at the same time she's caressing your anus with a birdseye chilli. When she leaves, stretch out and relax on the coconut-husk bench/bed and watch the mold explode across your wilting possessions (it's like a time-lapse of grass growing). For relief, pack yourself into a walk-in fridge full of people hacking a roulette wheel of contagious diseases.