Olympic Spa: How’s your QUI?

I didn’t used to be so modest, back in the day. In fact, I suspect I flaunted it a bit—okay, a lot. But that’s when I had something to flaunt. Yet there I was yesterday, walking around b-b-b-bare to the bone with a bunch of other naked women in a Korean spa. Sure, we had towels and even little robes but it didn’t seem to matter; no one used them except for an occasional dry off. And wow. I forgot how varied women are, considering we all have the same equipment.

The spa asks that you come forty-five minutes early to take advantage of the pools and saunas. They like you to be smooth and supple before they give you a treatment to make you smooth and supple. There is a bathing room with an herbal hot pool, a “cool waters” pool, steam rooms, showers and four slightly partitioned areas for some of the treatments. There is also a Seaweed Soup restaurant, a dry sauna, a couple of large areas with women napping on  warm marble floors, and the Himalayan Salt sauna, my first venture. This room had about a ten person (ten women?) capacity and had towels spread over rectangled areas of small, hot pebbles.  Very hot. So hot that I doubt I lasted two minutes. I felt like I was being fried and soon to be offered up for someone’s dinner.

Since I still had forty-three minutes left, I went into the bathing room to shower before trying something else. (At this point I realized that I was supposed to shower before I went into the Himilayan hot house, but too late now.) I decided to try the steam room which of course was so steamy that I just stood there for thirty seconds trying to avoid sitting on someone’s lap. I sat down for two seconds and thought maybe I had stopped breathing. I took this as a sign to get out…if I could only find the door.

I checked out one of the pools, but it looked deep, like maybe you had to tread water, something I was never good at. The other pools were pretty full of bathers, so I went out and rested on the warm marble floor where I almost fell asleep. “Number seventy-one? Seventy-one?” That’s me, and off to my “Goddess” treatment I went with Son, my masseuse, who was dressed in a black lace bra and black high-waisted panties. She was tiny, with crinkly smiling eyes. She directed me to take off my robe (yeah, I had it on) and lie face down on the plastic table. I could see into the three other cubicles with the women in all their full nakedness being plied, kneaded, scrubbed and rubbed. Now I was one of them. For the next hour and forty-five minutes I became a Goddess, and Son now knows my body better than the husband does. No kidding.

The Goddess treatment:

  1. You are thoroughly scrubbed and exfoliated with something akin to a brillo pad, but it smells better. You will never be smoother.
  2. You are bathed in a seaweed body soap with warm water flushing over you at intervals which makes you gasp, but it’s a good gasp. You will never be cleaner.
  3. You are massaged, pressed with hot towels, pulled in various directions. Never more limber.
  4. Your scalp will be massaged with oil
  5. Your face will be “massaged with toxin releasing strokes” and brushed with something delicious to tighten your pores.
  6. Your hair will be washed with aromatic shampoo and rinsed with a potion that smells like bubble gum.
  7. Your body will be emulsified.

Just try to keep from sliding off the massage table when you’re turned over, and by all means, keep your eyes shut because you’re either looking at Son’s crotch, or the woman’s V across from you, as you’re tossed and tousled about like a rag doll, no, like a Goddess but with more QUI, “natural human energy.” And if Son is your masseuse, she will hum happily the whole time.

I’m now looking at the brochure trying to decide on my next treatment. “Does your feet ever feel like a ton of bricks?” Try the Light On My Feet reflexology. How about a Milk and Honey Smoothie or a Baby Feet Pedi? (Is that for babies or people who have baby feet?)

That’s all the news that’s fit to print folks, from the mouth of a Goddess. For today.

 

 

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