Added: Bladimir Primo - Date: 02.10.2021 13:12 - Views: 39835 - Clicks: 3821
I was naked as a jaybird on a plastic-covered table not terribly unlike a gurney. Next to me, so close I could reach out and hold her hand, lay another naked stranger. But more on that later. My day at GangNam Spa had begun hours ago, at 9 a. Then there were the dozens of topaz caves lining the perimeter of the space, each with room for a single mat, and the pair of furnace-like stone domes called Bul ga ma —large, super-hot rooms that are essentially saunas on steroids. Built with Elvan stones, they emit infrared rays and natural minerals meant to detoxify and heal—that is, if you can bear them.
Elsewhere the Himalayan salt room clocks in at a more tolerable degrees. Made from ancient rocks that expel trace elements of key minerals like calcium, iron, and zinc, it advertises healing properties similar to those of the Bul ga ma, including reduced muscle tension and better circulation. Next door a tranquil foot spa whose bubbling waters fluctuate from hot to cold felt like a hands-free massage. By 10 a. Patrons tend to get hungry when they stay all day—and sometimes all night—as is the norm in Korea, where places like GangNam are a social, and protracted, experience.
In my pajama-like, XXL short set, the same uniform worn by all spa staff and guests, I surprised myself by kicking off my spa-issued rubber slippers and drifting off for a nap in a leather recliner. After the spa tech and I both removed our identical clothing, I realized I had no idea what to expect, since the menu of services bears no descriptions.
With me on the table, she used bright-yellow exfoliating mitts to repeatedly scour my every limb—inside my ears, between my toes, and just about everything in between—intermittently sloshing my carapace with bowls of hot water. Later, armed with a loofah, she briskly applied a lather that smelled faintly of cherries, then rinsed me again.
All the while, though, I was obsessed with my nakedness. Still, somewhere around the halfway mark, I began to give up and accept it, trying to see myself in the same way, I suspected, that the GangNam Spa employee did, as a mound of flesh; nothing more, nothing less. Have you ever tenderized a chicken cutlet?
I was the chicken. When it was all over, I was buffed and bruised and feeling Evidently hers had been tidied up by mistake. Not ideal, I thought, but fine. Horrified, I dried myself with no less than half a dozen hand-towels—inexplicably, that was all I could find—and weighed my options. Should I ask someone to borrow their clothes?
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