I am comfortable being naked around strangers now. Well, semi-comfortable. Thanks to a fella I dated. We’ll call him, um, Bob. Bob enjoys comfort. Fantastic food. Nice hotels. All things plush and lazy. We were in Las Vegas and staying at The Venetian, my first experience in an extremely nice hotel. Honestly, The Venetian had my heart when the bathtub was deep enough for water over my shoulders and there was a flat screen T.V. in the bathroom. Star Wars in a bubble bath – a dork girl’s dream. Anyhow, Rob, I mean, Bob, wanted us to go to the spa. I, of course, mocked him. Haha. You’re a boy. You want to go the spa? Haha. That’s such a pansy thing to do. Haha. Etc. He made appointments for us to get massages and facials. Oh, more mocking. You’re a boy and you’re getting a FACIAL? Bawwahaha. Then, I had my first spa experience. All mocking stopped. Bob and I dated for several years and I got just a bit spoiled. Then, the problem. I am cheap. Yes, I love a massage, a mud wrap, a facial, a spa-anything…but I am not willing to spend $150 for an hour of ANYTHING. Then came Copahue, Argentina. The experience, however, is just a bit different. I’ll compare my experience getting a mud wrap at Silk spa in Manhattan to Copahue, Argentina.
Silk Spa: They give you a locker, a cushy bath robe, nice slippers, and they ask you to change in a room where there is a shower, steam rooms, and perfectly lit mirrors which make you feel thin and attractive. Once you have changed, they give you an aesthetically pleasing glass of water and ask you to sit in a dimly lit, slightly warm, very pillowy enclosure where there are nuts and berries which no one eats.
Copahue: You get a number. When your number is called, a lady at a computer fills out a form. You get another number. When that number is called, you pay. You get another number. When that number is called, you get a timeslot. You wait for your timeslot under florescent lights sitting in plastic chairs like the kind in the public school. The entire building feels like a communist encampment. You wonder if you will get your ration of bread and water or if your children will go hungry again this winter. Perhaps there are wolves circling.
Silk Spa: A woman with a melodious voice calls your name using the “excuse me for disturbing you” tone. She introduces herself and her name is relaxing, perhaps Charlotte . You are led into a small, candle-lit room covered in soft things. Even the walls are padded. Charlotte asks you if you would like music in the background: world, jazz, or piano. No matter which you choose it will sound like upper-class elevator music. You are left alone to remove your robe and climb onto the table which is also soft and warm. You cover yourself with the light sheet provided.
Copahue: Your timeslot arrives and a hairy man in dirty green scrubs calls your name. He does not introduce himself, but that doesn’t matter because you are certain his name must be Boris. He leads you into a compartment that looks like a utility closet. It is lit with florescent light. Along one wall there is a steel metal table. Above the table there is a long light like the kind they use to keep fast food warm. Boris tells you to take off your clothes and then get on the table. He leaves your utility closet. There is no music but you can hear all the attendants talking and laughing and snorting outside of your utility closet. If your Spanish was better, you’re pretty sure you would hear them talking about you.
Silk Spa: You are so cozy, even naked, under the blanket that you are dozing before Charlotte returns. When she comes in, she knocks softly and uses a library voice to ask if you are ready. You are ready. Charlotte strategically realigns the blanket to expose only the part of your body she is working on. You do not know where the supplies are coming from, but suddenly she is rubbing mud onto your body, half massaging your muscles, and thoroughly warming your skin and, perhaps, your soul, you think.
Copahue: You have climbed onto the metal table in only your underwear. There is no modesty blanket. You lay under the florescent light hung just above your body and think about all the fat pocks being highlighted. You know that Boris has never seen a girl as white as you are and there will be more snorting-attendant laughter. The metal table is very, very cold. At this moment, you think only a Pap Smear would be worse than this spa experience. Boris does not knock before re-entering your utility closet. The door on the metal door frame slams against the wall as he comes lumbering through. He is carrying a grey bucket like a janitor uses to mop the floors. He drops the bucket onto the floor next to you, sticks his long hairy arm into the bucket, and then with a big slopping noise a chunk of mud is plopped onto your back.
Silk Spa: After 30 minutes of the rubbing and warm mud, you are a puddle of uncontrollable bliss. You think this could not get any better but then magically Charlotte is producing a giant sheet of cellophane material, wrapping you in it, and then wrapping you in a warm blanket, covering your eyes with a cool mask, and then putting you under some kind of warming device which you can not see. Charlotte tells you to relax and that she will return shortly. You are slowly baked in a gelatinous muddy messy of drowsiness. You never want to leave. You would like to ask Charlotte to marry you even though you are not gay.
Copahue: After 30 minutes of having gelatinous mud tossed onto your back, you feel like you are the target of a mob of angry children armed with mud balls. Boris produces a giant sheet of cellophane material from the closet and wraps you in it. He produces a wool blanket which looks like the kind used on the backs of horses and lays it over you. He moves the Fry Warmer light so that it is directly over your body. You are scoffing. Boris leaves your utility closet. You are slowly baked in a gelatinous muddy messy of drowsiness. You never want to leave. You would like to ask Boris to marry you even though you are not gay.
Silk Spa: Charlotte returns, unwraps you, and tells you to take a shower in the corner of the room where there is every bathroom supply you can imagine. Charlotte leaves.
Copahue: Boris returns, unwraps you, and tells you to take a shower in the corner of the room where a rusty showerhead juts from the corner of the closet. While you shower, Boris stands on the other side of a curtain which doesn’t close all the way. When you are done, you stand in the center of the utility closet in only your underwear, now wet, having a broken Spanish conversation with Boris where you learn that you were supposed to bring your own towel. You did not bring a towel. Boris leaves and returns with a rag that looks like it is usually used for dusting. You are grateful anyway.
Silk Spa: Your bill is $140.00 + tip.
Copahue: Your bill is $3.00 + tip.
Copahue certainly does not have the overall spa feeling, but the actual treatments are pretty darn good. I am spoiled. I do love a warm, plush, melt me spa. But, knowing I could have that warm mud feeling 50 times for the cost of one trip to Silk Spa…well, what can I say. I may build a cabin in Copahue. Especially after I realized that at Copahue’s prices, I could easily afford a massage every single day. For the rest of my life. I’m packing my bags now.
Totally hilarious! I'm staying in London in a dorm for a conference, and I read it out loud to a friend who was hanging out since I'm on the side of the hallway that sometimes gets internet.
Posted by: Bronwen | June 17, 2008 at 08:00 PM