.: culture : mash :.

This past weekend was a treat. As I am graying with age, my gal pal and cohort Marie Lodi got me a treatment and day at the Olympic Korean Day Spa in K-town. Now, as you might have read before, I’ve been to a Japanese Onsen before in my trip to Tokyo  last Spring. So here I thought I may have had a leg up on Marie, being experienced to seeing old naked Asian women before. But of course, I wasn’t.

We drove over to Korean town winding up Crenshaw and turning right to get to Olympic, and I figured this experience was going to make me relaxed. I was excited after we valeted the car and were greeted at the reception to frilly smelling products and cases of expensive lotions and shampoos.  The hostess asked us if it was our first time, and since it was, decided to give us a brief tour.

“Here is your bracelet with your keys and your number. Don’t leave it behind, the number is important and I’ll explain why in a moment.”

… we walked past the double doors and get entranced with a humid scene of various women in green robes and white towls. Some topless, some more conservative, all with that look of “oh wow… toxins are so gross. I’m glad I come here and sweat it off unlike the common folk” all over their faces.

“This is your shoe locker, and you open it like this”

“You have separate lockers for shoes?”, I asked.
No humor, no laughter. Just a sad stare.

Past the Divinity of Soles, we migrate past the main hub of the spa, where women are all towel-headed  turbin style, looking like they may have just puffed some opium the way their dazes wander.

“And here is your regular locker. Remember your number, we will call you by your number for your service, not your name.”

And alas, we get to the pools. One cool, one hot, and one magma level Mugwort pool.And a long line of faucets and plastic stools separated them. Each upon on them, one large or saggy old Korean lady, washing everything, including the oldest of petals amongst her treasures. Oh sweet victory, I was at least skinner than most of them.

“Remember, you have to memorize your number. That’s how you get called.”

And this is where I promised Marie I would not make a reference to Auschwitz on this blog, even though it’s SO obvious.

So we bathed in hot, we bathed in cool, we bathed in Mugworts tea that made me feel like my nipples were ripping off. Then finally, came the scrub and massage. The wonders of feeling like a baby newborn, sort of like the pampering you get between diapers, only more raw, more real, and more corrupted.

Skin came off of me like I was carrot getting prepped for a dinner party. God knows I was in a daze of relaxation. And as Marie swears, it was like the sin in our very bodies was getting washed away with the men of our past.

Needless to say, I feel like I’m younger. And if you ask Hong, the old Korean in black panties and a bra who man-handled me for 90 minutes, I’m very beautiful as well.