The Korean Spa or Jimjillbang

With hundreds of naked bodies, awkwardness is fleeting. Like diving into a cold pool, the initial shock is the worst. As the only foreigner in a Korean Spa, it’s easy to think all of the eyes are on you. But, exposed to such a variety of flesh, self consciousness leaks out as quickly as sweat.

The central hot tub is my first stop. The water is scalding and packed with dozens of bodies. I can’t smell any chlorine and I pray for filters. I try to relax as my skin screams and I search the room for distraction.

I find it.

I see hot tub frog squats, gasping cold water dousing, sauna lunge stretches, and even a speedo-clad Korean masseuse. The activities are all so alien that my mind begins to slip into a surreal state. The more I see soaked, dangling comb-over’s and sagging elderly flesh, the more comfortable I feel.

With a head spinning lurch I stand to try some of the other pools. There is so much moisture in the air that condensation drips off the ceiling, like the room itself is sweating.

I sit next in a reclining Jacuzzi with its probing jets. This is followed by the dirty puddle look of the Pine Sap Soak, and then the teakettle experience of the Green Tea Tub. When I finally stand my skin is red from the neck down and my muscles have taken on a consistency of tofu.

I bypass the clay tiles under the heat lamps where grown men sprawl completely exposed, and make my way to the Charcoal Bamboo Sauna. Thousands of burnt bamboo stubs are cemented into the walls and ceiling, creating the sensation of sitting in a pile of ashes. The aroma of charred wood sinks into the pores and lingers for days. I sit still trying to breathe in the furnace air as withered Koreans do squats or triceps dips. By then it seems completely normal.

When I feel ready to puke I know it’s time, but the room beyond offers no relief. The spa is hazy with steam, like the opium tents of the old Orient, and I stagger in a dazed state. The room itself seems to want air. I feel it pulling the oxygen straight from my dilated pores. There isn’t enough for proper muscle function.

I head for the exit.

The clouded door to the outdoor spa opens and as my skin prickles in the chill my lungs seem to burst with the cool, fresh air. I breathe deep, smelling pine and melting snow in the open air enclosure. I stand in the cold until the hot water is soothing again, and let the goose bumps on my flesh smooth out slowly. I lean my head back and gaze at the twilight sky through a lattice-work of bamboo leaves. By then I could have been anywhere. My inhibitions fade completely with the light, and I drift into an oblivion of relaxation.