There we stood, butt naked young women, among naked hairy men in their 50s.
By Kirsty Dusamos
For a friend’s birthday, we picked a group experience: a swimwear evening at Spa Weesp. None of us were regular spa-goers, so choosing swimwear day helped lower the threshold. After multiple wrong turns to what felt like the middle of nowhere, we arrived to a less-than-warm welcome at reception. The staff barely explained anything, and we were left to fend for ourselves. Despite it being a swimwear day, the changing rooms were communal and far from private. There we stood, butt naked young women, among naked hairy men in their 50s. I understand that this should not be a problem if you go to the spa naked, but since it was swimwear day most of us decided to run into the bathroom stalls for some privacy.
Fortunately, things improved in the showers with salt scrubs, fragrant shampoos, conditioners, and lotions–we tried everything. The 30ºC pool, extending outdoors under a full moon and stars, was magical. Each room had instructions, and we explored hot and cold baths, steam rooms, and saunas–but they were all quite busy and noisy, which didn’t help us relax.
We went on to try the soaking ritual, which was sold as the highlight of the spa . The sauna master, unlike the receptionist, greeted us warmly with a big smile. He had tousled hair, wore flip-flops and a hammam towel around his waist. He explained everything clearly, including the handy tip to sit on the lower level to avoid the heat. Things started off promising, steam filled the room, I closed my eyes, and listened to some pan flutes playing in the background. That distraction was needed when the sauna master decided to wave the 90ºC heat from top to bottom with a cloth. Should global warming continue, I know I can at least handle that.
But then came the dried branches. What should’ve been aroma spreading (I think), turned into full puddles of water in our faces–repeatedly. Although it was supposed to be nice, my eyes popped wide open, and I could not relax anymore. Too bad, because the music and steam were a good combination for me. He repeatedly waved the cloth, wetting the coals and waving the (far too) wet branches several times. At one point, a woman opposite me was sitting under his wet branches and did an X gesture with her hands when he waved them around. To no avail, this guy was determined and unstoppable. Anything for the ultimate experience. Maybe it’s part of the ritual, but I will gladly skip those liters of water over me next time. Afterwards the sauna master stood outside in his flip-flops with segments of oranges for everyone, which was a thoughtful surprise after all that sweating and surviving the unexpected water fight.
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