My trip to Karlovy Vary, or The Weekend in which I finally got naked with a big cocked stranger

Kiki and I were planning to head west, something that in my experience has always been a good thing. West resonates with me, always has. And Western Bohemia makes a hell of a lot more sense to me than Prague. Maybe that's where my people are from--lots of them, the Bohemians, the Prussians (okay, my geography sucks, but this is working for me in my imagination). They're kind of German there, and the city of Karlovy Vary is run rampant with Russians. One woman told me they bought the town with money from the black market shortly after the Velvet Revolution. Them Russians are pushy. But being pushy doesn't always work, now does it?

So, on our way to class on Friday, Kiki hemmed and hawed about the trip when I expressed great exhuberance about it. He never shows his bare legs, much less the rest of himself, so he had already decided he wouldn't go in for the spa treatments Karlovy Vary is famed for. Then he had an insulting workshop. We went for cake and decided it would be best for us (spoiled little only children that we are, accustomed to lots of alone time) to go our separate ways for the weekend. I could get my spa on, and he could have the flat for himself to work on his plays.

I arrived Friday afternoon, booked into a quaint hotel, and headed straight to the open-air thermal pool.I swam laps for an hour. I had forgotten that swimming is a natural state of being for me--it slams me back into my body, weightless, yet the movement allows me to meditate without trying. Most everyone else there was farting around: little girls with their daddies, and couples making out. When I got out of the pool, I found the sauna, which was marked by all kinds of unreadable signs (for this ugly American). A lady took my ticket, gave me a tablecloth, and pointed me to a room that contained several shower heads, a cold pool, a few lounging chairs in a room off to the side, and a small sauna with three stacked benches (stairstep style).

I rinsed off under one of the shower heads and brought my tablecloth into the sauna to sit on. After about three minutes, a very tall man with a ginormous schlong in full view came in and told me in no uncertain terms (albeit in Czech) that I had to take off my bathing suit. It was kind of like how Tomas in "The Unbearable Lightness of Being" has this power over women when he simply says, "Strip!" And they all do. It was just like that, except totally not erotic. I took off my suit, and big dick and I sat around staring at each other, naked and sweating, just like you're supposed to in a sauna. Hot, yet so not hot.

Afterwards I felt like a million bucks.

Saturday I signed up for the "superior" package at a spa,but they couldn't fit me in until the afternoon because a huge group of Japanese business men came in before me. They were all pissed off that they had to wear swim suits in the spa. They hadn't brought any with them, so they all had to buy little swimming trunks that were waaaaay too small for them.

So I hiked all over town, found the Russian Orthodox churchdecked out in glittery gold and a nice little monument to Karl Marx.Then I followed the trail behind Marx that took me to what I believe might be the highest point in Bohemia.It's such a steep climb that they built a funicular railroad to take the throngs of tourists to the top. Me, I walked it. Then took the friggin' train back down. But the views were gorgeous, and I had my spa treatments to look forward to.

Lounging around in a Romanesque bathhouse for a good four hours is totally my idea of a good time. In between my little treatments of inhaling mineral-infused air in a cavern (felt a little like a gas chamber) and skipping from a hot foot bath to a cold foot bath for 15 minutes ("very good for foot," the big, blondie "nurse" told me) I lollygagged around a big, fancy pool and sipped tea with cranky Russians and their frisky children. Then came the highlight of my trip: a full-body massage from a flirtatious, fully-clothed Czech dude with a goatee, who tried to teach me better pronunciation of the few Czech words I know.

Again, a burly man gave me the command to take off my clothes. "Complete!" he said, and accentuated his seriousness with a sweeping hand gesture. He looked at me approvingly (certainly because communication was successful) and then told me to get on the table, which stood below a deep, cylindrical skylight and a security camera. I awkwardly flipped over a few times before assuming the position he wanted: face up. What ensued were among 40 of the most delightful minutes of my life. It's a damn shame it's taken nearly 30 years for someone to touch my ass like that. Well worth the wait.

I hope I won't always have to pay people to rub me the right way.

To top off the spa experience, a very nice lady prepared what they call a pearl bath for me. Again, I stripped and then placed myself into a magic bathtub that shot out little fizzy bubbles systematically through pinhole-like jets. Another full body massage of sorts. Made me tingle all over in a different way. The number of ways a gal can tingle in one weekend seems to increase exponentially in Karlovy Vary.

It's been a long time since I've slept so well. This spa trip was exactly what I needed: to get away from the tedious ego-bruising and back into my body. It's a good place to be again.



(Karlovy Vary also happens to be the home of becherovka, a beverage the Czechs like to refer to as the real Jaegermeister. It sure tastes like hell, but it ain't so bad mixed with tonic and drunk after several rounds of pivo. Oh the things one learns whilst abroad!)