tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9884527.post110538031669390720..comments2023-06-06T06:40:21.968-07:00Comments on Kellinahandbasket: Bathing in Baden BadenAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14470349653022641703noreply@blogger.comBlogger3125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9884527.post-1106003290869346122005-01-17T15:08:00.000-08:002005-01-17T15:08:00.000-08:00I laughed so hard when I read your blog that my ch...I laughed so hard when I read your blog that my cheeks hurt and I thought I might barf or hyperventilate. <br /><br />Then I stopped laughing and thought about Mark Twain, who got PAID to write humorous stories about his trips abroad.<br /><br />You should be paid, too. Then you can buy all of RSS's books (thus maintaining the anonymity of places like Baden Baden) and use them to paper your loo.<br /><br />My current state is severely lacking in laughs, you know, what with the ever-looming exam and my half-hearted gestures at doing my reading. With Oliver Twist in mind: "Please, Kell, may I have some more?"jenhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12894708594890645829noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9884527.post-1105386330878469442005-01-10T11:45:00.000-08:002005-01-10T11:45:00.000-08:00Oh, and that was me...scuddie.
But I also wanted t...Oh, and that was me...scuddie.<br />But I also wanted to tell you about *my* bath house experience in South India. It wasn't so much of a bath house, than an aruyvedic massage place. But I went and they expect complete nudity. First, they throw you in a sauna (and India was already hot...we're talking 114 degrees that day). In addition to the dehydration and near-crippling diarreha, the heat was maddening. I felt as if I was going to faint. Then they walk you to a wooden table, one that you would imagine torture to happen on, and expect you to hop up on it. Then you lay down while a burly non-english-speaking Indian woman puts odd oils and spices all over your body...and I mean *all* over your body. There was no space on your body safe from those spices. Then they just leave you alone in this room. No comments, no telling me what I should do or when they will come back, she just left. So you are like "...?" After an indeterminant time, she comes back and helps you to a room with a shower stuck in the wall. Not a shower room, it looks kinda like a living room. Then she washes you. Washes you like a child. It was somewhat maternal and somewhat humiliating. But I did have the best night sleep after that massage.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9884527.post-1105385827038461652005-01-10T11:37:00.000-08:002005-01-10T11:37:00.000-08:00This is very very funny stuff, Mrs. Cowan.
I was i...This is very very funny stuff, Mrs. Cowan.<br />I was inspired by your story, and I went into the shower and varied the temperature to be hot, then warm, then cold, then hot. Then I washed and moisturized (which I rarely do). I was all keen on telling you about it, but I had moisturized so much that my hand kept slipping around on the doorknob. I was trapped! I had created my own slippery tomb! Luckily, my skin was so dry that I just rubbed it around and eventually, my hands were supple, not slippy, and I was able to open my bathroom door.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com