Last Friday proved to be an evening of breaking numerous New York City (this includes Brooklyn) stereotypes.
1. New Yorkers don't hang out with their neighbors, let alone speak to them in the elevator.
Here in our DUMBO building we are like family, well maybe a college dorm. It's a building of impromptu dinners, club nights, spontaneous summer parties and even holidays together beyond the confines of our domicile. Therefore it was no surprise when our neighbor The Fitness Guru ask us and a number of others to join him and his lovely Guress for a relaxing evening at the "Russian Baths".
2. Nothing relaxing or legal could possibly take place under the BQE.
Yes, even I was caught off guard when I was told there was a great spa, Body by Brooklyn, located Park Avenue and Washington Avenue. How could this be? After all, Natasha and I walk by there every week on our way to teach at Pratt Institute and we had never experienced anything other than abandon cars, broken pavement and a continuous swirling cloud of exhaust and dirt. But The Guru was right, although a tree couldn't grow in this section of Brooklyn, a spa certainly did.
3. Russian baths are disgusting and vile homes to bacteria, men with hyperactive hair follicles and questionable endings to treatments.
OK, I'm not exactly sure how many other spas/baths offer private suites with a Jacuzzi, steam room and plasma screen TV for $200 an hour, but it all seemed in keeping with this quirky establishment. A year and a half old, it was so clean that even this man from the world of OCD didn't think twice about putting on, or taking off his communal flip-flops. Surprisingly enough, we weren't met with any hirsute men or women, nor hulking frames that one would expect to be lumbering around such a place. And for better or worse, funny business was kept to jokes over drinks at the well-stocked bar. The restaurant was clean and health code conscious as well. In fact, The Guru saw a head of lettuce fall on the floor expecting it to be put right back into the food supply only to witness it being picked up and thrown directly into the garbage. No five second rule at Body by Brooklyn!
4. New Yorker skepticism keeps us from spending our money and trying new things.
As a New Yorker I am always alert, ready and aware of the scam, the smooth talker and the deal. This goes double when the person proposing the great opportunity has an foreign accent other than a proper, Queen's English. But this night my pores and mind were open to anything. Therefore when "Ben" the Turkmenistan masseur approached me to explain the "special offer" of a Dead Sea Salt Exfoliating and Traditional Russian Platza (a.k.a. Jewish acupuncture), I caught him off guard and before the hard-sell I said yes.
The experience was well worth the price of $80 (the deal was anything over $40 would waive the night's fee of $40). First this slight 110 pound man, a former 190 pound man, took me to the steam room for the exfoliation. And as Ben explained, the salt was from the Jordanian side of the the sea due to a huge price gap with the Israeli salt. Under the watchful eye of the rest of the room, he began a massage that gave me the strange sensation of being rubbed down like a side of short ribs.
Now, soft and tingly I was sent off for a soak and warm up in the hot tub before I entered the Hot Room where the Platza would take place. The hot room should be called the "I just died and went to Hell" room. At 190 degrees, even the walls and floor are too hot to touch. In fact, it is so hot that Ben had to wear a Soviet star emblazoned wool cap soaked in water to keep his head cool, and his hair follicles from burning to a crisp during the entire session. As he prepared the treatment bed by pouring ice cold water on a blanket I tried to acclimate my lungs to the light and searingly invigorating air. Lying face down on the bed Ben covered my head with a cool wet towel that was soon to take on the heat of the room. I could hear the rustle of the oak leaf branches that he would soon be beating my arms, trunk, legs and feet with. Fifteen seconds into the treatment I thought I was going to die as my lungs failed to provide me with amounts ample of air. This was similar to the unsettling feeling I experienced the time I was ascending the heights of Mount Kilimanjaro.
This uncharted course quickly turned to relaxation and otherworldliness. As I turned over the rhythmical beating of the leaves took me further away while dead skin cells were whisked from my limbs. After a final beating while sitting on a bench with my arms extended like Jesus, Ben instructed me to journey to my salvation, the ice pool. As I plunged into the water the cells of my body sang a song and joined the universe. I felt everything and nothing, but I was certain I was very much alive. After the pool I was swaddled and place on lounge chair to take it all in. Ben suggested a vodka shot and a drink to finish the treatment. Now that's a happy ending.
