Dead Sea

Baths

Take life with a sea of salt. - Anonymous

For starters, I think that a Q&A is in order.

Get set.

 Ask away.

What is the lowest point on the earth's surface?

Answer: The Dead Sea. At 1,300 feet below sea level.

A geological wonder that's also known as the Salt Sea, it is one of the must-do tourist attractions in the Middle East.

Stretching back to the days of Herod the Great, it is reputedly a health resort with healing properties. 

Is it true that there's so much salt in it, you can float?

I suppose we'll find out. Shall we take a dip?

Answer: Yes, it’s all true. 

The water, crystallized with salt and glowing almost white in the sunlight, buoys you up. No frog kick or treading required. 

Don't even try to swim in it. 

It.Won't.Be.Possible.

It's the sea where you can't sink. 

Around me, the water stretches out to the very edge of the horizon before dropping out of sight where the earth curves away from us.

It feels like time had warped and stood still. Moved backward and then forward.


I lift my face to feel the warm breeze.

The sun on my face is first pleasant, then hot and pulsing.

Feeling tiny, humble, inspired and salty all at once, I inhale deeply and then let out a slow exhale - dreaming of unpathed waters, unforeseen shores.

Remembering Andy

October 20, 2018

My sunshine doesn't come from the skies,

It comes from the love that's in Andy's eyes.

Rotorua Hot Spring

Baths

Half of beauty is attitude, anyway. Or so they say in Us Weekly.

I sucked in my stomach as I sat on the ledge of the hotel's natural thermal pool.

We had just taken a couple of bus rides from Auckland and finally touched down on Rotorua in New Zealand. We had literally descended into a caldera, a volcano's mouth that was the entire town. 

Can you smell the sulfuric aroma? 

It struck me that there was an abundance of hot bathing areas around, from private pools to natural hot springs. Signs were everywhere. Like the overwhelmingly large advertisement on our hotel front. 

I got the impression that in a place like this, all you had to do was to dig deep down anywhere to get to those hot geothermal waters and receive their healing benefit.

I didn't care.

All I was interested in at that moment was the so-called optics...

Of an amazing-looking me. 

I kept thinking, Size 5 is a wonderful place to be. All those times when I thought I looked like I needed to do intermittent fasting... umm... Negative. 

Seriously.

I thought I looked like a supermodel. As long as I hid my tummy behind a strategically-positioned arm.

It was the perfect pose.

My stomach was flat. The 'L' was just silent.

Turkish Bath

Baths

Do you like massages?

Umm... sorry, I don't. But I couldn't pass up a hamam experience.

That was what a Turkish bath was called.  

A water immersion that was a hybrid of a sauna and a Roman bath with exfoliation and massage. 

In the Turkish resort city of Antalya, no less. I figured I'd never pass that way again, so why not?

I wanted to.

Me, please.

Spoiler alert: I had to be completely naked. Yikes! (Aside: Good for me, this happened when the last two of my three-digit weight hadn't jumped up to the teens and gravity hadn't taken that much of a toll yet on my twin hanging appendages.) 

As I sheepishly pushed open the door to the cooling down room, the first thing that hit me was the massive, circular marble room. I was briefly unbalanced and had to take a theatrical step backward. 

But not only that. 

There was a multitude of bare breasts. 

Like naiads from Greek mythology, women of all shapes and sizes were already leisurely dousing their naked body with water from numerous small alcoves around the perimeter of the room. 

Embarrassment crawled all over me like a rash.

Hoping that motionlessness was the first cousin to invisibility, I made myself as still as possible. I tried to concentrate. I felt simultaneously distant from everything around me, and acutely aware of the smallest thing.

Momentarily, a hooded person like an Old Testament prophet led me to a room completely covered in marble featuring a big dome, several basins and an impressive göbektaşı - the central, raised platform above the heating source.

The searing wave of heat and humidity made it hard to catch my breath. 

I ambled towards the marble slab, my feet shuffling like I were heading off to a sacrificial altar. I felt warmth rising in my face.

It was presided over by a sweaty, overweight woman wearing only a loose upper garment that wasn't quite a bra and a white loin cloth. She had big ears and a fat red face, jowls sagging like a dejected bulldog. She did, indeed, appear to have a flair for taking charge.

I sat pale and motionless as a statue in a British museum. She stared at me like she was trying to memorize my body. 

Our eyes locked. 

She took a couple of steps towards me, her hands on her hips, her expression all concerned like a teacher who was about to tell me how disappointed she was with my attitude in class.

Looking away first and gulping, I lay down prone and relinquished control. I let her scrub my body and lather me with a sudsy swab from head to toe.

As I got all slippery and wet, she hammered her fist in rhythm. The words, No pain, no gain flashed through my mind. Probably the reason why most masseurs were persons of few words but many pounds, as Michael Palin had put it nicely.

Surprisingly, her hand touching my arms, back, legs and all of me was so soft and floating she might as well have been a yellow monarch butterfly.

After fifteen or so minutes, her cheerful if distorted smile and air of self-satisfaction told me that I was done.

I received another soapy wash followed by a rinsing session with … cold water. I was out of breath.

I  headed for the showers in the intermediate room. 

Finally, in the relaxation room, I donned a white robe and combed my hair into obedience. An attendant carried over a long-billed brass kettle and poured a graceful arc of apple tea into my cup.

I took a tentative sip in sober solemnity. It washed down my dry throat. Its sweetish-tart taste was like the warmth of home. 

The easy chatter of rosy-cheeked women swelled and dipped gently like a benign sea around me. It was all so absurdly comfortable.

Like an afternoon with nothing to do but be idle.

Pansol

Baths

Life is simple, just add water. - Anonymous

Brrr... it's cold.

Hang in there. Today I’m going to keep us toasty by getting immersed in something warm. 

That’s right.

You and me.

Nothing but steamy baths going on around here, starting with the Pansol hot springs situated at the foot of Mount Makiling.

It was one of our usual haunts.

Actually, I don't remember a lot of details. How we got there, for example, because this thermal bath was all the way to Calamba, Laguna. By bus? Or Uncle Jorge's car? Did I go with my Mum and brothers? Did we pack a lunch? 

I can capture the day only in snatches. 

I just know that we would sometimes go on the weekends. It was all there was to do, really. There were no fairs, no game arcades. Come early morning, we would congregate, saunter around, and off we went.

I remember the outdoor pool - large. The water smelled of sulfur and it was warm.

But the real attraction for me was the one short end of the pool that turned the corner. It bumped against a mounded hill with an arched opening through which we could enter and follow the water.

Inside was a smallish cave.

I remember how I would stare at its gray nothingness. Nothing but a wall of blankness.

Mysterious.

And I would just stand there awhile, the bubbling water just about lapping up my toes, watching the water run past, quick and shallow.

Wondering where it came from.

And where it was going.