I'm not the kind of guy to pass up a
serious pampering when offered. It was in this something-for-nothing
spirit that I accepted the invitation of the PR director for the
Fiesta Americana Grand Coral Beach where I'm staying in Cancun for
something called Hydra Therapy in the hotel's spa.
The pool at the Fiesta Americana appears to go on forever. |
I had no idea what hydra therapy might
be, but I suspected it would make me feel better coming out than I
felt going in. Mostly, I was right. I had been up since 2:30 a.m. to
get myself to Atlanta for my 8:30 direct Delta flight to Cancun.
Atlanta airport has a separate international terminal that involves a
little more time and stress than the domestic one. I was tired and a
tad cranky upon arriving at the hotel.
I chose to take advantage of the
hotel's largesse late in the afternoon of my first day. I arrived at
the hotel a bit after noon on Monday. There were no structured events
on the agenda for that day. It seemed like the ideal opportunity to
douse myself with some water.
Surf and cerveza at the Isla Contoy restaurant. |
After consuming a wonderful lunch of
coconut-fried shrimp and Sol cerveza at the hotel's ocean-side Isla
Contoy restaurant, and about 90 minutes sunning by the hotel pool, I
approached the spa check-in on the fourth floor.
Before I could embark on my hydra
adventure, however, I had to complete a medical form more involved
than when I last applied for major medical insurance. Ten minutes
later, I was escorted to the men's locker room by Enrique, where I
slipped into my swimming trunks and a spa-provided robe.
Hydra therapy, it turns out, is sort of
the water version of the Stations of the Cross. It consisted of seven
or so different water experiences, or tortures, if you will. Water
boarding wasn't among them, but would have been preferable to the
immersions in ice-cold water that followed a couple of the warmer
events.
My attendant Enrique then walked me to
a steam room where he left me to stew in my own juices. Well, not
quite, but it was hot. I still managed to doze off after lying down
on the tile bench. I did mention that I had been awake since 2:30
that morning, right? Thankfully he returned to lead me to a warm
shower before I succumbed. The shower was relaxing and I really began
to calm down and unwind. This euphoria was short lived, however.
Enrique walked me to another shower. I should have suspected
something was up. Why two showers?
“It very fria: cold,” he told me.
No shit! It was 10 seconds of eye-bulging, ice-cold water. Big Jake
and the Twins still have not come out of hiding.
From there we were off to another warm
room where Enrique handed me a little paper cup containing some sort
of paste that he identified as clay. “Rub on your neck and
shoulders,” he instructed. I did as I was told and sat in the semi
dark awaiting some sort of epiphany to take place. I'm still waiting.
After 10 minutes or so, Enrique
returned to take me to another shower. I was already the cleanest
I've been in decades. I toweled off in time for him to take me to the
whirlpool. Now you're talking, Enrique.
I submerged myself in the foaming pool
and closed my eyes. Let the relaxing begin!
Returning 15 minutes later, Enrique
helped my limp form out of the whirlpool and into a warm pool of
still water. “Dunk down,” he said, demonstrating his command by
squatting a couple of times on the side of the pool. Mimicking his
motion in the water my skin cooled a few degrees. He then walked me a
couple of feet to another pool. “You go in and dunk yourself
again,” he said. “It good for closing your pours.”
Oh, yeah, I thought, no way. Every
orifice on my body was still puckered closed by my first bout with
ice water. I waded up to my knees and ran back out, shouting, “On
to the next station,” through gritted teeth as I sprinted past a
startled Enrique.
Recovering his composure, he took me to
a maze-like, water-filled trench that zigzagged like the line for
Disney's “It's a Small World” ride. The bottom was lined with
smooth river rocks. I stepped down into the tepid water and walked
the course. I came to the end, walked out to find a smiling Enrique
pointing to another similar course next to it. “This one colder,”
he cautioned. I took two steps and bounced back out. “Not
happening, my friend,” I told him.
The final station was something he
called “The Sensation Pool.” Roughly the size of an Olympic-size,
rectangular swimming pool, it contained several different water
experiences from a laser-like focused water spout to a bubbling area
that made the whirlpool seem tame by comparison. I moved from
experience to experience, enjoying the peace and quiet of the place
that I had to myself despite two dozen or more lounges arranged
around its perimeter.
Enrique left me to enjoy this final
station for 20 minutes or so.
My room at the Fiesta Americana. |
When I finally returned to my room, I
was a puddle, but calmed and relaxed.
It was a two-hour experience of
trance-inducing pampering punctuated by heart-stopping encounters
with water cold enough to be glacier runoff.
All in all, though, a terrific
experience.
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