A Korean Cleansing Ritual

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By Judy Tierney

Photography by Edee Olson

No matter how I adjusted it, the tiny hand towel only covered a fraction of my ripe American body. Held in one hand against my chest, the watermelon-colored cloth drooped between my breasts. Grasped with two hands, arms by my hips, it covered the tops of my thighs, but nothing else. “Is this Korea’s version of the lavish terrycloth robe I get at my spa back home?” I wondered.

“What are we supposed to do with this thing?” I faced my sister Jane, wearing only an elastic bracelet attached to a locker key and plastic slippers adorned with red roses the receptionist gave me on the way in.

We had just deposited our clothes in the locker room of the Shilla Sauna in Seoul, Korea. Elaine, an American who had lived in Korea for twenty-one years, recommended a body scrub and massage at this bathhouse, which was tucked into the basement of an apartment building behind our hotel.

“It will be a true immersion into Korean culture,” she told us. “Korean saunas are a far cry from American spas.” It didn’t take long to notice the differences.

Compared to spas I’d visited at home, the Shilla Sauna felt more like a YWCA. Inside the long, dimly lit room, women of all ages roamed around as if nude were the national state of dress. Gossiping girlfriends huddled together in herbal pools. A teenager and her grandmother, sitting on child-sized plastic stools, scrubbed each other’s backs at a row of shower nozzles. Young girls with porcelain skin and charcoal hair splashed between tubs, their giggles echoing against the concrete floors and low ceilings.

Communal bathing, a centuries-old custom in Korea, still plays an important role in the lifestyle of its citizens. Before homes had running water mokyoktangs or neighborhood bathhouses offered separate bathing facilities for men and women. Today, they provide a refuge for business colleagues after a stressful workday, a place for ladies to visit for an afternoon, and an alternative to the bar scene where friends can meet. Locals still flock to these establishments to enjoy a bath and a bit of socializing for a small fee.

A measly 5,000-won (approximately $4) admission fee to Shilla’s allowed Jane and me to participate in the collective cleansing ritual. Yvette, a college-aged attendant with a boyish figure, round face, and blunt hair cut – the only employee with whom we could communicate – instructed us in broken English to shower before entering the public pools. As Jane and I watched other women vigorously rubbing their bodies with washcloths we realized that a quick lather and rinse lacked the appropriate reverence the practice deserved. So we polished our skin with meticulous precision. Afterwards, we soaked for an hour in Shilla’s herbal pools. Yvette attempted to describe the therapeutic benefits of each pool, a warm ginseng bath would energize our spirits, green tea would remove impurities from our skin, and an aromatherapy Jacuzzi would relax our muscles.

Between pools, we sweated in gem-walled saunas. Many Koreans believe that precious stones and rocks provide special healing powers. Yvette advised that the brilliant purple amethyst in one sauna would enhance our circulation. The cinnamon clay walls in a second room would detoxify our skin. I pointed at a carton of eggs atop a wall of pink agate.

“For facials?” I asked.

“They are cooking,” Yvette replied with a puzzled expression. “We eat them.”

When it was time for our treatments – ninety minutes of personalized pampering for an additional $45 – Yvette escorted us to the far corner of the room. There we found no candlelight or soothing music. No private rooms with names like Tranquility and Serenity. No soft-spoken specialists offering refreshing ginger iced-tea. Just two rows of pale blue plastic-covered tables, like those in a doctor’s examining room, spread about three feet apart.

Middle-aged women in black lacey bras and panties and sporting yellow exfoliating mitts awaited their next victims. “They speak no English,” Yvette said. “Call me if it hurts too much.”

Personalized scrubs, once reserved almost exclusively for people of nobility, became more widely available with the emergence of bathhouses, according to Patty Ishida, owner of the Olympic Korean Day Spa in Los Angeles. Koreans used to exfoliate themselves in local streams using hay as a loofah mitt. Today, however, they have access to bathhouse facilities and staffs skilled in traditional scrubbing techniques.

Although she was half my size, my Korean masseuse manhandled me effortlessly. She positioned me face up on the table and doused me with buckets of hot water. Next came the soapy, gloved hands, scouring my entire body like a dirty skillet. From neck to toe, she scrubbed each area until pleasure turned to pain. My reactions followed the unfamiliar path of her hands – an uncomfortable tightening of the body, a fit of nervous laughter, a gasp.

A bathhouse is no place for modesty. My lingerie-wearing exfoliator flipped me into positions that would be taboo in any respectable U.S. spa. For thirty minutes, her hands stripped my body to a layer of raw skin that had never been exposed. I had come for indulgence, to spoil myself, but the scrub seemed more about purpose than pampering. For Koreans, baths and body scrubs represent a deeper spiritual experience. They symbolize cleansing, a washing away of one’s past, and a hope for the future. They purify a bride, prepare the romantic for a special date, and bring luck to businessmen before important meetings. Scrubs also build bonds when performed on loved ones, signifying trust between friends, a parents’ love for their child, and acceptance into a family through marriage.

The amount of dead skin surrounding me – the fruits of my masseuse’s labor – disgusted and amazed me at the same time. She rinsed the table, and my inhibitions washed away as well. I was ready for my massage.

The woman sent me to shower again while she waited at the second row of tables. I returned shivering from the cool air against my wet skin and then melted into the steaming towels she placed under my back. She kneaded me like pizza dough, her hands penetrating my neck and shoulders with deep strokes. I breathed in the scent of an icy cucumber mask she slapped on my face.

I submitted to another round of Korean spa acrobatics. Lathered up with oils, creams, and lotions, I slid around the table like a buttery eel while this slight woman manipulated my movements with amazing energy. She turned me onto my stomach. Green goo dripped from my face, as her forearms rolled up and down my back and legs. The soothing rub down and sounds of flowing water lulled me to sleep.

“Was it okay?” Yvette asked, spreading therapeutic mud on my body. I couldn’t think of a time when my skin had felt so soft, my mind so calm, and my spirit so comfortable in my own body.

When the mud dried, I showered a final time, savoring the last few moments in the Shilla Sauna. Yvette brought towels and helped me dry off. As I turned back toward the locker room, she slipped a pink and white cotton robe over my shoulders.

U.S. Spas That Offer Korean Scrubs

A number of spas in the U.S. offer Korean-style scrubs and massages. Services range from a light exfoliation in private rooms (great for someone who wants to get a taste of this type of treatment) to more intense scrubs in communal areas with multiple massage tables (like the one described in this article).

Juvenex Spa, New York, New York
(646) 733-1330; www.juvenexspa.com
75-minute scrub with skin nourishment and massage, $95

Olympic Spa, Los Angeles, California
(323) 857-0666; www.olympicspa.citysearch.com
60-minute scrub and massage, $70

Olympus Women’s Health Club, Lakewood, Washington
(253) 588-3355; www.olympusspa.com
40-minute scrub, $40

Spa Mystique, Los Angeles, California
(310) 551-3251; www.spamystique.com
25-minute scrub, $50

Aroma Spa and Sports, Los Angeles, California
(213) 387-0111; www.aromaresort.com
70-minute scrub and massage, $80

Yi Pak, New York, New York
(212) 594-1025
120-minute scrub and massage, $100

address book

Shilla Sauna, Seoul, Itaewon
(02) 749-8802 or (02) 749-8803
Admission fee, approximately $4.

May/June 2003

Healing Lifestyles & Spas Team

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