For my birthday this year I wanted two things - hot water and a bubble bath. Hot water in the form of an inverter for the boat, which has been on backorder since last July, but was just recently installed (yeah!). And a bubble bath, because now that I don't have a bathtub I'm obsessed with taking baths at every hotel we stay at. So I chose a bathtub attached to a spa hotel in Oia, Spain - Hotel Talaso Atlantico. We were told that it's known for their salt waters and beautiful vistas. OK, I'm in!

So, off we go with Cholo, our sweet driver to Talaso Atlantico for an overnight getaway. It's a beautifully sunny day and the drive from Vigo to Oia is as advertised - like a European version of California's Highway 1, down the northwest coast of Spain, through various small and large villages that hug the ocean.

We arrive just in time for a leisurely lunch out on the large terrace watching the waves crash (no, that was not an accident...he he). Sea bass carpaccio and roasted chicken for me, while Steve opts for the shrimp starter and the veal chops. We share a chilled bottle of Albarino and head to our room for...my long-awaiting bubble bath. So I soak myself prune-style while playing Scrabble on the iPad (I'm very careful...no worries) and then curl up in the fluffy hotel robe. Happy Birthday to me! But wait there's more. With our hotel package we both have "treatments" at 5:30. My tummy full, a nice little buzz going on, and a delightful bath behind me, we move on to our next events...

Not knowing what to expect we arrive at the spa reception in our street clothes and packs with our swimsuits. There is already a misunderstanding that we could have come down in our fluffy room robes. No worries, the receptionist says and hands us two robes which have seen better days. Clearly these are the leftovers for the boneheads who aren't familiar with the protocol. OK, we head to our separate locker rooms (an ample description).

Clean but not your standard Burke-Williams or Canyon Ranch for sure. Strictly utilitarian. OK, no problem. But, something tells me that I might need that suit after all. I'm led to the universal "sitting room" (I have purposely not called this a lounge), where instead of someone whispering into your ear if you'd like a non-fat soy chai or cucumbers for your Pellegrino, there is a simple espresso machine and diner-style cups. Oh and a water cooler.

I sit next to Steve who has a look on his face that I can't recognize is fear or embarrassment. I whisper to him if he is ok. "My robe doesn't fit. It's too small." I then see that he's sitting with his legs crossed, femine-style. I ask, "where is your suit" and realize immediately that the trunks were left in the locker room. "I didn't think I was supposed to wear them." Well, nothing to do now - they've just called our names.

So we head to our separate treatment rooms following our therapists, wearing the standard issue matching polo and khakis. Lots of "how are you feeling today"s and right this way Mrs. Banana (as you can imagine, happens a lot in Spain). Steve giving it all his has to keep from revealing himself. Me, thinking oops, why did I take such a long bath, when I see the room and realize the first treatment is a jet tub soak.

I'm shown into the tub room where the lights are slightly dimmed and a candle is burning. My therapist hands me a packaged item as well as a shower cap and let's me know specifically that the shower cap is optional. OK, she'll be back in two minutes to help me. I open my package and it's a little paper bikini with ruffles (bottom only of course). I must look ridiculous and I am immediately reminded of the tutu-clad dancing hippos from Fantasia. With barely enough time to swallow my pride my therapist comes in, immediately asks how I am doing (well, how would you be doing standing here like this), and "helps" me into the tub. I don't know if this is standard operating procedure, to stave off lawsuits, or if I look incapable of stepping into the tub, but this is where things get even more embarrassing. Mind you, my bikini is a universal size meant to not be skin-tight but simple cover one casually. Well, with all the bending and swinging legs, etc...let's just say we didn't make eye contact right away. Yikes! I can only imagine Steve, being a rookie and all, must be going through.

I find out when Steve and I meet up in the sitting room after our tubs. I can tell that he likely had a similar experience...or worse. He proceeds to tell me about his mishap. His therapist had clearly mimed to him to take off his robe, while she waited to help in in the tub. Steve attempted to clarify that this was the process a couple of times. Yes, yes...so he took off his robe and thus the misunderstanding was revealed. She quickly mimed to him to put it back on and handed him two "packages". These, unlike mine were male temporary g-strings, of which he now had two in his hand. While recounting his story, he looks up at me and says, "how was I supposed to put two of them on?". I can just picture him in the room holding up two g-strings trying to solve the puzzle. Buwaaahahhhhhaaaa...I'm in hysterics. "Honey, I'm pretty sure she just grabbed two in her hurry to get out of there."

He goes on to explain a similar story of overexposure as I had experienced, adding that the original therapist never returned and then sent in another instead. Poor guy. But as soon as we're done swapping stories, we called to our next treatment, which I like to refer to as the Human Sushi Handroll (a.k.a. a seaweed wrap). Mind you, I live on a boat and experience many low tides, which is the least pleasant smell in the marina. It smells of drying out seaweed. Yuk! So I'm not too keen on being wrapped in stinky seaweed, no matter how good it may be for my skin. Oh well.

So, in this room I'm told to disrobe again and given the standard issue ruffle bikini. This time there is a table that I'm told to lay down on face up. I do this while my therapist "mixes" my seaweed mud to the proper consistency. With no dim lighting or privacy I flop onto the plastic covered table. Uh. She again asks me how I'm doing and then asks me to sit down in English. I giggle because she clearly means sit up, but I mix up my directions in Spanish all the time too. I sit up which causes everything to droop and fold, but I've lost my modesty back in the jet tub room. I'm slathered with the seaweed mud, told to lie down, and slathered some more...nearly everywhere. Then it hits me that I'm going to be wrapped up and let to steep in this. Oh no! Panic starts to creep into my brain. But I calm myself down and go with it (go to your Happy Place Tracy). I can do this. She wraps the plastic around me then a warming blanket. Oh, hot seaweed mud. How lovely (insert sarcastic font). She asks me if she can get me anything - clearly rhetorical don't ya think? There I sit in my smelly seaweed straight jacket starting to sweat. Just as expected, my nose itches...

After what seemed and eternity, while my panic is at its peak, she returns. Thank goodness! She unwraps me and helps me to the shower that's in the corner of the room - the one with clear glass. She then starts cleaning up the table while presumably I am to shower off all of this mud. Let me tell you that there is no way to gracefully shower off mud from all parts of your body - again I'm mortified.

This time she motions for me to finally put on the suit I had brought and I am led straight to my next treatment room - just passing Steve briefly in the hallway.

She leads me then into this long narrow room that at one end has a steel cage-like structure and a big drain. I am gently directed to go to the cage, while my "therapist" stands behind a 1960's NASA looking control panel, holding a big fire hose. Is she serious? She must've read my mind because she spoke to me in a calming way and I was able to translate a few phrases like, "feels good", "no hurt", and "salt is good for your skin". OK, here we go. When she turns the hose on me, I realize quickly that the cage is needed to hold yourself upright from the blast of water coming at you. All of a sudden I was channeling Meryl Streep in Silkwood. What? There has been a leak in Reactor 16 and I've been contaminated?? No, no Mrs. Banana, this is a spa treatment.

Steve and I meet up, change in the locker room and quickly head to our room to swap stories over champagne. How crazy was that last one, we both say. We wonder then at how tomorrow will go. I had ordered a massage and then we were going to go into the therapeutic pools afterward.

It's 10:30 and I'm ready for my massage! Now knowing the ropes I slip into my hotel room robe and make my way to the spa level. Kind greetings again, and my massage therapist leads me to a room. It's your standard message table, draped with what looks to be a disposable sheet. OK, but then I notice there is no top sheet or blanket, just a towel. Pride again swallowed, I lay my naked ass face down on the table and wait for her to return. The towel as I suspected gets casually draped from area to area, without much concern over tucking. Guess we're pretty prude back home. Back, legs, upper thighs, yikes, calves, feet. Then the "time to flip over" part. Back home this is done behind a sheet screen held by the masseuse. Again, gravity takes over and things start flopping around. I get situated on my back and the towel is discreetly covering my bottom half, but that is the only towel. Well, I guess my "pecks" are a little sore anyway so...my final bit of pride gets swallowed down.

I relax and enjoy my massage, grateful that the obligatory "natural" music isn't playing. (Does anyone ever realize that putting on sounds of rain just makes the clients want to pee?). Oily and feeling like jelly, I stop at the reception desk and purchase mandatory swim caps for the therapeutic pool. In the room, Steve and I put on our swim caps, snap a few photos (we look ridiculous) and head back down to the pool.

This is clearly the main attraction. While this may not be your La Costa or Grand Wailea resort, it is a destination - a destination for old bones and for the arthritis-ridden, or simply a restoration getaway for the unknown and unpretentious. We walk into the large room and see why. The indoor, enormous pool is enclosed by floor to ceiling windows overlooking the ocean. There is a large teak deck with simple chaises for drying out while gazing at the sea. The room is warm but without the terrible chlorine stench that you would have imagined. Instead, it's the lovely smell of the sea - the salt palpable in the air. This pool is filtered seawater, set at a comfortable temperature, with a variety of "stations" to explore. Some have jets for your feet, others are strong jets for your back, and some are enclosed whirlpools. We tried everything, from the waterfalls to massage your neck and back to the hot, jetted tub and the lounging jet seats. Steve was even brave enough for the cold dunking pool elevated slightly in the center as well as the boiling hot steam room. It was amazing. It was the best part of the whole experience and we stayed until we were completely waterlogged.

Completely relaxed and now hungry as all get out, we take a quick rinse back in the room, pack up ready, and enjoy another lunch before the drive home. This time we split the lobster salad and a luscious veal stew. We ended it with a homemade vanilla ice cream sundae and a bottle of Rioja, all just in time to meet Cholo at the hotel's entrance for the ride home. He and I chat all the way, me feeling pretty proud that I could understand about three-quarters of what he was saying and still keeping up my end of the conversation. I've given up waiting for the proper tense or the exact word to come to me and have instead adopted the Roland Mahler philosophy of languages - better that I'm in the conversation, if only they understand part of what I'm saying.

Thanks Steve-O for a wonderful adventure. It was another grand birthday.

Ciao

Here is the hotel...