A Memorable Massage At a Kyrgyz Health Spa

	To Our Readers
	The Moscow Times welcomes letters to the editor. Letters for publication should be signed and bear the signatory's address and telephone number. Letters to the editor should be sent by fax to (7-495) 232-6529, by e-mail to [email protected], or by post. The Moscow Times reserves the right to edit letters. Email the Opinion Page Editor

There's a health spa in the mountains near Bishkek that is all but abandoned, yet still operational. I imagine it was a top destination during the Soviet period, when toiling workers looked forward to state-sponsored vacations in the fresh mountain air.

I went last weekend with four expat friends, after a thorough survey of area ski resorts proved unsuccessful. All were closed, even as the falling snow piled high.

The sanatorium, Issyk-Ata, is named after nearby hotsprings. The name literally translates as "Father of the Hot." Steam billows out of ditches, enveloping a Lenin statue, gaudy sculptures and colorfully painted, decrepit benches.

A major highlight is a concrete pool filled with springwater. This we bypassed, seeking out hydromassage instead. I imagined hot rocks, steamy water, soft light and soothing mood music. By comparison, our "treatment" was downright utilitarian, even rough.

The matriarchal masseuse wore a white smock and cloth cap, not unlike a school cook back home. She led us to a long row of ceramic tubs, separated by walls of glass bricks. We were told to wait while she prepared the massage area. Each of us stepped into the steamy water, in varying stages of nakedness and uncertainty.

Our conversation petered out as the time passed, and we soaked into a numb, silent oblivion. My thoughts drifted to the purported healing effects of radon, as I wondered what possessed people to undergo treatment here.

It was a long wait before my turn. I wrapped myself up in an old pillowcase and walked down the hall. The masseuse signaled me into a raised pool, which she stood over. An industrial water pump shook with anticipation under a console housing three round dials.

When I was in place, she turned a valve and blasted me with a taped-up firehose. She started by briskly spraying my feet, on both sides, as I tried not to laugh. She then proceeded up my legs, sweeping and shaking as she scoured.

The massage, if you could call it that, was neither gentle nor precise. I took care to protect certain fragile body parts as the water washed over me in its violent fury.

I felt a bit of relief when it was all over, and, a few minutes later, a quiet calm. Maybe it was because my muscles were soothed, or maybe it was because I was away from that loud pump. I'll never know.

As we left, the woman invited us to return anytime for another session at their zdovoritsa, or healing place. We politely declined, even after she told us that 10 days of consecutive treatment guarantees good health for six months.

Ethan Wilensky-Lanford is a freelance journalist in Central Asia.