The spa was huge. Seriously, the building stretched the size of about three times of my own home…then again, my house had never been of great proportions.
I was given a room overlooking a lake that could have been an ocean, deep and a precious blue colour, to the left of a bright green forest, and both a great vista to wake up to every morning. The amber sun would rise to give light to the blues and green, as a painter would, his ideas creating the countryside and bringing it to life with the stroke of a brush. The sun made the colours glimmer as its morning light broke through into the day.
The spa room I entered first (once I had dropped off my baggage- physical and emotional) was of a mild warmth, as clouds of steam puffed out of the sauna next door and scattered themselves above the massage bench and the mud-baths. Attached to the wall was a tiled sign shaped as an arrow, and pointing towards a door, labelled ‘to the pools’. I saw, as another visitor tottered through the complex, swimming pools and a jacuzzi beyond.
The lady smiled absently as she saw me looking.
“The baths are lovely,” she said, dreamily, “There’s a hot pool, and a freezing pool, there’s one for swimming and a jacuzzi to boil and bubble away the troubles!”
She giggled and sighed, floating out the door I had just passed through.
Perhaps she was just a happy-go-lucky kind of girl, but perhaps she had had all her troubles scraped away, and, perhaps, I too could forget about all that business with my late husband.
Ten minutes later, I was sinking into a cool bath of glorious mud, which in turn was soaking right into my pores. At that moment, I was submerged and felt safe, as though all my problems could be forgotten. It was good, and then I was handed a glass of champagne. The resort became brilliant.