Sunday, 25 May 2014

Stewing in the Spa

As a  holiday treat I've blocked booked myself into the campsite spa, a haven of child-free peace - unless that is a group of young French girls have decided to visit at the same time.  What is it with some people?   I know that I'm a right chatterbox and not normally known for being the quietest creature on the planet. Some spaces, places of worship, wellbeing or healing though  exude tranquility.  There, I have a deep sense that being as quiet and unobtrusive as possible is the proper way to behave to preserve the atmosphere.  Inane wittering and giggling seems so inappropriate.  Rant over!  I didn't let the hen party spoil the first of my visits as I managed to make sure that I stayed well away from them.


If money were less of an object I'd probably have a few of the treatments on offer.  I've only ever had a massage once at Thermae at Bath.  There I donned a pair of paper knickers and a man called Brad rubbed me with gorgeously smelly oils.  Now I couldn't even make that up if I tried!  Blankets were, of course, involved to preserve my modesty but I've left them out of my preliminary description for comedic effect!  Anyway this description from the brochure of the spa here made me giggle as well.  I think it may be a translation error but  it's almost worth the 70 Euros to see if those herby dumplings are made out of Atora suet.  If so, could be recycled into a stew post treatment?

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