Reprinted from May 2011
Airplanes can take us to new destinations, on around-the-world adventures, and sometimes to downright embarrassing situations. More often for me, it’s the latter. A fine example of this occurred a few years ago on our yearly trip to Santa Fe, New Mexico. Over our thirty-nine-year marriage, Patty and I have visited Santa Fe in Barons, Dukes, King Airs, Falcons, Sabres and our most recent Mustang. The routine is usually the same. Great food, expensive shopping, and amazing art. But this year was to be different. Patty mentioned that she wanted to visit a well-known luxury spa. I had resisted for years but evidently was in the hole for something on this particular trip and accidentally agreed to the junket. I had never really experienced a body massage and don’t particularly enjoy having strangers rub their hands on me.
The weather was characteristically CAVU with 50 NM visibility. For me, KSAF is one of the more difficult airports to spot from the air, and it may be the only state capital airport without approach radar. After touching down on Rwy 20, we drove through the beautiful Sangre de Cristo Mountain range and arrived at the idyllic site late in the afternoon. Patty had called ahead and made all the arrangements. The facilities were impressive and spread out over tree-lined slopes deep in the woods.
First, we were taken to a small room where we were planted on tables and disrobed. Then, two total strangers walked in. A muscular lady, with the likely name of Olga, put a slice of lemon on each of my eyes and began to wrap me in a large cloth shell like a human tortilla. I don’t know about you, but I don’t like to be wrapped like a tortilla. Tortillas are for Mexican restaurants.
Tighter and tighter, she wrapped me until I could barely breathe. And then she proceeded to put hot rocks all over my body and told me she was leaving for a while. Trying to scream for help while wrapped up like an Egyptian mummy, all I could think of was that I had just paid real money for this.
After what seemed like an eternity, the eternity was over. Olga came back and cut me free. Patty had exactly the same experience and said it was absolutely delightful. That is not exactly what I said. But we had paid for the optional package “A,” and there was more to come.
We were led up the pine-covered hillside to our “private” cabana with its own heated pool. Written on the wall were instructions for use.
- Take all your clothes off.
- Get in the pool.
We followed the instructions to the letter, except for one small item. Naked, Patty announced that she had left her towel outside the door and could I just sneak out and grab it. Sure, no problem. We were in the middle of the forest, surrounded by nature’s most impressive creatures. No one could be anywhere near us. So, dripping, hot, and naked, I snuck out to grab the towel. I propped open the door with my leg and stretched as far as I could, looking for the towel. Click. The door shut behind me. It automatically locked. And there was no towel anywhere. Now dripping, cold, and naked, I was in the middle of the forest, subject to arrest for all sorts of reasons.
And then I heard sounds that I will never forget. A Girl Scout troop on a tour of the resort was coming up the trail and headed directly for our cabana.
You have never seen a mature man screaming so loudly. Inside, Patty, with her iPod blaring, paid no attention to my agony. With seconds to spare before I would have been arrested and pictured on the front page of the Santa Fe newspaper, naked with a Girl Scout troop, I climbed over the fence to safety.
Now, on every visit to Santa Fe, I always carry an extra towel in the baggage compartment.
Fly safe.
