The Thermia Palace β Piestany, Slovakia. Besides, a quick blood pressure check seemed a good idea after 18 months of eastern European fried and salty food. The doctor was a grandmotherly woman, tiny and about 80, with a toothy smile and German accent. As I stood to go, she added a recommendation. Our weekend on Spa Island in Piestany had begun. The Thermia Palace was built in during the last years of the Austro-Hungarian empire.
The hotel stands as a reminder of this age of opulence: marbled walls, crystal chandeliers, gilded mirrors. The back of the hotel opens to the hills of the small Carpathians which are framed by floor to ceiling windows.
With our move to Budapest imminent, now seemed a good time. Our treatment series started Friday evening; thermal pool, mud pool and massage. An attendant escorted me to the treatment area. The pool was large β bigger than a backyard swimming pool β and filled with hot sulfur water. Alone, I paddled from end to end until I was asked to sit still and relax. The only difference between the mud pool and the thermal pool was six inches of silky mud covering the bottom. It squished through my toes β initially a bit unsettling though ultimately feeling good.
Someone on the other side of the divided center coughed. The evening ended in the massage room which felt more clinical than spa-like with a paper covered examination table and bright lighting overhead. The masseuse stood by while I de-robed. There was no fluffy, warm blanket under or over me.
Her fingers could crack walnuts. She grabbed the skin and muscle on the top of my shoulders and shook. She was right. It did feel kinda good even though it did kinda hurt. Back in our hotel room, I relaxed on the bed and leafed through a pamphlet of treatment descriptions.
