Helen Raine may not be too comfortable completely naked in a room full of strangers, but she is ready to strip for a little slice of Korean cleanliness.

It’s not that I’m a prude; it’s just that I don’t usually strut around completely naked in a room full of strangers. So when the friendly receptionist with the glowing skin left me in the locker room with instructions to strip, I spent a few minutes hovering by the bench in a towel wondering whether she really meant me to take off everything. She reappeared, presumably baffled as to how it could take anyone that long to remove their clothes. And yes, she did mean everything.

She reappeared, presumably baffled as to how it could take anyone that long to remove their clothes. And yes, she did mean everything

I was at a Korean Bath House in Honolulu. It’s not just a spa; more of a cultural experience. I was given the beginners’ tour, then pointed to the shower. I hung my towel on the hook and dived in. Disconcertingly, the shower was mirrored so every now and then, naked ladies dripped past me, reflected behind a wall of water. The air was full of warm, watery sounds as women on low stools bathed by dipping scoops into buckets.

My shower finished, I streaked through the bath house trying not to look left or right, yanked open the door to the first steam room and stepped in.

I was alone. The walls were warm red brick and tatami mats lay on the floor with wooden headrests. I lay down on the mat and gingerly positioned my head. I’d been late for my appointment, having got lost in a maze of streets made more for driving than walking. My heart was still racing from the rush of getting there. After five minutes though, the gentle heat started to seep into my bones and a bud of tranquillity began to blossom where the stress had been.

I emerged bleary eyed and took a tepid shower as instructed. Passing two ladies reclining on beach chairs, I took a deep breath and stepped straight into the cold plunge pool trying not to squeal. After the initial shock, the cool water was delicious. All around me, women were catching up on the gossip or reading magazines together.

As I sat rather primly on the underwater bench, not quite sure what to do with myself, a lady approached. She was cheerfully rotund and the only person wearing anything; a black and white spotted bikini. Her English was pretty limited, but by a series of signs, we managed to establish that she was my masseuse and she was ready for me.

She took me into a back room and had me lie on a waterproof massage bed, throwing several buckets of deliciously hot water over me as a warm up. Then, using a natural mitt, she began scrubbing – hard.

I shower as much as the average person, use the requisite amount of soap and the occasional scrub. But apparently this is not enough. Soon, every inch of the bed was covered in little dirty brown curls of dead skin. Periodically, she would drench me in another bucket of water to get rid of the mortifying evidence of the dirt deep in my epidermis, before moving onto a new part of the body. Nowhere was spared, even if that meant manipulating my legs in ways that must have left little to the imagination. Forty years of ingrained dirt and oil in my skin were on the way out.

At first, I was feeling fairly tense, what with being completely naked and apparently also rather filthy. But the effect of the long smooth strokes of the mitt was hypnotic. It was impossible not to relax during the hour-long scrub. Every now and then, she would give me a couple of monosyllabic instructions, and I would obey as if in a trance with my eyes still closed. Opening them was slightly alarming as it meant I could see the next two women on the benches, who were also entirely naked and similarly relaxed. Every now and then, one of them emitted a loud “phlop” sound, as a suction cup was removed from their backs.

She was soon moving my limbs around as if they didn’t quite belong to me and, at one point, scooped me up bodily, spun me round without saying a word, and began washing my hair. While my hair submitted, my eyes were covered with cucumber slices and the rest of my face with the pulp. The light filtered opaquely through the slices, as if I had been transported to the interior of an oddly warm igloo. Scrub over, I was dispatched to shower again before the massage portion of the treatment.

The peculiar sensation of being straddled by a short, round, Korean lady in a polka dot bikini will stay with me for quite some time. From this angle, she managed to crush any remaining resistance from my body and another 40 minutes slid by in an oily haze. Occasionally, she would ask me if I was OK and I would manage to grunt something in the affirmative. Everything from my ear lobes to my toes was rubbed and pummelled. She finished with a triumphant drum roll across my back and laughed off all thanks as if it was just another day’s work.

Back in the shower for the fourth time, the difference was astonishing. Like a snake, I had shed my scaly, old skin and was now wearing a soft, smooth, more youthful version. It felt amazing. Even knobbly bits like my elbows and knees were uniformly silky. The lady in the bikini had worked a miracle.

I sweated out the remnants of the oil in the dry saunas [the steam sauna and the pools are out of bounds after the massage to keep them free of oil], then retreated to the make-up room to try and pull myself together.

Stepping out of the bath house back onto the busy street was a shock. Immediately, I was running the gauntlet of modern life and all its petty irritations; running for the bus; schlepping between two different terminals of the airport four times [a long and tedious story involving airport security]; waiting three hours for a delayed plane. But somehow, the magic mitt had generated a sense of euphoria that even big city life couldn’t shake. Although I must admit it helped that I had a good book and no children hanging off my skirts for once.

And now, some time later, although the sense of well-being has retreated to a cramped corner of my psyche, as I run my fingers over my elbows, they still feel gorgeously smooth. I think this kind of pampering could be addictive; I’ve already started saving to go back.

Helen Raine went to the www.alohasauna.com where the 100-minute Aloha Special Service cost around €85, including entrance to the bath house and sauna, steam rooms and pools.