Getting Real at Jeju
A newbie spends the day at a traditional Korean bathhouse
Here’s the naked truth: Clothing is not allowed in the single-sex quarters of Jeju Sauna, a traditional Korean bathhouse (called a jjimjilbang) in Duluth.
I was lucky to be touring the bathhouse with Sarah Park, a Korean-born woman whose family now lives in Gwinnett. Sarah told me that growing up in Korea, her family would go to the jjimjilbang at least once a week—it was a place to get scrubbed clean and to hang out, watch TV, eat, or nap on mats in the saunas.
You can do all of these things and more at Jeju, including getting a manicure or indulging in foot reflexology. Because the spa is open 24 hours a day and provides pillows and blankets, some people even choose to spend the night. Rumor has it one man bought a yearly membership for $1,600, because he drives a cab and often sleeps at Jeju between shifts.
Soaking It In
Visits begin with a shower—you can choose either standing or sitting. Once we were nice and clean, Sarah and I got in the warm tub, preferring it over the other two (one very cold, one very hot.) The water was warm and clean and deep enough that I could immerse my whole body, as if I were being baptized. Indeed, I experienced a deep peace while floating in that tub.
After soaking for a few minutes, we decided to enter the sauna. While most of the saunas at Jeju are located in the mixed–gender area, there are two in the women’s section. The dry sauna, lined with wood, had a warm, toasty smell and evoked in me a long-ago memory of coming inside after running around on a snowy day. The thick steam in the wet sauna was infused with herbs, which sat in a basket labeled with a strict warning not to add any extra herbs to it.
“That warning has to be there for a reason,” Sarah laughed. “Someone must have brought her own herbs.”
Scrubbing It Off
Leaving the heat of the saunas, it felt perfect to splash my face with water from the cold tub. Then it was time to soak in the hottest of the tubs to prepare my body for a scrub, which I was combining with a 30-minute massage, shampoo, and cucumber facial mask, all for $80. Sarah encouraged me to call my service provider “Emo,” which means aunt in Korean.
Emo started scrubbing one leg, continued all the way up to my neck, and then came back down again to the other leg. Then she had me flip onto my back so she could do the same thing on the front side of my body. Then she flipped me onto each side. The whole procedure was startling, but ultimately invigorating.
When she finished the scrub, Emo poured buckets of warm water over me to remove the many curls of dead skin, and then instructed me to wash my face in the American-style shower just outside the scrub room.
Here's The Rub
It was now time for my massage. Emo poured oil on my freshly scrubbed body and then massaged me as if I were a particularly tough piece of dough that she intended to knead into pliancy.
The session ended with her patting cold cucumber over my face and shampooing my hair, then rinsing everything off once more. Sarah came to check on me and encouraged me to feel my skin. It felt new, vulnerable, and very soft, much like the skin of my two-year-old son.
Afterward I was so ravenous that I wondered if a body scrub burns calories. Sarah and I returned to the locker room to put on our uniforms, then headed to the food court located in the mixed-gender section. Sarah ordered us two traditional dishes—beef bulgogi served over a sweet broth with rice noodles, and doenjangjjigae, a soybean paste stew with zucchini and mushrooms. Both were accompanied by rice and sides, including kimchi.
Sarah and I had just met that day, but our shared Jeju experience had turned us into fast friends. Over lunch we found ourselves talking about both God and politics. Perhaps the act of getting real with our bodies allowed our conversation to wade into deeper waters. In any event, as I slurped up rice noodles and talked to my Korean-born friend about Jesus and American politics, I thought to myself: How cool is Gwinnett?
This article, written by Susan Rebecca White, originally appeared in Volume III of Explore Gwinnett Magazine and has been condensed for exploregwinnett.org