You see, I like spa treatments even more than I dislike being nude. Many times on my travels, I have overcome my reticence to enjoy the spas of Luxembourg, Baden-Baden, and Iceland, but none can compare to the treatment I had at the Crest Hotel Relaxation Centre, in Sydney, Australia.

My friend, an American ex-pat, swore jet lag could be cured with a visit to the Crest Hotel’s Relaxation Center , so off we went to Sydney’s Red-light District, Kings Cross. Sydneysiders call the spa the Ginseng House or the Korean Bathhouse. It’s an locals-only sort of place. Two nice ladies I met while on a walk in Manly told me it’s the #1 spot for hen nights (aka bachelorette parties).

The Ginseng Bathhouse is a little gem of insider’s cool: it’s unique, offbeat, and just a bit funky. The carpets are a bit threadbare, the paint is peeling in spots, and the whole place reeks of the 1970s. My friend assured me that this spa was the real deal, however. She spends a lot of time in Korea, and a spa there is just like a spa at the Crest Hotel.

I entered and paid my fee for the Korean Massage and Facial Spa Package. I accepted my face cloth and scrub mitts. Off went my clothes into a locker and on went the little robe to be worn in the locker room – only. The strict all-nude policy is in effect at the Ginseng Bathhouse. But there are separate facilities for men and women.

First, I showered Korean-style: I sat on a tiny plastic stool, lathered up, and then rinsed off under a hand-held nozzle. Then I had a soak in a big pool of Panax ginseng. I followed my tea soak with a cold plunge and a dry steam. After 30 minutes or so, a petite Korean lady in a modest blue bikini called my number. Naked and obedient, I followed. And experienced an odd, but highly relaxing shiatsu and efflueage massage. I loved it, and it was worth every penny.

The massage began with an all-over body exfolliation – and I mean scrub and I do mean all over. It was like being a litle baby, once again. I was then sponged and rinsed with buckets of tepid water. Twice during this 45-minute massage, I was told to shower, so I’d slip like a seal off my table and sit once agin on my little plastic stool. Back on the table, I was lathered up.

I was awakened from my sudsy daze when I heard what I thought were two ping pong paddles being whacked together. The masseuse was mixing my mask (more like beating the daylights out of it) of avocado and honey. She smeared the mixture on my face, wrapped my hair up in a towel, and then covered my body in oil and milk. Finally, my limbs and torso were wrapped tightly and warmly in hot towels.

My masseuse then jumped up and onto me, grabbed the bar over head, and proceeded to knead my spine with her bare toes. After removingmy now-cool towels, the lady doused me with cold water (it was refreshing). My face was washed and then massaged. However, for some therapeutic reason that I’ll never understand, my masseuse aggressively worked my neck muscles with a towel, tugging my head from left to right. It was weird, but soothing.

In the treatment room, and the spa in general, there was no chitchat or noise other than the grunts of the Korean ladies who were rubbing, scrubbing, and working the flesh of their guests. I was rubbed with a course towels and then smoothed over with a light lotion. I sat up. With a brisk, “You can go,” from my masseuse in blue, I left the massage table. Simple as that. I had never felt so refreshed and awake, even as I rested in the quiet area — I felt fantastic. The jet lag was long gone.