Our welcome to the Travaasa Spa

Yesterday, we departed our home in the heart of the conservative crossroads in the red state of Texas to head for the only welcoming blue blip –Austin. After a two and a half hour exodus through political signs and bumper stickers that called for Texans to secede from the union or praised Republicans and Rick Perry (who was applauded at the recent GOP presidential debate for having the most executions under his leadership, a proud moment for Texas indeed), it was a fresh breath of air to arrive in Austin and enter the gates of the Travaasa Spa. (Click the link to go to their website.)

Once we arrived at their Welcome Center, we were greeted by a spa representative who escorted us to the front desk. They checked us in without once batting an eye at two men staying in a room with only a single bed. This is a spa in Austin. Two gay men are nothing new here.

After our check in, one of the representatives met us at our car in a golf cart and hauled our about-to-be-seriously-pampered tushes and our luggage to our room, which came with a spectacular view of the Austin Hill Country.

Since we arrived after all the activities for Friday had already been completed, we enjoyed a leisurely dinner and headed back to our room, where we stared at the night sky and enjoyed life.

In the morning, we attended a meditation session. Those who know me, know that I’m not the “groovy, hippie” kinda of guy. I was more than reluctant to sit cross-logged in a room I envisioned to be filled with incense or listen to someone who most likely smokes marijuana telling me how to see through my third eye and cleanse my chakras. But when I entered the room, it wasn’t the nightmare I envisioned.

A view of the meditation room

No incense clogged the room or my sinus cavities. The woman who led the class was quite pleasant and didn’t appear to have taken any hits of Mary Jane prior to the class. I didn’t see the shining auras surrounding my body nor did I imagine a cable shoot out of my spine and head to the center of the earth, where all my bad mojo was to be deposited. When she first told us to visualize this, I couldn’t help but think she was asking me to take a spiritual dump into the earth. Naturally, I lost some focus after that hilarious image, but I recovered and relaxed. My husband, God love him, saw the colors and asked her what the colors meant. While they talked, I meditated on my inability to see the grand spiritual spectrum he saw. I wondered if there was some fundamental flaw in my psyche that prevented me from reaching that deep down inside myself. Either that or I lack depth as an individual.

Meditation Garden

Since I know that cannot be the case, I chalked my inability to board the Yellow Submarine as my need for control. I rarely hand over the reigns of my life to anyone, in any circumstance. Still, I felt relaxed, so the class wasn’t entirely wasted on me.

Now, after a short stint by the Infinity Pool, where I baked in the Texas sun among other liberals who could have cared less about the two gay men sharing the pool deck with them, I now prepare for my 80 minute deep sleep aromatherapy massage. It will be 80 minutes of pure bliss, and while I might not hand over my chakras or my third eye to a meditation specialist, I have no problem handing over my body for a good massage.