Here's a little account I wrote after visiting the Galos Salt Caves on Chicago's North Side back in January 2008 (photo courtesy of wrestlingentropy on flickr). It's definitely an experience worth checking out. The only thing I'd say it could improve on is in the entrance, which feels a bit like a retail mud room, where everyone takes off their shoes/coats, and then next thing you know you're in the spa environment. The spa experience really should start from the moment you walk in off the street. It doesn't have to be fancy, but it should be relaxing and welcoming.
Saturday afternoon in Chicago...
Caught between my recent self-imposed "spend-ervention" and a desperate need to seek spa-esque shelter from the sub-zero temperatures outside, I decided to try out one of the "salt caves" my mother had read about in the Tribune. Turns out Polish people have been seeking refuge in such caves for hundreds of years, and now there are at least three salt caves in the greater Chicagoland area. Of course, a salt cave is not exactly a "natural phenomenon" native to Chicago's Northwest Side. But this is America, where anything's possible. I'd heard the Irish speak of "streets of gold," but I'd never heard reference to a "small shelter comprised of 15 tons of compressed sea salt brick walls and floors." I guess it doesn't lend itself to a limerick. (Query: Does Polish culture have a limerick equivalent?) I digress; apparently all of this sea salt is imported from the Black Sea and some Polish lakes.
On my way into the cave, the lovely Polish hostess informed me to remove my shoes and to wear only white socks. Just before closing the door, she invited me to choose any recliner, help myself to a blanket, and "feel free to lay down in the salt." Right, I am going to roll around in my jeans and cable knit sweater (and white tennis socks) in a pile of sea salt.
Now for the cave. It truly looks like a glowing white cave, complete with salty stalagmites (or is it stalactites?). A series of black light fluorescent rods ring the perimeter of the floors, with sporadic colorful lights designed to look like rock formations dotting the wall. Shortly after the "session" begins, the lights dim, and a combination of new-age spa music and ocean waves begin emanating from the salt-encrusted walls. The spa symphony is eventually joined by a soothing Polish voice.
According to this magical voice (whom I shall dub Katarina), as translated by the less-soothing male American voice, forty-five minutes spent in a Galos Cave produces the equivalent therapeutic effect as three days spent at the seaside taking in the salt-water air. I've read my share of post-Victorian Anglo-Irish novels in which delicate women who have "taken ill" due to some vague affliction are often sent to the British seashore to recover. Having no idea what afflicted them, I was never able to deduce what therapeutic benefits would be derived from the beach holiday. Certainly in my experience time spent on the Irish sea is anything but soothing - cold damp air blowing seemingly from every direction has always required its own remedy, typically in the form of some uisce beatha (ah yes the "water of life"). And so I listened on. The iodine-rich air is absorbed through the lungs and the skin, improving respiratory health, softening skin, and, no doubt, curing any touch of consumption I may have picked up in my recent time spent working as a chimney sweep. But then my heart leapt when I heard those three little words that every girl prays for: "increases your metabolism." Jackpot!
So there I am, stretched out in my chaise lounge, lying underneath a soft white blanket, and taking in the hypnotic sounds of breaking waves and soft electronica. Don't get me wrong, I felt relaxed. But not relaxed enough. So I had only one choice -- it was time to get to the ground and roll around in the disconcertingly warm sea salt sands beneath me. It felt great -- so great that I felt compelled to remove my socks and give my hands and feet a good salt rub down. Five minutes later, soft as the proverbial baby-bottom, I rested my head in my arms and enjoyed the remaining few minutes of sea-salt air.
All in all, a successful venture. For only $15, I felt as relaxed as any upscale spa's steam room could achieve. Perhaps next time I will venture to the salt cave that allows for massages in the cave itself. Hey, a girl can only stay frugal for so long...
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