Home > Products, Services > LUXURY: Sanduny Sauna Spa by Eric Gelsinger

LUXURY: Sanduny Sauna Spa by Eric Gelsinger

December 23, 2014 Leave a comment Go to comments
Eric Gelsinger

Eric Gelsinger

Eric Gelsinger is Lankville’s premier authority on luxury spas.

Don’t tell anyone I told you, but Sanduny Sauna Spa may be Lankville’s best kept secret. Here and only here can you can get pampered the way you deserve providing you keep your pretty mouth shut.

Your journey to perfect peace begins when you confront the gray, squat, soot-stained structure of Great Clips Business Plaza and squeeze through the service alley behind El Arroyo Bank of Del Lankville to follow the thin strip of dead grass round the back.

Discarded boxes of Eastern Lankville beauty products pop beneath your feet as you approach the pointed black iron fence, and calm descends upon you. Of course you’ve heard that two out of three people who enter Sanduny Sauna Spa never “come out,” of course you’ve heard it’s best to stay away if you wear jewelry or have a new haircut, but these thoughts only deepen the relaxation taking hold of your tense, overworked body.

You trip over some roots, twigs snap, a tire rolls, and the entrance rears into view. You glance to the side and think: Hail Peter Paul Joseph & Mary if that’s the furniture they’re throwing away into the muddy snow behind a chain-link fence, imagine the furniture inside!

Sanduny Sauna Spa (photo by John Barlow)

Sanduny Sauna Spa (photo by John Barlow)

And imagine you must, because once you enter you’re not going to be hearing a peep out of your five senses again. No amount of stress can withstand the bliss that presses relentlessly down with every application of peppermint oil and textured mud. Before you know it, your worries are obliterated, your beliefs negated, and your marriage is revealed to be an irrelevant tribal relic. The relaxation you deserve at last entombs you in lavender and eucalyptus scented mind-melting heat and steam and annihilates the barrier between waking and dream, reality and fantasy, machine and vegetable. Up and down and future and past all collapse. You lose control of your bowels. In a passion of glossolalia you shout out your social security number, ATM password, and credit card info. A tattooed man in black latex takes your hand and leads you to a table. Nothing is as it was or will be ever again.

When you’re done, a wheat-grass shot is a must, and if no one’s looking, why not a smoothie? Tell ‘em throw in every goddam fruit on god’s green earth. Remember: you earned it.

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