I drew my bathwater in the oversized spa tub and climbed in. The bathroom was spacious and beautiful enough to have been lifted from the pages of Architectural Digest magazine. I’m a toiletries snob, so I was impressed to see deluxe size Penhaligon's toiletries and floating votive candles for the bath.
My aching muscles that had canvassed four countries in the past ten days melted in the hot steam. I flipped through the coffee table books trying not to get the pages wet, sipped my sparkling water, and moaned and groaned in agony. It was a blissful misery. My stomach and intestines hurt, I had zero energy, but I was content in my surroundings. A Mecca if you will for the stomach flu. Fluffy robes, plenty of towels (including a towel warmer), a separate shower with steam, and plenty of chilled mineral water.
The bathroom was also appointed with a bidet. I spent an hour staring across the room trying to envision how one is used. I mean, I know it’s intended to clean privates but I never knew how exactly you’re supposed to use one. I can halfway understand using one in the privacy of your own home but I’ve seen them in public bathrooms in Europe too and couldn’t imagine using one there.
I figure you’d have to take your pants off completely in order to straddle the thing. What if the spray of water missed and hit your shirt or soaked your socks? The hotel TV had a tutorial on how to use the TV, why didn’t it include one on how to use the bidet? Surely Europeans must hand down that information from generation to generation. There was a lot to ponder during my almost two-hour bath. I only got out when my fingers had completely pruned.
I managed to get myself up to go to dinner. I figured I needed some nourishment to make it up for my early flight the next morning. Before heading down to dinner, I made the grave mistake of opening my windows which faced Lake Geneva to let in some fresh air.
