"Maharishi Ayurveda spa, Bad Ems, Germany
The health centre boasts more than 10,000 satisfied customers"
The brochure had a photo of a luxurious hotel, and all the buzzwords: revitalising, rejuvenating.
A detox. Well, I was not sure about a detox.
I like to tox, and I think my liver and kidneys do an admirable job, considering the challenges.
Apparently, the Maharishi Ayurveda spa offered daily full-body massages, with hot oil dribbled over the entire body, rubbed in by two people simultaneously.
I booked straightaway.
The name Maharishi rang a vague bell, but I could not think why.
The brochure had a picture of the man himself - the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi - an Indian with a serene other-worldly expression and a long white beard.
I began to suspect all might not be quite what I expected when the health check questionnaire arrived from the spa a few days later.
It seemed utterly fixated on matters of a deeply personal nature. Namely my digestion.
More specifically, the exit.
How often? What did it look like? Colour? Consistency?
The questions were all of an equally personal nature.
I discovered that many Germans were rather obsessed with these matters when I worked as a geriatric nurse in Munich in my early 20s, and to my horror found out why German toilets had ledges.
So that each production could be examined in detail.
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