There is absolutely one thing you must do when in Iceland: Visit the Blue Lagoon. It’s on the top of everyone’s list. A must-see. A must-do. Do not depart this Earth without having bathed in its warm, blue waters. On Trip Advisor, the website for idiots armed with opinions who should never, ever leave home, 19,000 people gave it an average review of 4.5 stars. I mean … woah …19,000 self-acclaimed travel “professionals” armed with an internet connection and opinion can’t be wrong.

Needless to say I had no interest in going, so we didn’t. We went to a lesser known one instead, which was more private and closer to town. The experience was exquisitely crafted from beginning to end. I regret nothing.

Overall the process of spa-ing feels the same wherever I go. You get hot, you get cold, you rub grainy stuff on your skin, extract the toxins, connect with the God(s), take a quick rinse, and off you go to the bar to replace the toxins.

In Turks, RBD and I sat in a small yurt and casually steamed ourselves to the sweaty edge of heat stroke to rid ourselves of toxins.

In Costa Rica we bathed in geothermal pools while packing our skin with mud. The consistency and color resembled a warm Wendy’s Frosty. The heat opens the pores, and as the mud dries it pulls the toxins from the skin. We rinsed with cool water, then went to the bar and drank toxins.

In Vegas you do some version of this with toxin drink in hand. It’s rosé, so it’s basically organic nectar from Mother Earth and, thus, healthy. How can anything be toxic if it came from the land? Assuming you understand very little about science, the answer is that it cannot be harmful. Different resorts along The Strip have different protocols, a downloadable menu is available from every establishment, but they’re all variations on a temperature differential theme.

When I was 8 and traveled to Damascus with my father, all the men visited a working but very old bathhouse. No rosé — Muslims — but the other elements were present. I wish I remembered more of the experience, but unfortunately I spent much of the time crying because steam rooms freak me out. I start gasping for air, even though I can see the air, and my throat closes because it can’t be good to breathe all that cloudy air … it’s a whole irrational thing I’ve never outgrown. Maybe in a previous life I died in a fire? I do remember the architecture these 35 years later as old and beautiful.

Before the pandemic I tried a cryotherapy session, which is where you stand in a small closet and are blasted with air cooled by liquid nitrogen. It’s quite chilly. Wool covers your dangly bits, like ears, fingers, toes, and else. The cold purportedly does many things, but one is to flush toxins from increased blood flow.

In Rotorua, New Zealand we bathed in sulfur water at a geothermal park and spa. I hated every minute of it. The smell was overwhelming for my delicate senses. Kiwis are tough. Mud was brought in and used like in Costa Rica. It’s fun to play with mud. This mud was magical, as it removed toxins from your skin.

In Reykjavik at The (Non) Blue Lagoon, the spa process felt familiar. I assume it’s the same at whatever lagoon you visit. We did a cold plunge, a dry heat, a salt scrub, a wet heat, and a rinse. Afterwards, more rosé. Or beer. There are many breweries in Iceland. Remove toxins, consume toxins.

I’m never sure what to make of these spa experiences. Is it theater? Is it a way to bilk stupid tourists? Are we supposed to be in on the joke? Should I take steaming or baking myself on purpose completely seriously? Is there any science behind all of this? Or, is it just fun? What toxins are we talking here? At my last count, there were bajillions. While it is unclear if any of these practices boost health or longevity if practiced over a lifetime, they are certainly not harmful if done sanely.

Humans have a rich history of tolerating mild discomfort for purported benefit, no matter how esoteric the perks might be. I like saunas, which feels dumb to say when much of the Northern Hemisphere has become one, but I dislike steam rooms. I like cold showers more than hot. I have no personal evidence to offer it does anything to my body. I’m still pudgy and balding, and will likely time out in my early 80s, unless my liver kills me first (because, toxins.) I have done a number of local rituals throughout my travels, always looking for the wink-and-nod from the staff regarding how seriously I should take all this. As they stir the banana leaves in the pot of boiling water mixed with tarragon and healing crystals (on sale in the gift shop), their expression is inscrutable.

At The (Non) Blue Lagoon I sat in 40 degree water and pondered all this. Understandably the pain made it hard to focus. It was the coldest water I have ever experienced. My emotional brain was screaming about imminent death, though intellectually I knew it takes at least thirty minutes at this temperature. I lasted 45 seconds. Thirty-six hours later, I am still cold.

My body has yet to show any concrete signs of gratitude.

In the afternoon we visited the Icelandic Phallus Museum, located near our hotel. It was a collection of specimens from scores of animals, along with information about mating habits and “unique features.” Despite its funny concept, it was actually very interesting.