As I entered the steam room, I inhaled the calming scent of eucalyptus and sat down on the bench. I briefly closed my eyes and smiled.

It was Half-term, a word synonymous for teachers like myself, with freedom. The spa had been clearly labeled for adults and I welcomed the gentle murmurs of their voices. My boyfriend and I had retreated to Switzerland for the spring break to brush up on our skiing.

I crossed my fingers that we had chosen a good resort this year where we wouldn’t run into families from school. I could never be too certain as loads of Londoners flocked to the Alps during ski season. I laughed that the cleverly masked four-foot tall ninjas who cut us off on the slopes were probably my pupils trying to get even with me.

After a day of aggressive reintroduction to parallel, my thighs ached from the constant squat stance and the spa seemed like the perfect remedy.

When my eyes had finally adjusted to the steam, I saw a penis. I blinked. How much après-ski did I have? I squinted and surveyed the scene. Everyone was naked. I tried to play it cool in my blindingly fluorescent bikini while my mind frantically made sense of this situation. This was not a Japanese onsen. The hotel brochure provided no warning of nakedness, let alone brazen co-ed nakedness. This was not a Spanish beach, this was Switzerland! These people were famous for watches and cheese!

With the feeling of suspicious eyes darting into my foreign back, I casually left the steam room, as if my battered body had somewhere better to go.

I needed to collect myself and took a time-out in the hallway. The pre-teacher-me, would have flippantly shrugged “when in Rome” and partook in the fun. But the teacher-me would have to deal with the fomo of not joining in.

I was on holiday and deserved to relax in the spa! But what if a parent walked in? What if this ended up on Facebook?

Determined to not be a prude amongst all of these prunes, I wrapped a towel around myself and tucked in my bikini straps. Ta-da. Perfectly acceptable and not in the least bit suspicious. I felt like a smug teenager who had cheated in class and got away with it. Proud of my mini make-over, I opened the door to the sauna and stepped in.

All conversation stopped and the coals sizzled. My heart raced. Was my bikini was peeking out? Through thick German accent, I was politely informed that the hotel’s spa was a ‘naturalist’ one and textiles were not permitted. Turns out my yuppie perception of ‘natural spa’ was indeed not the homeopathic essential oil kind!

I was busted. Better do my homework next time!

***

Areta is a London based health and wellness blogger. When she is not teaching, Areta is busy trialling fitness trends, subjecting her girlfriends to product research and trying to put healthy spins on favourite dishes. You can follow her highs and humorous lows on My Zest Best, Facebook and Twitter.