I saw that they offered an hour massage for $35 -- who could resist? -- so I ordered one up.
Jorge showed up right on time and set up his massage table in the chapel next to our room:
He had no sheet to cover me with. Imagine the flurry of flustered Spanish on my behalf as I hastened to my room to retrieve a pareo I had thought to pack (Gracias a Dios!), and imagine how quickly I got over my self-consciousness as this friendly man pounded me to within an inch of my life (in a good way) as I looked out the window at the volcanoes surrounding the city.
Holy bodywork, Batman!