On Sunday I had the heavenly pleasure of discovering another one of those LA places you won’t hear of too often. Olympic Spa is a women-only retreat in an otherwise barren stretch of Koreatown. Believe it or not, I’d never been to a spa unless you wish to count trips to the banya as a kid growing up in Russia.

Banya is one of those unforgettable [read: traumatic] quintessentially Russian experiences I’ll always treasure. At its core a bath house/steam room, the banya employs some interesting props and tactics, beyond the expected towel or, perhaps, loofah. Take, for instance, the venik. This is a bunch of actual fresh n’ leafy twigs with which one is expected to self-flagellate in order to achieve some ultimate softness. You have not known true confusion until you’ve seen a nude 70 year old babushka operate one of these things inside a packed steam room. An impressive explanation of banyas can be found on Wikipedia, where I chuckle at the writers’ innocent explanation of the term “podjopnik” as “something to sit on”. Pdjopnik, literally, translates to “under-ass-nik”. I’ve never actually heard anyone use it. But I digress.

Russkaya Venera [Russian Venus] by Boris Kustodiev

My banya experiences left me comfortable with the idea of a hall filled with nude wet women of all shapes, sizes and ages. Once the initial panic subsides, it all becomes relaxing and comforting in a primal way, as was the case at Olympic Spa. I began with a proper dry steaming, followed by a dip in a glorious tea pool, then a mineral pool and salt steam room. A very small lady called me from the salty vapor to begin the main event. As I followed her to the massage table my cobalt hair and tattoos earned a few sideways glances, but just a few – everyone was much too busy luxuriating to concern themselves with my towel-staining.

For the next two hours this tiny hurricane of a lady did things, things unlike any I’d experienced until that point. This involved an extremely vigorous scrub, buckets of seaweed water, what felt like at least a gallon of oil and more. I don’t want to spoil the actual magic of what their signature Goddess Treatment entails, but take my word for it – so worth it. Suffice to say within 20 minutes I was convinced I was in a harem filled with beautiful slave girls, being prepared for the Sheik [really]. And no, there was no happy ending, you perverts – just a very intense massage and exfoliating treatment that left even my elbows and knees velvet-soft. It would have been criminal not to share this place with the good women of Coilhouse and I fully intend to drag a few friends next time I go. Velvet-flesh for all!

• The history of Russian Banya on Cyberbohemia
• Banya reviews and guide

We had a few requests recently for a favorite spots in LA post, prompted by the sad departure of cafe Nova Express. Here’s one for your Monday nights, especially good for those who simply refuse to believe the weekend has to end somehow.

Held downstairs at Catch One – the same place as LA’s top industrial club Das Bunker, Ground Control‘s song books list music by your favorite alternative artists, including Kraftwerk as you can see above. Industrial, goth, metal, indie, 80s and more are all here in a friendly boozy atmosphere.

It doesn’t get crowded, people are genuinely nice and no one is afraid to make a complete arse of themselves, as I personally proved last night at the pajama party. And for those curious about what one wears to a pajama party held at a bar there are two options – sexy or hilarious, as modeled by me and my lovely roommate. So yes – check out Ground Control – it’s fun, even if you don’t sing.