Caught in a Swiss Sauna: How a Swiss Army Knife Saved Our Marriage (and Our Lives… Maybe)
By Morris Heney
Some travel moments are carefully planned—train rides with postcard views, long museum strolls, cozy dinners under string lights. And then there are the ones that just happen—the kind you don’t see coming, like a wrong turn, a lost suitcase, or a plate of something that definitely didn’t taste like chicken.
In our case, it was a thermal bath in a quiet Peruvian mountain town. Hot volcanic water. A heavy metal door. And one very stuck couple.
This is the story of how Rina and I ended up locked in a steamy stone room—and how a Swiss Army knife (and maybe a little luck) helped us find our way out.
Mountain Waters and Misadventures
We were deep into one of our many South American excursions, this time accompanying Rina’s sister Maruja to the Andean town of Monterey. Maruja had a business related to her film work, and since Rina and I were always game for a detour, we joined her. Monterey was small, rustic, and timeless—women still washed clothes in the river, pounding fabric on stones, while locals carried straw on their heads with the kind of grace that makes a city dweller feel slightly inept just holding a grocery bag.
We checked into a modest hotel, and with Maruja off to her meeting, Rina suggested we visit the town’s thermal baths. “It’ll be relaxing,” she said. “It’s carved right into the mountain.”
Famous last words.
Welcome to the Steam Chamber
The thermal bath looked like something out of a rustic fairytale—stone tubs carved right into the mountain, fed by steaming volcanic springs. Each couple got their own private room, tucked behind a thick metal door. It all felt charming in that “this-will-make-a-great-story-later” kind of way.
The staff gave us a couple of towels, opened the door, and in we went. Instantly, the heat hit us—thick, heavy, like walking into a giant, steamy sock. The water was dark and murky, almost muddy, and way too hot to touch at first. We fiddled with the knobs until it was just right, and slowly, the tension from long drives and questionable car repairs (remind me to tell you about that clutch) started to melt away.
We talked. We laughed. We soaked. For a while, it felt like time had stopped, and the rest of the world faded.
Then we decided it was time to get out.
Exit Strategy… Denied
I got up, wrapped my towel around me, and reached for the door. It didn’t budge.
I pulled harder. Nothing.
I tried again with more force. Still nothing. The heat was rising, the walls seemed to inch closer, and the silence outside was oppressive. No one heard us banging. Rina’s eyes widened. The sweat on my forehead had nothing to do with the steam now.
“Are we… locked in?” she asked, halfway between panic and trying to keep calm.
“Well,” I said, “we could just get back in the bath.”
Let’s just say that comment did not land well.
The Knife That Saved the Day (and Me)
As the humidity thickened and nerves frayed, I remembered something—I had my trusty Swiss Army knife in my pocket. Call it a habit of over-preparedness. Or divine intervention.
I flipped it open, gently inserted the long blade between the metal door and the stone frame, and bent the knife ever so slightly. Praying the blade wouldn’t snap, I pulled the handle.
With a satisfying pop, the door flew open. We were free.
We stumbled out, laughing with a mix of relief and disbelief. Our great escape, powered by a multi-tool and marital trust (or at least tolerance).
The Moral of the Soaked Story
Looking back, the bath incident is one of those classic “It’s hilarious now but wasn’t at the time” stories. It taught us something that no Eiffel Tower selfie ever could: travel tests you—not just your patience with language barriers or late trains, but with each other.
It’s in those sweaty, sealed moments that you learn the true measure of a partnership. Rina didn’t lose her mind. I didn’t break the knife. And neither of us blamed the other (much).
We’d soon be back on the road, eating bizarre seafood (looking at you, concha negra) and being offered someone’s daughter to take back to the U.S. (that’s another blog entirely). But the memory of that bath has stuck with us.
Maybe because it reminded us why we traveled together in the first place. Not just for the sights, but for the stories. Not just for the romance, but for the resilience.
Travel Tip: Always Bring a Knife (Metaphorically Speaking)
Now, I’m not saying every couple should carry a Swiss Army knife—though it doesn’t hurt. What I really mean is: come prepared, not just for the journey, but for the unexpected. Bring your patience. Bring your sense of humor. Bring the kind of grace that lets you laugh when things go sideways.
Because if you ever find yourselves stuck—whether it’s in a thermal bath with a jammed door or just in one of those tough moments we all face—take a breath, look around, and check your metaphorical pockets. Chances are, you’ve already got what you need to find your way out—together.