Today my husband asked for a massage. Don't worry this is not going to be one of 'those' stories... I am married after all!! Okay so, he is a pretty big guy, manipulating muscles and whatnot is actually pretty tiring. I start off doing a pretty good imitation of a bona fide masseuse... but after a couple of minutes I get tired and resort to a kind of unenthusiastic prodding patting combination, you know those big pats you usually reserve for particularly large hounds, or horses. The Cambodian masseuse we hired on the beach dealt with this problem by administering a full hours massage using nothing but her bony elbows, determination and a patented wiggly circular motion... unfortunately for him this service did not include oil of any kind nor advice on how to undo dreadlocks from body hair.
I can probably trace my love affair with massages to when I was a little girl. My grandpa would tickle my face with a rolled up crisp packet to help send me off to sleep. Following that my grandma decided to take a course in reflexology. I would kindly help her out by acting as a 'client'. This meant I would lie on her sofa after being fed a huge Sunday lunch and have her massage my feet until, inevetably, I fell asleep. I am not sure if she knew what she was doing but the first 5 minutes were great!
Now if you like massages then SE Asia is the place to be. Spend some time there and you quickly become a massage junkie. A particular spot in Laos offered to wash, scrub, massage, mentholate and warm your feet while you sat in a comfy chair, in full air conditioning, sipping grean tea for 1 whole hour all for the princely sum of $3. The staff quickly became very accustomed to the phrase 'one more time' during our stay in Luang Prabang.
By the time we hit Thailand we had a serious habit- almost everyday we headed off in search of our fix but unlike your average junkie we looked great..we were relaxed, our muscles were loose, our feet were soft, our skin was supple, our noses were mentholly clear. We were well and truly spoiled.
Sadly, not all massages are created equal. Our search to relive the glorious Thailand experience has met with some disappointments.
Korea, although part of Asia, does not offer the same delights. You can go to a weight loss clinic and be 'massaged' by suction cups that leave whopping great bruises on your back. You can head to the local bath house and have the top layer or your skin buffed off, or if you are male you can head to the massage parlour and pay a considerable fee for a massage with extras (the fee really depends on if a) your wife finds out b) if she cares and c) if she has proof). We overhead a gentleman in the police station who we can only assume could tick yes to all of the above. Luckily for him, given that in Korea adultery is still a criminal offence, he didn't have sex with the pretty lady- he told the policeman he was just 'naked with her' so that's okay.
When in Seoul we even decided to splurge on an expensive massage, only to be zipped into silver plastic jumpsuits and have the majority of the massage administered by a set of cleverly timed air pumps which inflated the jump suit in a rhythmic fashion. I am not saying it didnt feel nice but I was quite bizarre and difficult to relax while being squeezed and smooshed and looking like an obese spaceman. It was like wearing water wings that your dad has inflated too much, and although you can actually swim, you need them to stop you from drowning when you lose all feeling in your arms. The cheapest option was to head to the supermarket and take advantage of the demonstration massage chairs. Once you get over the special 'prod you in the bum hole' function it wasn't a bad way to spend 20 minutes. The downside is that anyone can use these chairs and unfortunately after seeing the old korean lady with the weeping sores all over her bare arms nestle down for a good dose of colon prodding I had to call it a day. Korea had tried but sadly, and grossly, failed.
Next stop England. Could the homeland do better? Fellow traveller Grish was coming to see us so what better time to indulge ourselves in some reminiscent TLC. We booked to get massages at a local college- trainee staff but also trainee prices. Apparently things here were not as simple. In England you must first pass the question round... I sadly failed. I got to the part about being pregnant- I was, so answered accordingly. The trainee looked concerned and dashed off to get the manager, an older lady, who informed me of the bad news. I was not yet 3 months pregnant and therefore could not get a massage for fear it would 'move my blood around'. I pointed out that my heart was doing exactly that and that most people tend to see that as a good thing... but as usual health and safety won out and I was sent off to the cafeteria to drink water and let my blood stay exactly where it was. Grish and the hubby passed their question rounds and headed on to stage 2. This was where dear hubby faced his challenge. Heading into the room the masseuse instructed him to strip down to his underwear. At this point he owned 1 pair- and they were safely tucked away in our suitcase for emergencies. He informed the skittish girl that that was going to be a problem - her poor faced dropped and off she dashed to get the manager (clearly problem solving and communication is not part of the syllabus for a masseuse). The manager appeared and agreed that yes normally massages did not necessitate pants but as some of the students were quite young, and anxious, they preferred not to have naked clients. He was then instructed that all would be well if he just fashioned himself a sumo diaper of sorts out of a couple of hand towels. He passed stage 2 but it was a close call. Grish, however, was flying through the challenges by this point, she cleverly wasn't pregnant AND had underwear so had actually made it onto the table. Despite having different students the story from the hubby and G are much the same- they both enjoyed 1 hour of slightly strange, barely tangible stroking and the occasional gentle application of massage oil despite many reassurances that the pressure was not too hard, and yes they would like a firm massage. The hubby even urged the student to "giv 'er" but alas for both he and G the chance to lie down for an hour and the hilarity of it all was the only consolation. Sadly in the massage stakes my homeland too came up short.
For now the hubby and I can only reminisce about $3 massages while staying grateful for each other... at least until we get these kids trained up of course.
No comments:
Post a Comment