No Happy Ending
Welcome to my random musings about the world, on a weekly-to-occasional basis.
Where we are: We’re still in Bangkok; we leave Monday to spend Christmas and New Year’s in Bali. I’m ready to just chill for a couple of weeks.
No Happy Ending
Lane and I went for a massage yesterday, at a place they’ve been to several times before. It’s perfectly clean and legit, and the manager speaks very good English—definitely not a happy ending kind of place.
Massage is historically and culturally important in Thailand. It’s widely available, and inexpensive—massage is considered therapeutic (dare I say medicinal?), and doesn’t generally have the whole luxury-self-care-exclusive-spa-day vibe that it has in the west. The oldest, most revered massage school in the country is located on the grounds of a temple, and you can go there and get a super-cheap massage from a trainee—or you can just wander past and watch, because the whole situation is very public. There are massage parlors on nearly every block. I know for a fact you can get a fantastic foot massage at the big farmer’s market (pro tip: the little massage concession is the only air-conditioned space at Or Tor Kor market). You don’t want your feet to get too tired while you’re shopping for live eels and ripe durian!
I love a good foot massage; before my ankle surgery, I got them as often as possible. As a matter of fact, the currency conversion in my head is based on what I consider to be a reasonable price for a foot massage: 250 baht, roughly $7.50. And my favorite hair salon always includes a very good head, shoulder and hand massage. But I’ve never had a full-body Thai massage, in all my years of hanging out in Bangkok. To be honest, I’ve always been a little daunted by the idea—I think of myself as a massage newbie.
[To read about some previous spa experiences during our travels, see this post.]
First of all, there’s the whole happy-ending situation I mentioned above. Sex tourism is (as I mentioned last week) a very real thing here in Bangkok. There are definitely massage parlors that count more as sex tourism than as a holistic approach to wellness.
My spouse and kids always insist that they can tell the difference from the outside, but to be honest, I’m not quite that confident. I do NOT want to get halfway through a massage and find out I’ve wandered into the kind of place that wants me to be, well, extra-happy at the end.
But the other reason I’ve never gotten a full massage here is that frankly, I’ve always been afraid it would hurt. Thai massage is known for being a bit different from other styles—there’s a lot of stretching involved, in addition to pretty vigorous muscle release.
But after the stress of the last few weeks, and knowing Lane had already vetted a place and deemed it acceptable, I decided it was time.
There was a slight moment of awkwardness, when we were directed to side-by-side futons, but I did give birth to this human, several decades ago, so we decided to just be chill about it. Traditional Thai massage is actually very modest (the client/patient/victim is fully clothed, in a special little outfit), so privacy is not really an important part of the experience.
I was told to lie on my stomach, and my masseuse immediately lifted both my feet and pressed my heels into my butt muscles. I had two thoughts: it’s a good thing I stretched in the gym this morning, followed immediately by uh-oh this is going to hurt.
As I lay on my futon being pummeled and kneaded and pulled in every direction, I realized that I’m actually not the massage newbie that I think I am. I’ve had a lot of body work over the years—I just haven’t had a lot of the whoo-whoo relaxing kinds of massage.
I’ve had physical therapy on several different bits of my body (physical therapy is one of the best things you can do to stay healthy and mobile, in my opinion), and for quite a few years I got regular sports massages. When my masseuse yesterday pressed both thumbs into a particular spot in my calf, I exhaled slowly and reminded myself—this will make me feel better. I know Lamaze.
Many, many years ago, right after we were married, Lee spent several months getting Rolfed once a week. If you don’t know what that is, you’ll have to look it up, but suffice it to say: when he came home talking about how the therapist had stuck a finger up his nose, I decided Rolfing was not for me.
That is the level of body work we are accustomed to in this family. So it turns out Thai massage is … not that bad. There was some half-pigeon involved, which I do all the time anyway (although not usually with a person’s weight on my back), and a lot of very intense elbow-assisted acupressure. Apparently my brain expects massage to hurt, because I was not particularly fazed. Breathe in, breathe out.
Toward the end, she had me sit up. She sat behind me, back-to-back, looped her arms through mine, and stretched me over her back. Then she stood over me, lifted both my arms over my head, and pulled up.
It was like traction, but without the insurance hassle.
The final tally, for two sixty-minute massages, plus tip: US$ 28.91. Plus, as expected, I felt refreshed and rejuvenated. Even without the happy ending.
Take care,
Lisa
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