Let me tell you about that time I had a Thai massage.
I love a massage. I have them all the time and I make a point of having one every time I travel, so I’ve had them all over the world. But, somehow, I’ve never had a Thai massage.
Then I went to Budapest last year and there was a Thai massage spa on every street, so it seemed like the perfect opportunity. I’d been on a 4-hour bike ride in the freezing cold and I couldn’t turn my neck because I’d slept funny, so I wandered in to the nearest spa to give it a go.
It didn’t start well
It didn’t start well, the receptionist greeted me with a sigh because I’d interrupted her curling her hair. Still, the spa seemed nice enough: large, clean, orientally decorated and it was in a good location, so when she said she could fit me in there and then, I agreed.
When the she led me me down the stairs, underground, I started to doubt myself. Even more so when I heard the loud conversation that was being had between a couple of guys who were already down there. I had no idea what was being said but my imagination got the better of me. Had I misunderstood; was this a ‘massage’ parlour? It was then that I questioned my decision to follow a stranger, in a foreign country, into a basement. Maybe I’d been watching too many police crime dramas?
Grin and bear it
Ignoring my intuition, which was screaming at me, I followed the receptionist into the treatment room. Inside was a massage couch, a clothes rail and a shower cubicle; the only thing separating it (and me) from the surrounding cubicles was a piece of flimsy curtain. She gestured for me change into the set of faded blue cotton scrubs that were on the couch. I squashed my intuition fully and did what she said, hanging my bag under my clothes on the rail.
The laughing and joking was louder now. Turns out the two men in conversation were in the cubicles either side of mine. I realised that a relaxing massage would be out of the question. Reluctantly, I lay face down on the couch, craning my neck to keep an eye on my bag. It contained my passport and all of my money and I was now convinced that I was about to be robbed or murdered, or both.
Is this normal?
The receptionist turned masseuse returned. Without warning and like an acrobat, she launched herself onto the couch, landing with her full weight on my back. All of the air left my body with a grunt. Her face was so close to mine that I could smell what she’d eaten for lunch. Now, I like a firm massage as much as the next person but I’d never had a massage like this before. As she pressed down onto my spine, I sunk further into the couch. Struggling to regulate my breathing, I thought I might have a panic attack. I silently thanked God that I had only paid for 30-minutes, I think an hour would have killed me.
Those were the longest 30-minutes of my life. I was sat on and pounded. My arms were contorted, my shoulders dislocated. I hardly took a full breath. Not knowing what was to come next all I could do was go along with it whilst trying to keep a dignified silence.
When I came out, my friend looked concerned, “Are you OK, you sounded like you were being beaten up?”
“Let’s get out of here,” I said quietly. Traumatised, I just wanted to leave as quickly as possible, grateful for my life.
Apparently so
The receptionist / masseuse seemed friendlier on the way out. Maybe she’d sensed my shock. She told me I might be sore tomorrow (no shit). I thanked her and gave her a healthy tip.
Afterwards, my friend reassured me that my experience was normal. I couldn’t understand why anyone would willingly put themselves though that.
The next day, my back had never felt so good, my stiff neck fixed.
I haven’t plucked up the courage to try another since. Maybe it’s like child birth? If I wait long enough I’ll forget the pain. Although I do only have one child, so…
