Day 13 (con’d) The Thai Massage
Hi folks! I would like to sincerely apologize for the prolonged delay sending out this report. After sending out my last one in mid-October my teaching career predictably took over my life. Unfortunately, I left most of you hanging wanted desperately to know what happened to my stunning physique when manipulated by a tiny Thai women. Well, here goes…
Honestly, I’ve never been so nervous in my life. I’ve never had a professional massage before and was quite content allowing my wife to be the exclusive caregiver of my hairy back. The Thai massage has the reputation of being the mother of all massages. It was almost midnight (heck, I will still recovering from the shocking discovery that the women I drooled over at that show used to be men). As we walked into a darkened, incense-laced room, a long line of gentle looking Thai women waited with pleasant smiles on their faces. We were each escorted to a mattress. The room looked like a field hospital hastily set up in the middle of a war zone. A curtain was drawn around my quivering body to allow for a brief retreat. Mary giggled softly beside me caressing me with her soothing voice through the privacy curtain. “It’s okay Stevie…you’re going to do fine…just take your clothes off and put on the robe provided.” The “robe” ended up being a just like a hospital gown that was ten sizes two small for me. However, it did enhance my appearance to be akin with a weightlifting porn star.
Then came the moment I dreaded. The curtain parted and magically that long line
of Thai women had now migrated and dispersed to the end of each of our mattresses. My personal manipulator of human tissue gasped in surprise when she the proportion of skin to clothing that covering my incredibly fleshy physique. I think at that point she realized that maybe she should have asked to be paid by the square footage of skin to be massaged rather than a flat rate.
Meanwhile I couldn’t believe the size of the women before me. I was taller than her SITTING DOWN. After my feet were washed she beckoned me to lie down and the curtain was drawn. The carnage was about to commence…
My feet were the first to experience the immense strength of this tiny women’s hands. Each foot was given 15 minutes of her time. Considering the fact that my feet are size 13, she had a lot of ground to cover. Her thumbs pulsated so aggressively that I felt like a piece of dough being kneaded by a baker’s rolling pin. Then came the worst part… she pulled each of my toes until they cracked. Folks, as a pianist, I can’t stand hearing people crack their knuckles but when my own are cracked? I nearly puked with revulsion.
Half an hour later her paws made their way up my legs. She lifted my legs high in the air and manipulated every muscle in my lower body, thankfully stopping an inch from my groin. Sometimes she leaned her whole body against my foot pressing my knee against my chest. As she made her way to my upper body, I gasped in horror as she pulled each of my fingers until they cracked as well. Only my chest and stomach were spared here although Mary said her boobies were massaged.
This women actually walked on my back. It wasn’t as unpleasant as I thought it would be although what came next certainly was. She sat on my back, took my hands, pulled them behind me and heaved me back and forth like a rocking chair. I found it fascinating that she seemed to give a running commentary to her chuckling co-workers as I constantly groaned and gasped.
My travelling companions contributed with their share of vocal modulations but I was the star of the show. The little brother actually fell asleep during his massage. The woman couldn’t even roll him over. Apa (our host dad in case you forgot) was enjoying his massage immensely and grunted approvingly every so often. Mary was having the time of her life discovering that a massage actually felt good when applied by a professional. In a way this experience has relieved me of my feeble massage duties but at the same time emptied my pocketbook because of all the subsequent spa visits by my wife.
I took a picture with the women who re-arranged every tissue in my body. Since most of you are out of the stone age and on Facebook, you’ll see it there under my profile picture!
After the massage, we were whisked away in an open truck to our hotel just outside of Pattaya beach. We passed endless fruit stands and locals sweeping the sidewalks in front of their businesses (at 2:00 a.m?) During the ride, Apa grinned at me and said in broken English, “we do this again tomorrow night yes?” I swallowed hard, re-adjusted my disorientated limbs and submitted my hesitant approval with a tentative nod.
Day 14
Our hotel rivalled the size of a mega-Vegas style resort. It was filled with Koreans. I can’t even begin to describe the size of the pool. It must have been 100 metres long on each side. With that size, the population density within it was sporadic at best. You could literally swim for an eternity without bumping into someone.
Some more interesting Thai facts that we learned include the fact that 5% of Thai women used to be men…only 5% of the Thai population are University educated (which is why these select few proudly wear their University uniform 24/7)… The female or she-males of this elite group shorten the length of their uniform skirt for every year they are educated in a post-secondary institution. In a totally unrelated fact, banana trees are planted in the yards of locals to ward off snakes. Random Buddhist shrines appear everywhere, even in supermarket parking lots. These parking lots have sunshades for all the cars so the engine don’t spontaneously combust. Scooters are everywhere that are built for one but sometimes carry three. 7-Eleven is the most prominent Western retail/restaurant establishment in any Asian country we’ve visited. And for a completely unrelated fact, when Koreans talk, the majority of their sentences end with a downward inflection of the voice.
Speaking of Koreans, our guide seemed to be very competent but we were also assigned a Thai guide (appointed by the government). It seemed her only official duty was to count us and since there were only 13 of us her stress level remained quite low. It is worth noting that when the Thai people speak, their language is VERY nasal…to an untrained Western ear, the language sounds a bit like this…TAAAA, MAAAAA, KAAAAA….HA…HA.
I should also mention that the scenery from Bangkok to Pattaya rotated between empty warehouses, swamps and shacks. Although it seemed very poor, occasionally the sun’s reflection off a giant Buddha statue would create random sparkles in the countryside.
For all of you geography nuts out there, the sun was directly overhead us at noon while in Thailand. The combination of our latitude (11 degrees north) and time of the year we were there (August) allowed the UV index to not just burn, but sear away any exposed flesh. Excitedly, Apa thought this would be the perfect time to head to a nearby tropical beach by boat.
We knew the sun would give us trouble when all the locals on the beaches were wearing full headgear including flaps on the side, full masks, dark sunglasses, long pants and gloves. They looked like bandits ready to pounce on an unsuspecting tourist. We took the boat ride to the beach, which was free IF we stopped at one of hundreds of paragliding docks. The air was clogged with thousands of paragliders that were just barely avoiding mid-air collisions. The docks themselves were paragliding factories, sending up a tourist every 2 minutes. The boat pulling these harnessed lumps of flesh constantly played a game of chicken forgetting they had someone in the air relying on them.
Of course I had to include myself in this mayhem. What I didn’t expect was how tight the harness was around my genital area (it felt like a Speedo that had shrunk in the wash) and how the boat driver had a better time dunking me that letting my spirit soar.
Poor Ama (our host mom in case you forgot) succumbed to motion sickness as we continued on our way to the beach after the para-gliding atrocity. The waves were huge and we only had one 200hp motor to carry us. (On the way back we had two 200 hp motors which made the ride much smoother) Apa meanwhile was having the time of his life laughing constantly as the boat tumbled over each wave.
The beach was not your typical North American skin-fest. Everyone wore shirts and NO ONE was tanning. The Koreans were either crowded in a roped-off section of water or packed like sardines in endless rows of beach chairs completely covered by adjoining umbrellas. Any non-roped off part of the beach was inundated with motorized water sports. The constant roar and smell of diesel engines permeated the air. Hundreds of vendors lined the boardwalk hawking trinkets that all looked the same and seafood that all smelled the same. Toilets were squatters that were not maintained. It was so hot my sweat mixed with my sunscreen and flowed freely into my eyes. The pain was so intense I was blinded. It was an atmosphere I’ve never experienced before on a beach. Chalk it up to the fascinating experiences of travel. We were whisked back to the mainland and ate at another Korean restaurant served by an entire staff of trans-genders…
The next instalment includes reporting about an elephant ride, kickboxing, prostitutes and insect consumption.
