Rubbed up the right way

For the majority of folk in the Western world, spas are places you visit to use the gift voucher your second Aunt twice removed sent you in the post last Christmas.  Here, however, they work their way in to most expats’ routines.  The range of treatments available is like no other and from as little as £3 for an hour you can’t go too far wrong.

For anyone who hasn’t had the pleasure of a massage in Asia, let me tell you they are a little different from those offered back home.  People here aren’t prudish or shy.  They have a job to do and are willing to put their hands on places some people don’t have places!  My male friends are always very careful about the establishments they choose, as ‘happy endings’ are often assumed to come as part of the ‘package’!

During my time here I’ve had Vietnamese women prod and push me in ways and places one would never think to prod and push!  Having a small lady walk on your buttocks, kneading them with her toes whilst steadying herself on a metal handrail suspended from the ceiling isn’t the most pleasant experience I’ve ever had, but I suppose extreme measures are required to sort out my tight ass!

Having tried a few different spas since my arrival in ‘Nam, I’ve recently stumbled upon one which is head and shoulders above its competitors.  After particularly busy days and recent high workloads with summer school, a friend and I decided to treat ourselves and arranged to meet for full body massages, followed by dinner.  We tootled in, stripped off and lay down on the beds (having remembered to wear our big Bridget Jones-esque granny pants especially for the occasion in order to maintain some modesty!)

Our hour long Thai style aromatherapy massage was amazing and ten minutes in and I’m already impressed by my masseuse’s skills.  Unlike the other masseuses in ‘Nam, she positions me in such a way to not aggravate my dodgy dislocation prone shoulders.  As for the Bridget Jones pants, forget the modesty – she pings those over my buttocks –thong stylie- and down a little to pay particular attention to my lower back and chubbier pair of cheeks.  It did nothing for me, but if she got a kick out of it – fair play!

 

Approximately thirty minutes in, whilst listening to an instrumental version of Lionel Richie’s ‘Hello’, I conclude – this woman will be coming home with me to work as my personal pain prodder.  Forty minutes in, she prods me harder, this time on my arm – I quickly realise she wants me to turn over: super relaxed I’d almost dozed off.  Walking like Mr Soft from the Trebor mint adverts, we float out of the spa; thoroughly satisfied and a mere £3 lighter.

Having previously referring to him (see Vienetta-namese: possible pronunciation problems post Friday, 1 April 2011) it seems only fair to give my friend massage man another mention.  A friendly 30-something from Hanoi, this guy cycles the streets of Saigon offering head, neck and shoulder massages for £1.50 a go.  He knows his stuff and has the ability to crack peoples’ ears: which sounds odd, but feels amazing.  Working in Saigon, he sends money back to his wife and children in Hanoi.  One of the more personable street sellers, he’s always a big hit with teachers frequenting road side bars.

Having taught 34 hours of classes over the past 8 consecutive days (which might I add is a crazy amount in TEFL terms), I’ve treated myself to a facial and hot stone massage on my day off.  In fact, this post is scheduled to appear while I’m in the spa – as I know full well I’ll be far too relaxed and sleepy to even think about logging on later this evening!

Ahhh, this is the life.

A xx