The Message is in the Massage

When I was a little girl my maternal grandfather used to stroke my hair. He wasn't otherwise a very demonstrative man. And he was a man of few words. But, I would lay my head on his knees for what seemed like hours and he would run his long, work hardened fingers through my hair. It was bliss.

As kids, when we got sick or scared or anxious,  my mother would do the same. Lulling us into pain relief and comfort. She continued the family tradition with the grans, spending hours of quality time soothing them... loving them... with their heads in her lap. After she died, the only thing my son wanted of hers as a keepsake was the knitting needle she used to run through his hair.

Even today as adults, my father, though emotionally absent and rarely attentive when we were children will lovingly administer foot massages to my sisters and I upon request. Touch…. as a form of communication in my family... goes a long way. 

All of this is to say... and possibly explain why...  I love to be caressed, stroked, petted and hugged. That is, in a kind, non-threatening and non-sexual way!!  And... why my sister and I “massaged” our way through Southeast Asia! Body massages. Foot massages. Head massages. Thai. Vietnamese. Swedish. Therapeutic, Accupressure. Aromatherapy. Bring it on! I've had massages in India and Bali. Now Vietnam and... Thailand. My sister out did me by adding Cambodia to her list.

I arrived in southeast Asia with a notion… easily confirmed by Professor Google... that Asia has a long and respected reputation for massage, considered to be an essential part of maintaining a healthy lifestyle. Sex tourism aside… history and tradition tells me that most establishments providing massage in this part of the world do not exist just to provide happy endings!  Though sometimes, it’s hard to know for sure?  An American/Asian man called Tony posts a hilarious story in his blog about awkward, personal encounters he had with three separate and enthusiastic Vietnamese masseuses in Ho Chi Min City... aka Saigon... who assumed, incorrectly, that since he was a man he was seeking happy endings... when all he wanted was a decent, deep tissue massage. You can read his story... and laugh... at:
http://tonysvietnamblog.blogspot.com/2010/11/baby-massages-and-happy-endings-in-viet.html?m=1

Thoughts of shady happy endings did not deter my sister and I from getting as many massages as our trip schedule allowed.  By the end we'd had about a dozen… that’s almost one massage every two days. All administered by young, tiny, remarkably agile and acrobatic women.  Except for one! It wasn't until I opened my eyes…. well into my first massage in southern Vietnam.... that I realized the thin, child-like voice of my masseuse belonged to a tiny, agile and very beautiful young man.   

I quickly learned not to underestimate the strength and expertise of these fragile looking young Asian... women.... and men... of small stature with high, microscopic voices.  I can personally vouch for the fact that they possess brute strength and a skill that comes with sheer determination and will if not formal education. 

The massages I received involved full body contact whereby each encounter involved the masseuse getting on top of me or squiggling underneath me in order to heave me into a backwards posture that even my chiropractor would either envy or despair. That’s when the magic happened!  Just when I thought I'd be thrust into a state of backward vertigo... for which I’m prone…. for the first time in years... the tension in my neck released and my shoulders dropped. I’ve been home from this adventure 2 weeks and I still feel the relief.  Now that's the kind of happy ending I can really appreciate!  So…. note to self:  don't be deceived by diminutive size or child-like affectations. These young ladies… and men…. have the strength of an Amazon!   

This is my last blog post based on my escapades in southeast Asia.  It was a wonderful adventure.  Best of which was sharing it with my sister.  But, I doubt I’ll go back to that part of the world because I’m inexplicably and repeatedly drawn back to India.  It’s not the markets… which is a primary draw for me to visit any part of the world.  It’s not the textiles or jewellery… which feed my art and have inspired me since I was a teenager.  It’s not the people… who are warm and generous and curious and infuriatingly contradictory.   It’s certainly not the spirituality… of which I only see blatant opportunism and exploitation.  I'm drawn to India for the never ending, in-your-face, always inconvenient mayhem/pandemonium/bedlam.  India gives me a feeling of impunity.  It boosts my confidence.  It bolsters my self-esteem.  It eradicates my fears.  It makes ME feel like an Amazon!  If I can navigate India… especially on my own… I can do anything!