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!  

Losing Men to Thailand

I'm obsessing... I know! But, it's hard not to! My first sightings of western men "hanging" with Asian women was at the very beginning of this trip to south east Asia. Although I've been aware of western men's evident attraction to Asian women ever since John married Yoko and... not long after, my own father married a Japanese women... younger than myself!... I hadn't given these unions much thought until my first arrival in south Vietnam where I observed a few white men with young, beautiful Vietnamese women in the Saigon airport. There was little to no evidence of these cross cultural unions in communist north Vietnam or in Cambodia. But, evidence is overwhelming here in Thailand. So much so that it leads me to wonder if Thailand's primary resource is women... and sex. And... if women... and sex... factor into the nation's GDP?

Even from where I lie now... on my chaise... on this tiny, rural, green, under developed, relatively non-touristy, beachy, idyllic island... Koh Chang (Elephant Island) in southern Thailand... evidence is everywhere. Single white men... hanging with each other... in couples, in small groups, in large groups... in droves!!! And, white men with Thai women. Everywhere I go!!! All ages. All shapes and sizes. Not just the old dudes!!! British, German and French being the top three tourist nationalities visiting Thailand...  in that order. (That's a fact!, according to a local Thai newspaper.) Not sure where North Americans fit into the numbers. We haven't run into any North American tourists so far on this remote island, south of Bangkok. But, I know they're in Thailand!!!

It seems to me that this apparent exodus... please allow my disparaging exaggeration!!!.... of white men folk seeking... what?... in the arms of seemingly child-like Asian women... contributes to a huge loss to white, western women... of all ages! And... to Asian men! Especially in a country like Vietnam, where men already outnumber women due to religious and political restrictions. (See my previous post titled The Floating Women for my ruminations on this dilemma.)

I'm trying real hard not to make judgements and assumptions here. But the nagging question is... why? Why do so many western men seek apparent escape from western women? I've seen more than one documentary about the sex trade in Thailand. But, is it just about the sex?
Thai women are far less sexy and mysterious and enigmatic and ethereal and feminine looking than Vietnamese women. And, I would say, far less beautiful.

So, why are so many western men drawn to women who are not from their own "tribe?" My recently abandoned heart wants to say it's all about the sex!!! But, my critical thinking mind suggests there might be more to these cross cultural unions than meets my wounded eye.

In an effort to be forgiving, compassionate and open-minded, my gut says it's not just about the sex. It's possible... even probable... that western men ... especially those suffering from arrested emotional development... are seeking something they can't get from independence-seeking, confident, ambitious, kick-ass, western women who are no longer willing to make the compromises necessary to "mother" their men. In terms of enlightenment and emotional ambition.... as the 1980's cigarette ad claimed proudly... "We've come a long way, baby!" Sadly... for us western ladies... we've out done most men in terms of enlightenment and emotional development. And...they... "our" men!... don't want... or don't know how... to equal the apparent imbalance of our dissatisfaction and expectations.

Is it fear? That they... "our men" will never measure up to our over zealous, perfectionist wants and desires? Fear of aging? Fear of loss of importance? Fear of loss of significance? Fear of loss of stature? Or is it fear... of fear?

With some obvious wisdom at age 39... our ambitious, Thai, female tour guide... her name is Tar...in Bangkok suggested an insightful, compassionate and forgiving perspective.  Based on her observations, western men are drawn to Thai women because they... the women... are raised to be subordinate loyal, devoted care givers. In her opinion all men... eastern and western alike.... want to be looked after... cared for... like children... and Thai women, putting their needs secondary to the men, do this well. In Tar's opinion, this is an exchange that Thai women... especially those from poor, rural families are eagerly prepared to make given that opportunities for their education and advancement are limited. For these women, their only marketable commodity is their willingness.... and need. Citing Thai/western marriages she knows of that have lasted some years, she doesn't see western men or Thai women, willing to exchange sex for security, as bad. She calls them all "special!" Thus raising the question, in my mind, as to her definition of special.  It's a naive, but generous and pragmatic perspective.  At this point it should be noted that as an educated women and youngest daughter, she has happily chosen her career.. and caring for her widowed mother... over marriage and caring for a man. It's good to know that Thai women... the educated ones... do, indeed have choices.

OK... no big surprises here! Given my knowledge... and assumptions... of how women take ownership... or not... of their independence on both sides of the cultural divide. Western women have born witness to a steady exodus... permission requested, again!... of their men i to the arms of Asian women for  decades. One might say it's all part of the global economic exchange. But, Tar's comments make for an interesting validation from the Thai, female perspective.

In all fairness, I do want to get a male perspective. I do want to know about this from the men folk. Not sure if they want to talk to me though. It takes courage to talk through shame and embarrassment. Especially to a woman... me!... still showing obvious signs of betrayal.

I can say that I know a Canadian guy... my age.. who married a Thai woman... not that much younger than himself... and had a daughter with her. The marriage ended badly. She betrayed him with a man from France. He was devastated, but quickly took up with another Thai woman. I lost touch with him when he closed his export business in Vancouver and moved back to Thailand full time. But, I can see from his postings on FB... and my point here... is that he spends alot of time with his daughter and seems to be a devoted, appreciative and proud papa. He got a daughter out of the deal.

During our time here on Koh Chang, our beach chairs are situated right next to an older German man and his Thai girlfriend. Neither speaks English. My first impulse was to say something disparaging and offensive to the man. But, I have to admit that as we try to communicate with smiles and fragments of English, I'm warming to them both. He seems caring towards her. And he speaks Thai! That goes a long way in my books. It looks like he's in for the long haul. It looks like he's made an effort?

I doubt I'll ever have answers to all my questions. I'll never know for sure what's going on in the heads and hearts of our men... because I don't think our men know themselves.  But... I will say this... it hurts to think that I, as a western woman, is being rejected by my own tribe for all the things I feel most proud of: confidence, maturity, financial and emotional independence, critical thinking, emotional intelligence, good health, good fitness... and more. Perhaps I'm taking this to personally. But, in North America... from my wounded perspective... it already feels like there are too few men to go around. Regardless of age! These sightings... here in this highly sexualized country... this loss... makes my loss hurt more!!! 

Sent from my iPhone


Sent from my iPhone

Loss of Pride and Shopping in Vietnam

In India where the colours, textures and silhouettes are irresistible to my aesthetic sensibilities....I've felt compelled to contribute amply to the local retail economy.  Indian handicrafts have beckoned me forever.  

Handicrafts local to Vietnam are rich and plentiful. There's tribal embroidery from the northern regions. Embroidered "paintings" that are so intricate you'd swear they were photographs, done by women everywhere. Rubies, sapphires and precious gemstone jewellery from all over the country.  (Gaining access to gemstones was a main reason why the French dominated Vietnam for centuries.) Wood and stone carving from the centre. Laquered accessories.. plates, jewellery boxes and such... from the south. Delicate blue and white porcelain is everywhere. As are folded paper cards so intricately cut, they are a feat of creative engineering. 

Nevertheless, on this trip I've not felt so compelled... to possess... as I did in my travels in India. Having said this though, I have made a few purchases... and  given my considerable travelling experience, it's humbling to confess that I've been duped to pay more... too much... almost every  time.  

Retailers here are a sly and crafty bunch! The currency, given that $1.00 CAD is equal to 16,650,000 Vietnamese dong doesn't make shopping easy. There are way too many zero's attached to even the smallest purchases and much of the currency all looks the same. 10,000,000 dong is the same colour as 100,000,000!!!! Local merchants know this and naive tourists... moi!!... I'm ambarassed to say!!!... are easy prey. 

My first purchase was a large box of roasted cashews that I had to have... at 9:00pm... from the night market in Saigon. I bartered with intended confidence...  but the transaction happened so quickly I lost track of the zeros. I'm pretty sure he got 50,000 dong (3.00CAD) more than the bartered price in the end. 

Having honed my bartering skills on multiple trips to India and Mexico... or so I thought!... and thinking that my cashew experience was enough initiation... I made another purchase in the market with renewed confidence soon after. This time it was 6 intricately embroidered bags... intended to be gifts. I bartered hard and paid $5.00 each. Only to discover later that I could have bought the exact same bags for $3.00 each in a shop close to our hotel. No bartering required!  Now my guard is really up! 

But, wait!!!  The most humiliating experience is yet to come. Despite being warned by our guide not to buy anything in a gift shop attached to the tomb of one of many diabolical emperors... I spotted a tiny, precious teapot carved in stone and embellished with ornate brass. It looks antique... though I know it's not... and I hadn't seen anything like it so far. The last thing I need is a tiny, precious teapot! But this isn't about need. This is about sentiment. The teapot possessed me!!! I gave in and with the cautionary words of our guide looping in my head, I thought I'd won the teapot for 1,000,000 dong ($65.00) less than the asking price. For about 24 hours I was pleased. Then, I saw exactly the same teapot... in fact many tiny, precious teapots... In the airport gift shop for a mere fraction of the price. I'd paid $50.00 CAD too much. Ouch! The teapot doesn't feel quite so special any more. The loss is to my ego as well as to my pocket book. I've put myself on shopping probation!! We'll see how long it lasts. 

Oh oh! Bangkok lies ahead!!

Sent from my iPhone


Sent from my iPhone

The Floating Women

I'm fascinated by Vietnamese women. Their ethereal, seemingly fragile beauty is most evident in their tiny voices, second only to their perfectly symmetrical, tiny bodies and... most of all their mystery and quiet, alluring sexuality. No wonder western men are intrigued by Asian women. Unlike western women who flaunt their in-your-face sexuality without discretion, Vietnamese women exude femininity and grace with enigmatic softness and ballet like movements. Vietnamese women don't walk. They float.

But, big social problems are evident because in Vietnam there are 30% more men than women due to outdated, patriarchal social and economic pressures on families to birth boys rather than girls. Plus a government induced mandate... though not enforced as it is in China... that couples have only two children. Social practises are changing but family expectations die hard and until recently couples, overwhelmed by poverty, lack of education and family pressures would abort their girl babies. Today Vietnamese doctors are not allowed, by law, to inform couples of the sex of their child before birth. 

And so, today,  there are more boys than girls. It's a social dilemma that there aren't enough girls for young Vietnamese men to marry.  Their problem is compounded by the fact that it is common knowledge here that ambitious, young, Vietnamese women prefer to marry European or North American men. Age doesn't seem to be a factor. I've been here less than 2 weeks and it's almost common place to see much older white men with young Vietnamese women. 

Of course there's nothing new about this. I get it!!  Old codgers suffering from arrested development and sexual insecurity who can only get it up for the pretty young things. And, I understand the time honoured and ancient exchange of sex for security. But, here... in the eastern daylight... it looks predatorial and creepy. And it does make me wonder what sacrifices... loss of culture, family, integrity and self-respect... these young women have to trade off in their bid for a tenuous security. What amount of loss and grieving do these young women have to endure to sleep with the old guy? And, that makes me wonder if these relationships can really last? But, then... maybe longevity isn't really the point. 

Forty Years Later... In Vietnam... on Phu Quoc

I first learned about the war in Vietnam from my mother when she took me to a peace rally to protest the war, on the grounds of the Vancouver Art Gallery.  It was 1969.  I was 15. My little brother was 5. I don't remember if my sisters were there. But I do remember there were lots of people.  Wearing black arm bands, singing protest songs that were popular at the time... and marching. Those were heady, hopeful times. And in the years that followed, until the war ended in 1975 and draft dodgers were pardoned by Jimmy Carter in 1977, I learned about the risks that many young... too young... American men... no, boys!... draft dodgers, evading conscription by escaping to Canada... were willing to take in order to exercise their politics, their religion, their anti-war convictions, their fear.  I even entertained the idea of marrying an American boy I didn't even know in exchange for his safety.  Yes... those were times of naive innocence... and ignorance. 

Ever since the American war... as it is referred to here.... on the other side of the world, Vietnam has been grieving. And so, I come here on the heels of my own grieving with a curiousity to know what fills the holes... both literal and metaphorical... of despicable loss the size of an entire country.  

I'm travelling with my sister. The one I've written about before. The one whose recently experienced her own losses... of the life changing, anxiety inducing, intestinal kind. Our last journey together was about enduring unexpected, knock-the-wind-out-of-me, shock. This journey is about finding gratitude for each other and forgiveness in ourselves. 

And so we begin on Phu Quoc island off the southern tip of Vietnam. Having been repeatedly dominated over centuries by entitled parties, notably France, the US and Cambodia. And... while still recovering from ghosts of the past. On this tiny isle... comes perfection... in process.  

My knowledge about present day Vietnam is minimal to none. What I'm learning is that some holes can be filled with tourism. The tourist industry here is still in its infancy but potential is everywhere. If you want to see a tourist mecca in the making, come here. The Russians have already discovered it. And although Russian tourism is down compared to recent years, due to a failing ruble, the second language here isn't English. It's Russian! US tourists are few. But we have run into some Canadians. And savvy merchants from Kashmir. 

So my advice is... come now!!! Before it's too late. Unlike Mexico it's safe. Unlike Hawaii, it's not converted by US commercialism. Unlike Europe it doesn't suffer from entitlement. The food is superb. The sea is warm. The beaches are clean.  Tonight we head back to Ho Chi Min City, aka Saigon. We'll move up the east coast to Hanoi. 

More stories to come. 

Rebecca's Hats!

Rebecca makes hats.  She makes colourful, whimsical, wild and wonky and fun… hats. She also makes leggings and scarves and dresses and other stupendous, textiley, wearable, wonderful things... that make my eyes sing and my heart dance. 

I don’t know Rebecca well.  But, I do know she’s one kick-ass woman. You gotta be... to make hats!  She's also a foster parent… of the magical kind.  Patient.  Tolerant.  Kind.  Loving.  And, most of all... funny!  You gotta be that too, to raise kids that fall between the cracks of other people’s lives.

I know for sure that she's kick-ass because her studio's messy and fun and full of colour and life and...stuff!  

I know because she keeps an old rusty wok full of wiggly things and decaying leaves and... more stuff... on hand in the very epi- centre of her studio… for dying.  Dying of cloth, that is!  Just in case!  Because you never know when you want something to look tea stained, old or rusty.  She creates beauty out of rust. 

I know because she knows… how to play… with... stuff!  Easier said than done when most of us take ourselves far too seriously. I admire people who know how to play. There's surrender in play.  

I know because she has the definition of a yurt posted prominently in her studio.   A much needed reminder when the grim matters of life take precedence. 

I know because she bought an old RV that she wants to turn into a teacup.  

I know because the day after she had a radical mastectomy, the same day she was discharged from hospital, she left her husband and decided to move to a smaller house. 

I know because she didn’t get her boobs rudely reconstructed after having them removed.  

I know because she’s looked death head on in the belly button.  She’s experienced loss and grief of the horrific kind.  And to that she says $#@&*!!!

I know because she lives her life outside the lines of obvious convention and conformity. 

I know because her life is her canvas.

I know because she makes me laugh.  Something i don't do enough of.  Thank-you.

I know because she makes hats!  

... In The Wings of Salvation, Part 2

A Story of Salvation Mountain…. Cont’d from my last post on October 16

It’s helpful to be reminded that from despair and loss and the void of grief…. comes ecstasy.  

Just a short 15 minute drive to the south/east of the Salton Sea, on the hem of Niland, CA and the… oh-so-attractively-named…  Slab City…. lies… in a splendid spray of colour and play and make believe…. Salvation Mountain. 

Leonard Knight was a man who lived outside the lines.  And… I like that!  Though not much is written about him, (you can check out his official website:  www.salvationmountain.us/),

I’m going to guess that he was a brave man.  A quiet eccentric. A man of few words.  But, a man with a lot to say.  He was creative, tenacious and passionately religious.  

In 1984, at the age of 50, when some people begin counting their losses, Leonard began a celebration of sorts… a party… in the building of Salvation Mountain, his all-consuming tribute to God. 

Long after the shores of the tepid Salton Sea started receding, the fish dying and resort towns such as Bombay Beach and Salton City were taking their last breaths, Leonard chose his site, just a few miles from a dying shoreline, to declare his love for Christ and the Sinners Prayer.  Using building techniques familiar to desert regions, he declared his determination to create a tribute to a power beyond that would endure the vagaries of time by building his very own mountain from adobe, straw and thousands of gallons of lead free paint. 

Leonard’s salvation covers an entire hill and rises with pride and conviction off the Sonoran Desert floor.  The structure, hinting references to Antonio Gaudi, encompasses numerous murals painted with Christian sayings and verses from the Bible.  This massive undertaking would consume Leonard for the rest of his life.  In 2011 he moved to a long term care facility with dementia.  He died in 2014. 

 It was Leonard’s hope that his message of love be seen by people from all over the world.  But, it’s not easy to find since there’s no signage to direct people to the site.  And, despite being proclaimed "a profoundly unique, strange and visionary national treasure" by the US government in 2002… in addition to being declared a “folk art site worthy of preservation and protection” by the Folk Art Society of America… the site does not receive any government funding.  It’s a group of equally tenacious volunteers who have taken on the task of maintaining Leonard’s legacy to this day.   And… more tenacious people find their way to the party.  Get yourself to Bombay Beach or Niland, and Slab City, CA and the locals will direct you.  http://www.salvationmountain.us/history2.html 

I don’t know what Leonard might have been escaping from in his life.  His brief biographies (www.salvationmountain.us/bio.html)  don’t mention his losses or grief or the aberrations of his life that might have brought him to the desert to live in his truck without water or electricity for 30 years.  But, he went to Slab City for a week, to build a monument, and he stayed.  I’m going to take liberties and say that he must have been escaping something,… either internal or external.  The reasons don’t really matter. What matters is his tenacious legacy of hope and commitment and determination that began when a short distance away, a sea receded and opportunity was lost. 

I hope my point is obvious.  From loss comes latitude.  From despair comes opportunity. From grief comes renewal.  From sadness comes blessings.  From depression comes ecstasy.  But, in order to achieve these positives one must have the courage to see.  And… not everybody does see.  The people who remain on the edges of the Salton Sea may not be able to see… for any number of reasons.  But, Leonard Knight… he, saw God.  He saw the party.  He saw salvation.  Within himself.  And, I think that’s kick-ass.  His tribute to God, regardless of one’s religious or spiritual affiliation, offers momentary delight, joy, hopefulness, exhilaration… and, yes…. ecstasy. Leonard saw what the salty patrons (pun intended!) of the Ski Inn cannot.   I hope to see my life like Leonard Knight saw his.