If we are in Thailand, is it just Massage?
There is a certain pattern that virtually all professionals share when they face a challenge in their field of expertise. It's a sort-of 1,000 yard stare as they wrap their heads around the scope of things, then a squaring of the shoulders, and finally a deep breath as they prepare to get to work.
That's what I saw as the tiny Thai woman who was to be my first experience with Thai massage contemplated the giant American towering over her in the empty lobby of her studio.
I had done a little research Thai massage in Chang Mai and had picked a place with solid reviews for a 200 baht ($7) price tag, a little off the beaten tourist path, but not too far off.
The rest of our crew was off to the movies (its own interesting cultural experience) but I had a call later in the evening, so was flying solo. There was no website, just a facebook page and a google listing, so no way to make an appointment.
I walked through streets of Old Town until I came to the spot, only to find it closed. As I peered through the darkened windows a man flew out from the shop across the way waving his arms and saying," Three minutes! Three minutes!" He simultaneously pulled out a key to open the door & spoke into his cell phone.
Sure enough, 3 minutes later a five foot tall Thai woman in her mid-50s bicycled up. She looked me over, and then bid me to take off my shoes and don a pair of slippers. My feet hung hilariously off the back.
She washed my feet with warm scented water and led me upstairs, gesturing at me not to bang my head at several points. She pointed at folded clothes at the foot of the bed, then turned around. I barely squeezed into them, though once they were on, they were loose and comfortable.
She motioned me to lay face down on the bed. The first part felt familiar: her feeling her way around my back. But rapidly the differences from western massage became obvious. She climbed up on the bed with me to get better angles for getting deeper into my back and shoulders, moving my arms and legs around as her fingers, elbows, and knees dug into my muscles.
Then it got interesting.
She started stretching my arms across as my body, leaning in to add her weight to add pressure, sort of like an assisted yoga pose.
At one point I opened my eyes to realize that my foot was hooked on her hip and she was leaning her body to stretch my leg. At another point, I felt two pressure points on my inner thigh and an odd pulling on my foot. I opened my eyes to see her feet planted and her whole body hanging from my foot basically parallel to the ground.
I tried to relax into it, as she moved me right to the edge of painful and occasionally beyond.
As she worked her way up my body I could hear her breathing - the measured intensity of an athlete in the zone.
Maybe it was my imagination, but it felt like the blood was flowing through my arms and legs in new ways.
At the end of the hour, we were both exhausted. Or at least I was. I felt loose and awesome. I paid her the $6 price, tipped her 50%, which she seemed very happy to get.
We both smiled and bowed- or only shared language.
I could get used to this country.
