Sri Lanka: Chapter One. The Masseur Incident.
3:36 p.m. on 2004-10-07


What does it say about my state of mind that I find the name of a town in Yorkshire hysterically funny.

Upperthong. Heh.

I suppose I should give you a Sri Lanka story. I could tell you about elephants, and the plastic croccodile. Or about the leeches. Or the "a monkey stole my make-up" story.

I know.

Are you sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin.

Our group was staying in an upmarket hotel in Kandy, a pretty densely populated town, the centre of which is formed by a big, pretty lake. This is all beside the point, but I'm doing what is called "setting the scene."

Professional, innit.

In the various hotels we've visited over the past week, we've seen signs advertising a type of herbal massage particular to Sri Lanka. And given that we have some free time on our hands in Kandy, and our swanky hotel offers the same type of massage, myself and my room-mate decide to give it a try.

Now I've only ever had, previous to this, one full body massage. That took place in La Paz, Bolivia, a year previously, and was very nice and relaxing, thank you very much.

In that first massage, the lovely lady at the centre had silently indicated (her speaking no English and me speaking no Spanish) that I strip down to my knickers and wrap a towel around myself, which she then 'worked around.' So I figured it would be the same for this one. I'm not sure who was more surprised; the male masseur who met me in the Sri Lankan massage centre, and who was expecting to find his client naked, or me, who was surprised that I was expected to be naked.

Did you pick up on the two important words in the above paragraph? Being male and naked.

Yeah.

I told him, nicely, that I'd be keeping my knickers on, thank you very much.An announcement he greeted with raised eyebrows and a shrug.

Tourists.

Cue back massage. Now, if you've ever had a massage, you'll know that the whole process is much more relaxing if you don't have to engage in polite conversation with the masseur. The situation becomes even more stressful when a) the masseur speaks an entirely different language b) the masseur is male, and of the same age and c) the masseur is trying to chat you up.

If I'd been in South America, and a man had asked me: "How old are you? Are you married?" I'd have shrugged, smiled, answered and then walked away. In Peru, "Are you single?" is as much a general greeting as "Good morning." But in Sri Lanka, where women tend to keep covered up and where men are, well, less forward.... and when I'm only wearing a towel and a pair of knickers, and am alone in a room with a boy my own age who is rubbing oil across my back.... I was a little ... bemused.

Not quite as freaked as when I rolled over so he could continue on my front, he pulled my towel down, and lo, there were was breastage aplenty.

Sod bemused, now I was freaked.

The rest of the session was spent with him repeating "Relax, relax" - the exact thing I wasn't about to do, not whilst I'm clutching my towel to my chest and wishing my forty five minutes was up.

Pretty much the least relaxing massage I think I'll ever have, actually.

I finally escaped his clutches (leaving my roommate to face his fingers), without leaving a tip and barefoot, not stopping to put my shoes on.

Perhaps if I'd been prepared for a nude massage (and remember, this guy expected me completely nude, and fully frontal) I would have reacted better. As it was, I was remarkably restrained. After the monkey-biting incident, my room mate commented that she was surprised she hadn't heard me scream, since if it were her, she'd have been tearing her lungs out. Same with the massage. I brushed the breast-incident off with a shrug, smiled at the male masseur and his questions, and left at a reasonably sensible pace.

Still, it will be a while until I have another massage. And next time, I'm wearing my bikini. And no one is pulling it off.

Listening to:Tom Waits

Quote: "You know, I saw (Freddy Gong) the other week, and boy, is he buff!" - Ryan Murphy



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