One of the morning highlights (besides a brownie breakfast) was getting an Ayurvedic massage. Entering the Ayurvedic spa was a bit surreal... there must have been a VVIP in there, because there was an entourage of five men with machine guns standing outside! Not necessarily a relaxing start, but oh well...
I'm not sure what it is about Ayurvedic massages, but I've grown to absolutely love them. I think it's all the oil that feels so nourishing to my skin, which has gotten really dry and flakey in the 50-degree winter here ;)
What's funny about Ayurvedic massages is how much I used to absolutely detest them! How much? This is an excerpt from my journal on December 2nd, 2007 -- just a couple of weeks after arriving in India:
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Weekend #3 in Hyderabad: My Quest for Inner Peace
I am squatting underneath a faucet that’s about knee-height. The showerhead isn’t working, so this will have to do. Nearby is a large garden pail full of mud – it literally looks like dirt from outside, mixed with water. Yellowish gook is slowly coming off my body and making a mess all over the bathroom floor tiles. This is Hyderabad, where there are no shower curtains or bathtubs, so all shower run-off makes its way all over the floor. I rub my arms, trying to wash all the gook off. But my body is covered in so much oil that the water literally just pools together on my skin and falls to the ground.
Because I’m squatting under a tiny faucet, I have to be strategic about washing my body – one appendage at a time. Meanwhile, there’s a wet paper towel covering my head. Why? Don’t ask me…a woman put it on, and I haven’t taken it off yet. The shampoo comes in a little paper sachet that’s disintegrating with the water – I decide maybe I’ll save washing my hair for later. Regardless of how much I scrub my body, I do not feel any cleaner and now the bathroom looks like one massive oil spill.
The hot water turns into a lukewarm temperature, and I decide it’s as good a time as any to leave. There are no towels, and instead I am given a green-and-white-checkered cloth – it looks like it belongs on a picnic table but is the material consistency of a Mr. Clean reusable cleansing cloth. A somewhat suitable end to this morning’s unsuccessful quest for tranquility…I have learned my lesson the hard way: Ayurvedic massages are just not my thing.
It’s too bad, really…All week I was very excited for the 350 rupee ($9 USD) massage. And the Ayurvedic tradition is very strong in this country; it’s the ancient science of Indian herbal medicine and holistic healing.
Herbal, yes. But it felt more like I was being prepared to be eaten.
First comes the oil…what feels like a whole cup-full, right on my face. I am so taken-aback, I almost jump off the table. It feels like Crisco. I am about to say no, but considering the oil is already oozing down my forehead, cheeks and chin, I decide to just go along with the experience. As she rubs the oil deeper into my skin, thoughts of clogged pores permeate my thoughts (against my will, I’ve become a product of the Neutrogena marketers from my adolescent years). Deep breath. Deep breath.
Next comes the rest of my body. And I realize this is much less a massage to loosen my muscles than simply a rubbing of oil all around. Lots of attention to parts of my body I don’t necessarily need or want massaged – like my stomach. In fact, that’s really just tickling. Relax. Relax. Go to your happy place, I tell myself.
I am turned over and she marinates my other side. Face-down, there is no hole for my head, so I feel like I’m suffocating in the almond-smelling oil. Happy place, happy place. Needless to say, anytime you must consciously find your “happy place” while you’re getting massaged…well, that’s just not a good sign.
She leaves and comes back with a towel. I think that I am done, but I learn there is another layer of marinade to come. This time, it feels (and smells) like butter with brown sugar…which theoretically sounds potentially appealing, but I am already oiled up and don’t want any more food products on my body. The butter smells like ghee from the temples of Tibet I visited this past summer, and I try to convince myself (unfortunately quite unsuccessfully) that I’m having a spiritual healing experience.
Later that night I get a text message from John: "Shower number 2. 3 shampoos later and I still feel dirty and now my bathroom looks like Valdez."
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