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My empty stomach and aching feet were really looking forward to a quick foot massage before going back to the hotel for a big dinner. Pulling off the highway, our guide bumped into a dirt parking lot in front of a small building. We went inside and up to the front desk, where it was quickly apparent they did not have a 20 minute foot massage option. After a brief haggle (I was exhausted and weak from hunger), I acquiesced into the full two hour "special", composed of three different "treatments", for the reasonable cost of $45. After declining the offer for the couples version, we headed to our respective "locker rooms" to change.
I was escorted by a very nice Sri Lankan lady into a small room, which had a few nails in the wall to hang clothing, and a bit of plastic surrounding a shower head. She motioned to me to undress, saying, "Underwear okay!". Yes I will leave it on, thank you very much. The only problem was that what I was left to change into was a faded gray-ish towel that that was no bigger than a dish towel. I tried to cover myself as best I could and headed out.
The Sri Lankan lady brought me to a room, where - surprise! - David was laying on one of two vinyl massage tables. So much for declining the couples option. David was also looking a bit uncomfortable, as he was being massaged by a young Sri Lankan man. (I admit I giggled a little inside.) The massage went on for 45 minutes, and it was fine, but the masseuse used so much oil that I would squish when I turned over. Not to mention that our room was next to the freeway, so every 45 seconds or so a semi would zoom by, rattling the windows. Between all of this and me hoping the male masseuse in the room wasn't ogling me, it was less than relaxing. But the second treatment should be better, right?
She tapped me gently, saying "Okay, miss, all done!" and I followed her bowlegged - remember the all that oil? it was now all soaked into my underwear - into the next room. It contained only what looked like a wooden casket. She opened it up, steamy heat blasting out, and inside was a sort of platform where you were supposed to lay, the only cushioning another wet threadbare towel that had somebody else's body print in it. I hesitated a second, hoping she was going to change the towel, but no luck. I threw modesty out the window for the moment, laying my own oil soaked towel down on top of the other one, where my oily-but-at-least-relatively-clean towel was now quickly soaked through with someone else's steamy sweat. Shoot, I sure didn't think that one through.
Laying on my back, she closed the casket, where my whole body except for my face was enveloped in steam. I tried to finally relax and appreciate the warmth, but the towel she draped around my neck to keep the steam from escaping to my face had a long black hair on it. Okay, I'll just close my eyes then. Pretend none of this is happening.
The lady came and got me after 20 minutes or so. We were finally at the last stop, something that was billed as a "special herbal sauna". It turned out to be a small beehive shaped room, about four feet round and less than five feet tall, with whole spices in a wooden grid on the floor. Which would have been nice and cozy if THERE WEREN'T ALREADY THREE OTHER PEOPLE IN THERE. They looked up at me briefly, with sweaty, hollow eyes. "It's a party!" I noted cheerily. Everyone just looked away. I settled in, hoping this wouldn't last long. I don't care for saunas in the first place, but I usually compensate by placing a towel over my face. Too bad the one one available to me was the only thing between me and the large, fidgety Russian man sitting next to me, who kept muttering, crossing and uncrossing his legs. Which may have not been too distracting, but his towel was no bigger then mine and his just did not cover enough of what it was supposed to.
At intermittent intervals, the door would open with a rush of cool air, and someone would be granted escape. Finally, I couldn't take it any more, and left the tiny torture chamber before my time was up. My masseuse looked surprised to see me, and followed me to the locker room, asked repeatedly if I enjoyed my spa experience. "If you like, you pay me tips?". She did not leave my side until I got my purse and handed her $5. She took the money, smiling, and disappeared immediately.
Our guide met us at the car, and I thanked him for waiting for so long, asking if he got a massage as well. "Yes, but I don't have to pay since I bring guests." Of course.
Finally getting back to the hotel room and throwing my underwear in the garbage, I took a really really long shower, scrubbing off the layers of oil and who-knows-what-else. Finally feeling clean, I put on my pajamas, and much to David's irritation, refused to leave the clean sheets of the bed, ordering room service and eating in bed.
Note to self: Next time pay the $100 for the hotel massage!
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For those who made it all the way to the end, here's a picture of my Sri Lankan masseuse...
