Before I begin my mumblings about a massage and the predicament of my underwear, let me give you a tiny idea of my long relationship with SPAS. A few years back, when working at an elementary school, I had lost my phone. Needless to say, my phone was found thanks to this lovely, young Israeli teacher. Her comment, however, I will NEVER forget. She said “I tried to look up your list of contact to see if I can guess to whom the phone belonged; all I saw were SPAS, SPAS, SPAS!!!”I guess there is no point in wondering how well I know my way around the local spas in my hometown. It’s a sensation I love. It’s the unexpected I crave. It’s the variety in a touch I welcome. It’s that calmness that follows shortly after being rubbed down. I will admit to being spoiled.
Which brings me to Berlin and the wellness spa at my hotel...
After a few days of touring by foot the city of Berlin, I decided to request a massage at the reception of my hotel. The staff was more than happy to accommodate my wish and within an hour I am asked to head to the wellness center. Ah....the sound of that is music to my ears. Upon entering the center, I have to check myself in. It’s a Zen atmosphere, just as I had suspected it would be. Within a few minutes, an older gentleman asks me to enter his spa room and gives me strict instructions, such as “leave your slip on (underwear), lie on your front first and forget about the face/neck cage....just drag yourself down as low to the tip of the bed”. Now imagine those instructions being given to you by Arnold Schwartzneger meets old man.
I was annoyed at having to leave my underwear on. Having had too many massages to count, I do know that I have grown to enjoy an underwear-free experience where a wide-white sheet is draped over you for proper coverage and the therapist can work on your lower back without tugging at anything. Arnold, however, has other plans.
He leaves the room and it dawns on me there is this tiny towel with which to cover my shapeliness. My headspace is simple “Caspian Princess, your underwear remains. So what is your problem?” Alright, I face upward and use the towel to cover a zone. He enters the room, sits on a chair at the tip of the table where my toes lie, dribbles lemon oil on my tootsies and begins to rub. Do you see how that baby in the photograph covers his eyes with hands? Well that was me.
Meanwhile, I hear an elliptical, a treadmill, a child running a mock...I explain to him this is not very ZEN. He steps out for a minute, addresses the noise and returns. The noise pollution remains. I try to focus on feet being rubbed and instead my mind wonders off to how small my towel is...and the noise of course re-surfaces. I sit up, holding my chest and the tiny towel and tell him “am sorry, this is not going to work for me”. He looks a little puzzled. He then suggests heading to my room to resume a tranquil session there. I guess I can live with that.
Now I am helping him pack up his equipment. We head to the elevator. We enter my room. He gets his bearings. We are now ready for Take Two. The towel is still small. I do not give in to my inner neurosis about Egyptian cotton and its petite-ness. Instead, I welcome this experience. My eyes are facing the ceiling and he begins to rub my feet with gusto. Unlike other therapists who pour the oil over their hands, he pours droplets on my skin. I embrace this new technique. Shortly after the foot rub, I understand his insistence to have me wear underwear as he does NOT KNOW how to manage the tiny towel. He abruptly throws it over my chest to have access to both my legs and begins the simultaneous rub down of both my thighs.....
And yet I still embrace it.
Now I am being asked to turn over (even though the arms have yet to be tended to). It is at this point that I realize this man is not a professional massage therapist and failed to hold back my laughter as he removed the entire MINI-towel and now my underwear was in full view. No Zen thoughts were crossing my mind now. In fact, quite the contrary. I spent the better part of 20 minutes holding back belly laughs. He was trying to massage the entire body all at once as his forearms tried to rub the entire body from neck to toe. I won’t bother telling you where my underwear travelled, or how wet with oil it got, or how NAKED I felt and never mind his hairy arms that rubbed my delicate skin.
I ended my massage 10 minutes earlier than expected.
I couldn’t imagine a minute more.
So much for my quest for a Zen experience in Berlin! How long will it take me to lie on someone else’s massage table?
