Pit Stop

So, by some strange twist of fate, M and I found ourselves in Bangkok. We’d talked and talked about this trip for a long time, but actually being there was a whole ‘nother barrel of naked mole rats. For some reason, the entire trip was a little surreal and right now, seems a little like a dream, perhaps because we were in and out of Thailand before you could say “Tom Yum Goong”.

We were only there for four days, but managed to experience a little of the madness, crowding, jamming and even flooding that seems to characterise the city. I would blather on about street food and shopping, but there were lots of other interesting things going on over the course of the past weekend.

For one, the hotel we were staying was a rather prestigious affair. Not five-star chandelier prestigious, you understand, but first and foremost, it was the tallest hotel in Thailand which meant that it was huge and accomodated throngs of people. It was also pretty darn comfortable considering the free buffet breakfasts and the huge rooms. More importantly, it had the dubious honour of being the official venue of the 4th Annual World Bridge Championships.

Whut?

Yeah, I know, I had the self same reaction when I found out!

World Bridge Championships? I mean, correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t bridge a card game played by tea-drinking little old ladies with cats named Muffy? Okay, granted, my friends in school play bridge all the time and really enjoy it. But World Bridge Championships? For real? People actually flew halfway across the globe to sit across the table from each other and slap cards down all day while training furiously at night?

The whole thing seemed a little absurd to me, but the participants took it very seriously. The whole four days, people wandered around in groups of four wearing matching jackets and tags emblazoned with their flags. I saw the Hungarian, Egyptian and Pakistani teams walking by in deep thought, while the Thai team wore their jackets everywhere, a warning reminder to everyone else that they were on home ground.

The Israeli team breakfasted with their coach in tense silence. The Canadian team sat next to us and held intense conversations about strategy and game play. “It takes four whole years of training to become a world champion,” I heard one Canadian solemnly tell another and had to hold my hand across my mouth to keep from spewing orange juice in their general direction.

All day long, players stepped distractedly in and out of lifts, talking and trying their best not to make eye contact with the enemy. When they met, they either pointedly ignored each other, or politely sidestepped the competition while talking quickly in their native languages.

All this for some card game that frankly, can’t be all that much fun to watch. Nevertheless we shared lots of laughs trying to guess which country each group of players was from.


What was not a whole lot of laughs? The massage.

We’d been told that Thailand was a great place to get cheap, good massages and I love a good massage as much as the next guy, so when M’s cousin announced that we were getting a foot rub, I was well chuffed. We went to this lovely little place that was tucked away in a shopping mall and outfitted with leather couches and burnished wood floors. The masseuses served us with cold tea and bathed our feet in warm water laced with slices of lemon and lime.

It started off a little ticklish and I wasn’t wild about the wooden gizmo they used to rub between my toes and pressure points (they could have used a chopstick for all I cared) but the scented oils they used were comforting, the massage was good and firm and I was kept amused by the fey music playing over the speakers. Best of all, the massage ended with a back and head rub (yes, they washed their hands in between!) and all in all, my feet came out feeling really pampered.

Which is why I jumped at the chance for a second massage at night, this time for the whole body, at an authentic Thai place. We reached the little shop at one in the morning, only to find that it was a shophouse of sorts with wooden stairs and seedy-looking floors.

You know those pictures of the woman on her stomach, peacefully smiling on a soft mattress, with the flower in her hair?

NOT this place. At all.

Yeah, we were made to lie on mattresses, but only after entering a strange, rickety room where we changed into loose fitting pants and shirts the colour of hospital gowns. Then, a small-sized lady knelt at my feet and told me to lie on my back.

Okay. I’m not the biggest fan of lying on my back.

Even more so when you kneel on top of me, take your elbow and stick it into my thigh, which is what said lady did. I let out a yelp of shock which I quickly turned into a laugh which I directed at M so that the lady wouldn’t think I was laughing at her. The following dialogue ensued:

Me: Hee hee hee! HEE! HEE HEE!
M: Stoppit! Stoppit! If you start laughing, I won’t be able to stop.
Me: Okay. Hee! HEEE HEEE HEEE! HAHAHA!
M: STOP IT.
Me: HahahahHAHAHA!
M: (As her masseuse plants her elbow into M’s thigh) AHAHAHA! HEE HEE!
Me: HEEEEE HEEEEE HEEEEE!

And so it went on as we were poked, prodded, pushed and pulled by the ladies who massaged my thigh in every place imaginable, with every part of her hand possible. At one point, she entwined my legs with hers and used her forearms to knead my groin. Her gams rubbed against mine uncomfortably and I could feel the sole of her foot on my calve. I half expected that she was going to take her clothes off and lie on top of me, a prospect that was far more alarming than comforting.

After a while, she left off massaging my legs (thank god!) and moved on to my back which afforded me a chance to catch my breath. She pummelled my shoulders with a strength that would have made a really tender chicken chop while I lay on my face, gasping, wide-eyed and controlling an overwhelming urge to burp. The air was punctuated by the sound of the ladies talking and the occasional snore from a member of our party who had fallen asleep.

I must have dozed off as well, because when I came too, my masseuse was talking.

On her cell phone.

While she dug painfully into my back with her elbow.

I finally gave up trying to sleep and was almost glad when she told me to sit up and cross my legs.

Of course, my relief was misplaced because the next thing I knew, she was sitting behind me, bracing herself against my back while she locked her hands behind my head. My panic must have registered because she immediately leaned over and said in that chiding, sing-song way that Thai people have, “You relaaaa.”

“What?” said I, dazedly.

“Relaaaa.”

“Oh, relax. Okay.” I let my muscles go limp. Which was a huge mistake as I quickly found out because with a superhuman effort, she pulled my body two different ways, cracking my lower spine.

I yowled in surprise, to which she replied exasperatedly, “RELAAA.”

“But…” CRACK. This time, my upper spine, in a different direction. “Ahhh” I whimpered gingerly.

“RELAAAAA!”

“Oh my –” CRAAACK. All the little bones in my neck.


Next to me, M’s masseuse was beginning to administer the now familiar warning, “Relaaa.”

“Brace yourself.” I gasped to her as my lady gave me a final crack for good measure and let my body slither back onto the floor. Which is where I sat in shock as she finished up by rubbing my hands and arms.

We finally collected ourselves at 3 in the morning feeling rather more motley than when we’d come in and meandered back to our hotel. I’m not saying it wasn’t a good massage. All things considered, once I’d gotten over the shock, my body was a little looser and despite feeling violated in more ways than one, I crawled back into bed and had a good night’s sleep.

Perhaps the next time round, if there is a next time, I’ll be a little more prepared.

Maybe I’ll come ready with something to bite on to keep from laughing and ask for the same lady again. After all, she was awfully strong. And the massage did have its good moments.

This time though, I’ll just close my eyes, grit my teeth and RELAAAA.