Project Runaway

[Author's Note: Be warned as this post does contain anecdotes and references to Bikini Waxing. This information and the visual/visceral responses invoked may not be for the faint of heart]

I love being pampered. It is one of my guilty pleasures along with really good chocolate. In the last 10 months there have been the good, the bad, and the ugly of spa experiences. Here are just a few…

It all started in Italy. I was due for a bikini wax. I was going to the beach and as it is acceptable to not shave your armpits here, any other sort of concentrated abundance of hair better be on your head. When I arrive there, no one speaks English. With a lot of hand gestures and some basic Italian I get across what I require and even decide to get a pedicure. I am placed in a chair and in comes an old Italian lady. And when I say that I mean old, like, old granny old. She had old granny ’set’ hair and a house-dress on. She spoke no English and constantly went out for a smoke. If Italy had not passed the No Smoking on business premises bylaw she sure as shit would have had a ciggy hanging out of her mouth as she worked on my feet. She never smiled and scowled at my toes a lot like there was something terribly wrong about them. She was very rough and filed on top of my nails, damage which took months to grow out.

This didn’t bode well for the bikini wax. I was led to a curtained off area. This time it was a young 20 something woman, who spoke some English, who was to do the waxing. Thank God, I thought! Now most women, and some men, know that there are different types of bikini waxes. Some get a little off, some get a lot. When I indicated the amount of ‘removal’ I desired, the young woman looked shocked. ‘We not do that in Italy’, she said. Now it was my turn to look shocked. This was 2009 correct? Not 1955? She then proceeded to sprinkle talcum powder on my skin before applying the wax. I didn’t feel a thing but yet I was not that impressed with the quality control, I would give her a 6 out of 10.

There was no bikini wax in Turkey, I wasn’t brave enough after Italy, but a day at the hamam, or Turkish bath,  insured I was soft and squeaky clean. The massage though was merely okay and Nicole’s was downright lame with her masseur getting instructions as he went. This would not be Nic’s worst experience though with a masseur. In the Turkish town of Ovacik, Dwayne got a great Turkish shave and I received a pedicure from a husband-wife team in a small humble shop as their baby boy played nearby. They were young and poor and were very proud of their shop and son. The young wife diligently sloughed off the dead skin on my overused feet and even though her nail polish was of poor quality and limited colour selection, my feet glowed and looked very pretty for some time after. They were so earnest and sincere in their efforts and when we tipped them they thanked us profusely. I still remember their faces.

SE Asia was where we indulged in the most massages. First it was economical, and second with all the trekking carrying our packs etc., it was a necessity. Our first one in Malaysia was on the island of Pangkor and was for 2 glorious hours. Nicole and I were first, followed by the boys. It was done in our room in the hotel. Nicole and I each lay on the queen bed while the 2 ladies massaged us. The first thing they did was peel our bathing suit bottoms down exposing a lot of, well, our bottoms. This was the moment that Luc decided to come in from the pool. At the sight of his mother and sister’s semi-bare asses hanging out he hightailed it out of there. At one point my masseuse was attempting to loosen my very bad and notoriously tight hips. Part of her technique though was to smack my bottom very hard. Many times. Nicole buried her face into her pillow to muffle her laughter. I lay there red-cheeked, er, red-faced.

Malaysia would be were I received the most high tech bikini wax. On the island of Penang in a shi shi salon called Fluff  http://www.fluff.com.my/TheDamage.html (note the prices are in Ringgit not Canadian!). With a large and amusing menu of bikini and Brazilian waxes, I was able to gleefully select the waxing of my choice without feeling subversive.  The one strange thing was that it took a large amount of time. She was Da Vinci and I was the Mona Lisa of all mons veneris. I almost expected her to sign her work when she was done.

The 10 out of 10 massages occurred in Thailand. That is a unanimous vote between all four of us. They were the cheapest in SE Asia ($6-10 Canadian). They were also the most therapeutic. The Thai women were also the sweetest, funniest, and friendliest people I have ever met. After many massages Nicole and I would sit and have tea and help them practice their English. They would ask about our lives and we would ask about theirs and somehow we overcame the language barrier and communicated.

The worst massage happened in Vietnam in Hue. We went in to a lovely reception with professional staff and we decided to get massages after a long bus ride. It all seemed legit and normal and we paid for the VIP package. We were then each taken to an individual rooms upstairs. Once away from the first floor the place did not look quite as nice. The room I was led to had a massage bed near a wall, but the wall had a long mirror on it. There was also a jacuzzi tub, a bathroom, and a TV, which sounds nice but they were a bit grubby and the room just felt wrong. When the masseuse came in she was a sullen girl wearing a miniskirt and heels. The massage was the worst ever. She had no idea what she was doing and she was even texting on her cell. I should have just said forget it and left but for some unfathomable reason I stayed for the whole miserable experience. Thankfully, my daughter had more brains then I. Her masseuse was a masseur who spent the whole time leering and trying to see her breasts. When he tried to scald her with hot rocks she told him to stop and leave and she got dressed and left. Luc was told to strip down to his birthday suit and after several groin area massages the girl gave up and continued with the same half-hearted massage I received. Dwayne’s experience matched mine. We did not complete our spa package but met in the lobby and realized we were in a massage ‘parlour’ in the truest sense of the word, and got the hell out of Dodge. And the pièce de résistance? They brazenly had the nerve to ask us for a tip!!