My search for the best massage

My idea of the perfect massage experience has always included soft music, delicious smells, dark rooms, and quiet therapists who knew exactly what they were doing. 

Chiang Mai offers a range of massage experiences from happy endings in dimly lit rooms to foot massages on the street to full-blown spa experiences. I had my eye on this little shop across from our first hotel. They offered Thai massage for 200 baht/hour (about $6.00) and had a cute exterior, but the only four beds were right inside the store front. A thin curtain was drawn around each bed when a customer arrived, and the girls that worked there seemed really young and inexperienced so I never made it through the door.

I also started noticing there were "Thai massage schools" around every corner, offering to teach massage in just one day. I wondered how many of the girls in those store front operations had learned from one of these schools.

I wanted someone experienced. Someone who knew what they were doing, and knew how to bring relief to road-worn bodies. We had been walking on hard concrete in the blazing sun for hours most every day. My body was tight as a drum and weary from exhaustion. I wanted a magical experience (without a happy ending...although I'm not sure they even offer those to women) that opened my joints and left me buzzing with energy when it was over. 

I did a little research and found this cute little place down an alley near the Chinese market. It looked promising as I walked towards it. I heard water trickling from a fountain that was surrounded by lush green plants. When I walked in the smell of lemongrass made its way up my nostrils, and they greeted me with some delicious jasmine tea that I sipped while they bathed my feet in a bowl of warm water with floating lotus blossoms. 

I ordered up the two-hour Thai Original package that included a foot massage, a full-blown Thai massage, and some extra head and neck work at the end. Lek (a middle-aged Thai woman) led me up two flights of stairs to a private teak room with a Thai mat on the floor. The next two hours were exactly what I wanted. She opened up parts of my body I didn't even realize were tight. Of course, this is Thai massage so there was even a disclaimer on their menu that said "might be little pain." They don't play. At one point, after a particularly painful position where I let out a little gasp, I referred to myself as a "little baby." She full-belly laughed at me. She was only giving me "medium" strength (which I actually had to check in a box on the customer form). I can't imagine what "full" strength is like!

I left, not buzzing, but deeply relaxed and totally pleased with the place, the experience, and especially with Lek. I even wrote down her name so I could ask for her again. The place itself, however, was a good distance away. Since we don't have transportation of our own yet I thought I would at least try a couple more near our apartment so I could easily walk there.

Place #2 was just a few blocks away and is part of a chain of massage businesses started by a woman who is an ex-prisoner. Years ago she started a massage business that would employ female ex-prisoners since it is very hard for them to find work when they get out of prison. They receive training while still in prison (and you can actually go to the prison to get a massage from the ones in training), and can then be hired at one of this chain's locations when they are released. I thought, "Cool. I would like to support such a thing." I opted for a traditional (American-style) massage this time and was very disappointed. I'm pretty sure the girl was just biding her time until she got off work. You can always tell when your therapist is not fully present, and it is never good. Of course, I also wondered if my mistake was in not getting a Thai massage. They may not receive adequate training for other types. The setting was nice, but that was all. I will not go back. 

I wanted to try one more place before trekking all the way back to Lek so I thought I would try out the massage school that is owned by the same family who owns our apartment building (this school is an actual school with in-depth training and is not in a store front). It is right behind us, less than 100 yards away. 

There are no lush plants outside. I was not greeted by the smell of lemongrass, and I was not offered jasmine tea upon my arrival. Instead, I walked up concrete steps through two open glass doors into an open space with a desk and file cabinets on my left, and a sparsely populated herbal pharmacy on my right (although, I must say, this is the place I got the magical herbal elixir that knocked the gas right out of my system!). I could see an open area beyond the desk where I assumed the massage would take place. 

I was (somewhat confusingly) told to head towards the back. The first person I saw was an older Thai man sitting behind an old metal desk with a black doctor's bag in front of him. I assumed he was checking me in. He got up, went into a room, and came back with my clothes (for those of you who have never had a Thai massage, you wear loose fitting clothes rather than nothing). Since he spoke very little English, it took me a minute to figure out he was telling me to go into the room with the sliding wooden door to change clothes. 

The changing room looked more like a patient room in a doctor's office. There was a stethoscope hanging on a hook, a table for someone to lie on, an old wooden desk, and a detailed map of the human body written in Thai. I left my clothes on the desk, took a deep breath and thought, "What is there to lose? If it sucks I just won't be back." 

I tried opening the door by pulling on it and almost pulled it off its hinges.That was followed by, "Slide, slide!," coming from the woman right outside the door who was massaging a Thai man. We all had a good laugh as I awkwardly tried to figure out where I was supposed to go next.

I was directed towards the pink plastic wash basin (for my feet) sitting on the floor at the foot of an elevated area where I saw two Thai mats, presumably where I would be getting my massage - out in the open with no privacy and certainly no soothing music. 

I dutifully sat down and placed my feet in the water, noticing there were no lotus blooms floating on top. When I looked up, the older Thai man from behind the desk walked over and stooped down to begin washing my feet. I thought, "Okay. No problem. I can do this. At least he probably knows what he is doing." Once my feet were dry I was directed to lie down on the mat, where Sak began scraping the top of my feet and ankles with what felt like a plastic comb. It stung at first, but immediately felt AMAZING. I have no idea what he was doing or why he was doing it, but I loved it. It felt like he was cleansing my nervous system. 

Sak's bag of tools.

It only got better from there. Sak talked to people around him occasionally, answered his cell phone once and kept saying, "No pain, no gain!", albeit with laughter in his voice, and yet I could not have been more satisfied. It was a no frills, get-down-to-business kind of massage, but when you are getting a Thai massage from someone as experienced and skilled as Sak, you don't need the frill. He hit pressure points in a way that I was sure would leave a bruise, stretched my limbs beyond what I thought they could bear, felt like he was massaging underneath my organs, and quite literally beat my back with a wooden mallet (this is called Tok Sen massage, an ancient type of massage from this region). But when he was done, I buzzed out of that place feeling as light as a feather. 

My idea of what constitutes a great massage is changed forever, and I am quite certain I can never get another massage that is not Thai. If you have never had one, you truly do not know what you are missing. Oh, and the total cost? $9.00

I have another appointment with Sak on Saturday.
 

Sak

Emigration time - one month and counting...

I am reading a book called, "CultureShock! A Survival Guide to Customs and Etiquette: Thailand," and it's opening my eyes to the realities immigrants face when they move to our country. 

When you have been immersed in a culture your whole life, you take for granted the layers of shared history and understanding you have with others. The ease with which you navigate familiar surroundings and social conventions is natural and comfortable. But what happens when you plop yourself down in the middle of an ancient culture on the other side of the world?

Now that we are less than a month out from being immigrants in another country, my sense of these things is heightened in our own culture. How must it feel for the newly arrived when they are sitting in a group of English-speaking people, with southern accents, telling jokes that only make sense if you used to watch Saturday Night Live in the 1970s in America? Or what about weird social norms of which they are completely unaware? There are so many things about growing up and living in America that people who did not grow up here will just never be aware of. And the same is true, of course, for every other culture on earth. 

How will it feel to be the minority? To be left out of conversations? To not be aware of social norms? To not know the language at all? I am leaving myself wide open to those experiences, and am going to allow them to expand my version of myself, and my understanding of the world, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't nervous! It's that oh-my-god-here-we-go kind of nervous that revs me up and heightens my senses, but it's exhausting. It also makes the next 4 weeks seem like an eternity....

Almost at capacity!

LOGISTICS UPDATE: You would not believe how few things it takes to reach 50lbs! What you see in the picture is 42lbs, and there is plenty of room left! I think I may have to  sacrifice my favorite boots and a couple of sweaters - neither of which I will probably need there. I'm also not packing anything I could easily get there. We have to lug these monstrosities around the streets, trains, planes, and taxis in Chicago, Bangkok, and Chiang Mai so I've got to be able to lift and toss it myself.

Some things change, some things...take longer

Anxiety, especially of the undefined type, sucks the very life force out of me. Mike describes it as a "white-out," like the TV after the national anthem ( sorry, children..you won't remember that one). My habitual solution is staring at a computer screen until the anxiety is masked by shame for not being productive (damn capitalist society!). When I've had enough, I turn to my yoga and meditation practice, which creates space and allows me to take a deep, soul breath (note to self: make this your habitual solution). With enough space, anxiety dissipates, until the next spin of the wheel. And even though I have not yet rid myself of anxiety, I keep practicing because I have seen a statistically significant decline in severity and frequency over the years (sorry, I couldn't resist...once a data geek...).

Sometimes anxiety is attached to something, and sometimes it attaches to whatever I happen to be thinking at the moment, like a blood-sucking leech. Then I'm off down that path assuming there must be something wrong --- with the random thing I happened to be thinking about. My suspicion is it's rooted in pre-verbal consciousness and will never be fully understood. What I do not yet understand is why it travels a never-ending cycle through my psyche. Perhaps it's just part of the human condition, and it's louder in some people than others. Perhaps it begs for attention because there is some important discovery to be made (I get caught here a lot because I have done so-freaking-much internal work over the past 20 years!). Perhaps, at the moment, it's because I'm changing every aspect of my life in 2 months! lol!

The mystery, along with the anxiety, remains. What I DO know is that I must not let its voice rule my life, keep me from exploring the world, or (what happens most of the time) let it lash out at those around me. Those who know me well know Tekeka. I've (mostly) learned to let her carry on like trash in the background, but more often than I would like she whips out a forked tongue at somebody. I wonder if she'll be going to Asia...

Gotta start somewhere

I want to write. Apparently, I have thought this for a long time. We are moving to Thailand in September, so I have been going through my old journals, and have discovered references to wanting to write going back 10+ years. For as long as l can remember I have narrated my life in my mind, telling my story as I live it. I have no expectations or plans related to writing, I just know I have finally reached the point where I must.

I suppose I will start with the present moment, which happens to be a tornadic swirl of thoughts and emotions related to this move. Don't misunderstand, we are positive this is what we want to do, but that doesn't stop the crazy barrage of feelings, thoughts and practicalities related to completely changing every aspect of life as you know it.

On the one hand, I am over-the-moon excited about fully immersing myself in a different culture. There are so many things about Thailand (and possibly Cambodia) that I can't wait to experience! Practicing yoga; meditating in my favorite neighborhood temple; taking walks along the moat of a centuries-old city; volunteering with organizations that are making a visible difference in the world; visiting the hill tribes around the city; going to Myanmar, Laos, and Vietnam for long weekends; exploring all the markets; learning to speak Thai; eating all the food; learning to live with different routines, different bathrooms, and different people; ....and, well you get the point.

I love to test my boundaries and experience new things, but there is an internal price to pay for that. I have to be willing to experience the anxiety associated with leaving our two grown boys to fend for themselves (although this was the goal, right?); with leaving a solid, good-paying job; with not really having a plan beyond the next several months; and with not knowing how I will respond to the different routines, different bathrooms, and different people. I have been known to have periodic meltdowns on foreign trips related to too much rain, to not being able to find a western toilet, to physical exhaustion, to lack of aircon, and to sticky, hot beds. I finally realized those are perfect opportunities to practice radical acceptance of circumstances. My husband has realized those are perfect opportunities to get the hell out of there for a while!

I also have to be willing to deal with the CRAZY amount of practicalities associated with a move of this sort. Here's a sampling of our to-do list:

Closet down to what I'm taking!

• Passport photos for visas
• Mail visas, and pray your original passports make it back 
• Sort 25+ years plus of memories into three piles: give to the boys, keep, or get rid of (fascinating what makes it into each pile)
• Sell...one-by-one...a ton of things that you have been keeping for no apparent reason
• Get ready for a yard sale (or two)
• Sell the car (although now that I've had a wreck, this particular to-do has transformed into an anxiety)
• Find a home for Mike's MUCH beloved, and highly-finicky kitty
• Get everything out of two storage units into the house in order to scale it all down to fit into one, less-expensive storage room
• Find and copy all important documents we need to take with us
• Work a full-time, demanding job
• Work part-time jobs to raise as much money as possible
• Keep up a routine of yoga, meditation and cardio so I feel healthy
• Wait in limbo since we don't leave for 2 1/2 months

Sheesh! I think I need to meditate. Or watch something on Netflix.