Thai massage. Involuntary yoga. Penance. Makes you think of what a roast chicken feels like when you try to rips its limbs off.
I like it. It's wonderful. Not so much so, for a chicken.
After two weeks in the world's cradle of Thai "ancient" massage (not to mention Thai food), I finally broke down and went for a beating, err, treatment. Like too many things (live and learn), I'd been putting it off. Not because I didn't know what to expect (maybe because I did). It just never seemed quite the right time. Thai's already think that farangs smell bad, are excessively hairy, and have big noses. Personally I only have control over one of those without extreme measures, and since I've been walking several miles each day, a spontaneous stop for a massage has been, well, out of the question.
So after all that I did today, I ventured back into the city once more for the evening (I leave for Pai in the morning). All clean, shaved my face even, new haircut ("shiny new scalp").
I went for the "full body" massage. Now those of you who have read about some of my past trips to Bangkok may remember that "full body" massage there often means, how to put this delicately — her whole body massaging your whole body. Nod nod wink wink say n'more. It wasn't like that. This place was recommended in a mainstream guidebook (there are guidebooks for that other kind of massage too) and was in a very prominent location. No hanky-panky.
This full body massage was just "end to end". It combined a foot massage (new experience for me; recommended), hand massage — and the rest (the Chiropractic-like movements that are signatures of Thai massage). Delivered by an ample girl with arms an East German Shot-putter would envy, she had a light touch (relatively) and frequently asked whether the particular thing she was doing was OK. This should happen every time, but in practice it's pretty rare. They get into whatever method they learned, they use, and if you get a little wounded in the course of is, well, life's like that sometimes.
It went two hours. In keeping with my rejuvenated "who gives a damn what time it is" philosophy (except when I need to be somewhere in which case I'll continue to be anal. It's a gift), I didn't take my watch, and just set back and relaxed a while.
The foot massage was perhaps the strangest feeling yet the most therapeutic. I just wear sandals around all day; I haven't worn my shoes since I arrived in Thailand, I'm not entirely sure where they are just now. So my feet take a pounding. She also pointed out that my calves are like rocks (unlike the rest of my body) and set about to beat them into submission. She succeeded. I will try to go back weekly. It's $7 for two hours including a tip.
Post-massage there was a "Thai volleyball" ("takraw") game being played nearby. Chiang Mai against the Evil Ones (i.e. somewhere else). Not that Axis of Evil that our President Shrub has been talking about — these were other Buddhists, I presume. It's like a cross between volleyball and hackysack: it's played with a central net, the ball is made from bamboo strips woven into a ball the size of a grapefruit, and it's kept in motion with the players' feet. It's a kick... sorry.
Like any good sporting event, numerous vendors were out to sell snacks to game attendees. I've been a little careful (read "paranoid") about eating street food but decided on one of the "sausages on a stick". I asked (in Thai) what it was called, the answer I got (in English; I hate that) was "lamb". But then, I've never seen lamb in Thailand. At least if it'd been said in Thai I'd have heard what that sounds like, whether I actually knew what it was or not.
Turns out it was a sausage the Thai's call "sour pork", which I admit is not an endearing name, sanitation-wise. Served on a skewer like quite a few things here, it came with sliced raw cabbage. Sounds awful but actually the mild bite of the cabbage complements the flavor of the cabbage and helps cut the oil a bit.
Next up in this continued series: Meats You Find on a Thai Stick (no, not that kind of Thai stick). When I get around to writing that tasty piece of investigative journalism, you'll see it from the index