Blind Massage 2.28.10

Is the date right on this? I wasn't liking the writing on this and haven't had much chance to post. So here comes a slough. I will try to add illustrations as I go on my photo management is rotten. I have too many.

After a long day of slogging through different places in HCMC Sophie suggested we take a soothing massage at a place recommended in Lonely Planet – an institute of blind practitioners. Sounds pretty great. We had images of nuns with Zen-like awareness relieving our stress and pain.

Before the session (about $4) I decided to take a pee – had images of some Heimlich manoeuvre on my bladder that would produce some cataclysmic event so I wanted to void my bladder. I had to run the gauntlet of about a dozen betowelled locals waiting by the steam room. I had been wondering where the Sumos hung out. In general the Vietnamese are lean and strong looking – here was a wall of generous flesh. The gentlemen stared at me, gimlet-eyed as I squeezed through their unyielding bulk to the toilet stall. Definitely hostility writ on their faces but I didn’t understand why. I squeezed back through the human wall and suddenly realized I hadn’t flushed – further proof, I am sure of my cultural inferiority.

Once back at the front desk I was directed to a stall surrounded by blue sheets. I was instructed to strip, lie down and wait for my masseur. No towel provided and only the curtain hung between me and the main entrance - so I was presenting ‘squab in a nest’ for the curious gawkers. The table was, in a word, scuzzy, but, in for a penny...

My masseur finally showed up. A young man who introduced himself as Pho. He bent forward and asked, ‘are you gay?’ For a moment I thought he was talking to me in Vietnamese, many of the words are monosyllabic, but I quickly got it. ‘Sorry, No ‘I croaked . Was I in the wrong room? He was silent for a moment then began to work (on my limbs and back). Pho talked noisily to his compatriots in adjacent massage cubicles. Finally he said to me ‘I have many foreigners clients. Do you want masturbate?’ I said ‘No, thanks, not today’. Why did I say that? He paused, then asked me quietly if I would give him a tip? I had a bit of difficulty understanding him at first then I wasn’t sure how to respond. His hands were pretty strong and I wanted to avoid physical injury on the first day of the trip so I suggested I would tip him for his good work. The rest of the massage proceeded, as they say, without incident.

I went down to the sun-baked courtyard to find Sophie sitting under lone scraggy little tree for the shade it offered I was attacked by a swarm of atom-sized fire ants that made a noose-tightening foray on my unmanipulated nether parts. Not since the days of Dien Bien Phu had a more devious assault been launched. I rapidly conducted a clever little anti-pismiric semaphore to the great amusement of the few sighted occupants of the compound and we fled, me doing a flailing pirouette that would have made Pierre T. grind his teeth with envy. Having vanquished the cruel arthropods(?) we hastened to a nearby establishment to consume a gallon or so of Saigon beer for its ameliorative effects.

Soph and I continue to be successful at crossing HCMC streets. Many have done so but I will attempt to describe the means by which one navigates streets in Ho Chi Minh City. Firstly one must envision oneself as a neutrino, passing through a dense screen of motorbikes (electrons)and more devastating vehicles (Protons). The vehicles are often up to 10 abreast, so it is kind of like playing frogger for keeps – but there is a ‘God loves You’ key stuck in the on position and miraculously one achieves the far curb with a feeling which is an incongruous admixture of superiority and humility. I also like to conjure up a bit of Cesar Milan, the Dog Whisperer and walk with certitude and strong energy. I think the drivers will sense weakness and pounce upon it like a tiger on a newborn deer.

And so to bed on my 2” foam mattress. Yum.