For Relaxing Times, Try The Jabalpur Special

June 25: Jabalpur, India

Convalescing in isolation in Jabalpur, we thought that some very affordable massages from the hotel spa would be a relaxing way to kill some time. It was so memorable that immediately after we returned to the room, each of us wrote down our individual experiences, which we’ve copied verbatim below.

Ayurvedic massage, anyone?

Gina:

The massage tabletop advertisement on our bedside table had been tempting us since our arrival the previous evening, so we decided to pay our well-marketed spa a visit. IT WAS WEIRD. Ro went first. The aryuvedic masseuse said only one person could go at a time, and we had previously discussed that it might be uncomfortable for me if it was a man, so Ro tested out the waters. (Ro can describe the intimate details himself…)

I was next. At first, I feigned a stomach ache, thinking the same man would also massage me. I’d already had enough uncomfortable encounters with creepy Indian men throughout the day, being that there were no women, much less tourists, anywhere to be seen. But thank the Lord, a woman with her baby had just appeared down the hallway as Ro was finishing up. It turned out she was to be my masseuse. Upon entering the room, I was instructed in Hindi to remove all of my clothing, including bra and underwear, about one foot away from her as she straight-up watched me get naked. I just went for it and tried to play it cool, but felt totally strange getting completely undressed, especially in such close quarters. Then came yet another fun surprise, which I guess wasn’t completely a surprise, because Ro had alluded to it in hushed tones, hinting to me as I passed by him just before entering the massage room… the THONG. A long, semi-transparent, cotton-poly waistband of some variety, with a hanging loin-cloth attached perpendicularly. (Ro had worn the exact same model)

The ensuing 45 minutes were filled with a rainbow of emotions, ranging from terror to confusion to anxiety to feigned relaxation. I tried to manipulate my body language to convey enjoyment and comfort with this exceedingly foreign experience, but I’m sure I wasn’t fooling anyone. Not only was I completely disguisted by being oil-drenched and slid-around on a well-used, uncovered wooden shellacked massage table with a cracked-pleather headrest, also uncovered, but I was regularly being needled by mosquitoes and could feel hair tickling me as the woman rubbed LITERALLY every part of my exposed backside and frontside. Only the loincloth remained sacred, and barely at all. The vigorous thigh-rubbing led to an occasional violation of the loin, but forgivably non-malicious.

Finally, the table massage ended as it began — sitting in a battered (also uncovered) office-style, non-rolling chair with rough cloth covering and metal legs/frame, where I was forced to sit bare-cheeked for my final beating and head-punching. She released me from my personal hell by wrapping me in a towel and escortin gme to the ladies changing room, and proceeded to soap me up. I was able to have two final minutes of alone time in the shower to reclaim my innocence lost, and was ever so relieved to be reunited with Ro in the hallway outside. Showered again immediately upon entering our room.

Ro:

We decided that a good activity for an activity-less day would be a massage from the in-house spa, priced attractively at 1000 rupees. The brochure said “call for appointments.” When I did, the phone rang ten times before a voice picked up that sounded decidedly un-spa like. Over the next 30 seconds, everything I said was responded to with a jolly “Okaay, sir,” leaving me completely unsure whether I had just scheduled two massages for 6pm or called a local house of a friendly man.

The spa was next to the pool. The spa was one room. No appointments were needed. We decided I should go first to test the waters. And my, those waters were weird, oily and weird.

Part of it was the setting. No mood lighting here. 10 X 10 room. Fluorescent lights. A gas stove in one corner and a shellacked wood table in the middle. No massage table. A cracked leather pillow built on to the table. The table had seen a lot you could tell, which wasn’t exactly the most enticing thing before you get stripped down.

The strip down I was mentally prepared for, but I guess I was hoping for a towel after. Instead, the masseus produced a cloth thong. He put this on me. First, by tying the waist, covering my front, then walking behind me and reaching between my legs to the front string, pulling it back and up to manually create the pressure necessary for a thong. This felt so wrong in the front and back, I just started laughing. I was trying hard to conceal it, but couldn’t stop from smiling. The abusrdness of the last two days I think culminated in this moment, but I was also just laughing at myself for having thought this would be relaxing and anything but unexpected.

The next hour or so, everything got oiled and shellacked, including my hair. All I could think of the whole time was, how are we going to get Gina out of this?