A Nice, Relaxing Massage?

Wednesday, August 25th, 2010 in: News

It was still mid-afternoon when we arrived back at the hostel. Madina’s friend, Vira, was on her first day of work at the counter. We briefly retold our tale and showed her some photos before Dan retired to the shower and the comforts of our bunk bed. Strangely energized, I remained in the guest lounge and caught up on my internet usage, and started to tap out an outline for these entries.

Before I knew it, it was pushing 7pm  and Dan came sauntering down the stairs. Vira told us where the local massage parlors where, and we wandered out into the park behind the hostel. The weather was quite gorgeous, with puffy rolling clouds lit up by the evening sun. The air was the perfect temperature, the kind of weather where you hardly notice it at all, except to comment on how nice it is, and how you wish it could be like this everywhere you go. Throngs of people were swarming around the park, some playing music, some dancing, some playing. We saw our first affectionate couple in Urumqi, and wondered if that sort of behavior would be tolerated on the Uighyr side of town.

After grabbing some recharge cards for our phones, which frustratingly didn’t seem to work at first, we made our way to the large spa Vira had pointed out for us. The facade was an attempt to recreate the architecture of a Japanese inn, but the entrance hall was distinctly Chinese in its garish decorations and statues. The doorman led us to a side counter where some service folk spoke to Dan in Russian. When he corrected them, they apologized in Chinese, saying they get a lot of Russian customers and he looked it so they just assumed. It wouldn’t be the last time he would be confused for a Russian during our stay in Xinjiang.

They quoted 128 kuai for a “set menu,” which seemed reasonable for usage of their spa facilities and a 90 minute massage. As they led us down the stairs, one turned to Dan and asked “你要不要美女？” Do you want a pretty girl? Dan responded in the negative, having already anticipated the question. He had told me earlier about all the “hair salons” around Beijing Airport, and so whenever he passed a hair salon or a massage parlor, he just assumed they were fronts for brothels. “If you had actually gone into one of these places for a haircut, they wouldn’t know what to do with you.”

The spa was very much like the one I’d been to in Tongren with Ben and Jim, with the exception of a sauna and steam room, and a few additional baths for soaking. I washed away the grime that had accumulated the past three days and slipped into a few of their spas. The Milk bath was surprisingly relaxing, but the Chinese medicine bath was scalding hot, so that any movement after I’d settled into it was accompanied by waves of pulsating heat, threatening to scorch my bones. I quickly jumped out and rinsed off, and my legs went a little shaky, either from the medicine or from the overwhelming heat from which I’d just emancipated myself. I sought refuge in the sauna before joining Dan in the pool of cold water.

Just as the spa in Tongren, there were a few guys in swim trunks with marked them as working men, despite the fact that they just stood around either watching us or the TV over the baths. Being the only customers in the spa at the time, it was a little awkward with three or four partially clothed men watch us bathe. As I’d expected, they offered to scrub us, which I declined out of reflex, but they then led Dan into the adjacent room and set him on the massage table. I followed to see why they were being so insistent. “No no, we’re only here for the 128 kuai set.” They looked a bit confused, then pointed at a sheet on the wall, then at the massage table. On the sheet was the 128 kuai package, which apparently included an exfoliating scrub by big Kazakh guys in swim trunks.

Using a big mitt that felt like sandpaper, the man in trunks roughly but meticulously rubbed down parts I’d rather not describe publicly, turning me over and rinsing me with warm water. He was thorough. When it was over, he sprinkled handfuls of smelling salts over me and rubbed in some lotion, sending me bewildered to the sauna, where Dan sat with a stunned look on his face. I couldn’t help but laugh at our exfoliation violation, neither of us saw that coming.

After our final rinse, we were put in the same linen pajamas as the Tongren Spa, and we were led up to the fourth floor for our massages. The elevator was filled with middle-aged Chinese men, but thehy were all going up to the sixth floor for unspoken but understood reasons. Only Dan and I got off on the fourth.

We were ushered into a room with the familiar massage recliners I remembered from getting foot massages with grandpa. When we sat down, Dan confided that he’d never actually gone to a massage parlor before, partly because of his suspicion that they were all brothels. His anxiousness took on new meaning as I realized that he had absolutely no idea what to expect from this experience, which led him to being tense and startled by the goings-on. Our masseuses scurried into the room carrying large buckets with steam machines for our feet as they started to work on our arms. They certainly weren’t 美女, but they were friendly and chatty, which kind of put Dan on edge even more; he was already struggling to relax in the face of this new and awkward experience, but having to focus on understanding their Chinese through a thick local accent was a bit too much. They disappeared and after a few minutes came back with more buckets, this time filled with warm tea for our feet to soak as they massaged our back and shoulders. Again, Dan pulled the short straw, as he later complained that his masseuse was not very good, and far too rough.

They disappeared again, this time returning with a basket full of mystery gear that sent Dan’s pulse racing. What cruel surprises awaited us now?

I opted to get a pedicure, which consisted of shaving off the thick layer of dead skin on the bottom of my feet and trimming my nails. It was the most pampering I’d ever received, and after the events of that weekend, I felt it was worth the 18 kuai extra. Dan declined the treatment, eying her tiny spade suspiciously.

When they finished and left the room, Dan turned to me and admitted that he felt clean, but also a little dirty, and he was pretty sure he was less relaxed than before we entered the spa. His agitation was apparent when we walked to the food market we’d visited a few nights before. Harrowed by a Uighyr lady trying to sell us a bowl of chicken at all costs, he lost his cool and had to step aside for a moment to collect himself. “I almost punched that woman in the face,” he half-joked. I ordered some beers to go with our meal, brought by the Han beer-handlers. Finally in a more elevated mood, we returned to the hostel to sleep away the events of that night.

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