If you've ever been to a Sandals resort, you know that customer service is part of the company's mantra. The locations are on pristine beaches, grounds are immaculately kept, the staff overwhelmingly accommodating, and of course they've really got it going on with the all-inclusive thing. From the time you arrive, you're ordered not to even pick up your own luggage, and to relax and enjoy your vacation by allowing them to do all the work for you. Admittedly, it was everything we wanted from a vacation and more. The five restaurants don't take reservations, it's first come first served, and of three meals a day for six days, we waited only once for a table. There was a coffee and pastry shop, a pizza place, and a jerk pit on the beach too. No prices for any of it, all included no matter where and how many times you ate. Same at the bars. Two traditional bars, a martini bar, and two swim up pool bars make it easy to sip umbrella drinks, top shelf cocktails, or beer until you can't see straight. All that's included too. It was a nearly perfect, care-free vacation, one we would recommend to anyone looking to experience a tropical paradise getaway.
As we reveled in the pampering and relaxation, it only made sense that we top our vacation off with a trip to the spa on our last day. The spa services were the only services not included, but it seemed worth it to pay their slightly over the top price for massages. After all, the rest of the trip was long paid for by the time we arrived and we were enjoying the leisure and relaxation of resort living. We arrived at the spa early and were escorted to his and hers dressing rooms where we could change out of our clothes, take a sauna or steam, or use the hot and cold plunge pools. Someone would come get us when it was time for the massages. My husband went one way, and I the other. Having suffered some allergies the day prior, I thought a steam would do me good. I couldn't remember having used a steam room before, but boy did I love it! Seriously unsure why, seeing as I live in what some would consider nature's steam room, Florida. Anyway, I digress.
Just short of an hour later, my escort stepped into the lounge and announced that it was my time to be pampered. She led me down a beautifully floral and shaded path, through a courtyard where we met my husband. Unbeknownst to us, they had scheduled us for a couple's massage. I guess we should have realized, as we were staying at an adults only resort that largely caters to couples and romance seekers. Nice touch.
As spa rooms usually are, this one was quiet, so my husband and I would barely realize the other was even there. Sandra, my masseuse, began rubbing my back with some oil. It started off pretty average. She had warm soft hands, but she was a little too gentle. I like a deep or "firm" pressure massage as they call it. Incidentally, that's the little box I checked on the orientation paper I filled out upon arrival. But about what I'm guessing to be 20 or so minutes into the massage, I found myself having an internal dialogue.
You're not relaxing, stop thinking. Block out external worries, you're having a massage. Follow the strokes, picture the rhythms. That's how you do it. Long pushes up and down the back of my leg, from ankle to thigh. Figure eights with the palms of her hands. Breathe with the motions. Fingertips pulsing along my neck and shoulders.
I just couldn't do it. I found halfway through, I was writing instead of relaxing. I was thinking about the reasons this massage may have been the most mediocre massage I ever had, and how much money I had paid for it. I started thinking about the two massage gift certificates I had waiting for me back home. I started thinking about all the embarrassing things that could happen to someone during a massage. I started writing a blog post in my head! I kept trying intermittently, and unsuccessfully to get back to the rhythms, to relaxing between these musings. This is how I know I have been living a writerly life. There was good material here. So in no certain order, here are said musings:
I felt like one of those poor ducks you see on the oil spill clean up commercials. Seriously, I've had a good number of massages, several in the last year. I've never been slathered with so much oil. I'm surprised she didn't slide right off me. As some would absorb, I'd feel a sense of relief, and then you guessed it... she'd put more! All I can say is yuck. I took a steam again afterwards, showered in the spa, and then took another shower when we returned to the room. My husband and I agreed, though these women were kind, and treated us well, they're not massage therapists. Hence the use of the word masseuse earlier, a word I was pretty sure was obsolete until I experienced the difference between this massage, and those I've had previously.
Once I tried to let go of the fact I'd need Dawn to degrease when I left, I realized I had been lying with my face in a doughnut (you know the head rest I'm talking about) for what was now about 40 minutes of my 80 minute massage. I was at least as relaxed as anyone would be from laying face down and allowing gravity to pull everything toward the floor. One of those slightly embarrassing occurrences experienced by those indulging in massage, is the propensity for drooling. Every time I set me face in one of those doughnuts, I look through the hole to the floor before I set my face in it and think, one day they're going to get smart and put a drool bucket down there. Until they do, your left with one of two possibilities. The first is to try and remain alert enough, fighting the almost coma-like state caused by massage, and slurp it back up, trying to swallow before it's too late. The other, is to just let it go. This of course resulting in a saliva string from your mouth the the floor. The choice is yours.
The second, more embarrassing of the occurrences is when the stream comes not from your mouth, but your nose. As mentioned, I was suffering from quite the allergy attack, sneezing, swollen and stuffed sinuses, the works. I kept trying desperately to sniffle, something I usually try to avoid in an effort to prevent problems in my ears, but I was not having any success. Eventually, gravity got the best of me and the leak sprung from my nose. It was a clear stream, nothing particularly gross, much like the saliva I mentioned previously. I finally gave in, broke the silence, and asked for a tissue. I had to ask twice more before the massage was over, in order to keep my snot from hitting the floor.
The final embarrassing moment, one that I pondered but was lucky enough to avoid, would be if you just couldn't take the pressure and farted during a massage. It's a funny word, fart. I don't know how comfortable I even am using it in my writing. Fourth graders about die when you talk about it in class. It's one of their most favorite topics, but boy do they think it's funny if their teacher says it out loud. Anyway, during massage, even one that's not the greatest, your body begins to relax. All of the pressure is kneaded out and things are moved around. You always have to pee when it's over. But sometimes your belly will gurgle, especially because if you're smart you don't eat much before you go. But what would happen if everything shifted down and your body couldn't help but release the gas out of relaxation? That's a kind if awkward I hope I never have to experience, and luckily I never have.
All in all, a truly relaxing and effective massage should not yield a piece of writing. It should allow you to temporarily vacate your mind, release your worries and bring you to a sort of meditative state. I've even dozed off for a bit during some of the best ones I've had. I hold no I'll will toward Sandra and Sandals, most people and places don't get everything right. For us, Sandals Whitehouse Jamaica came pretty darn close.
