Beanland Diary - Lavender Scrub

Dear Readers,

"I'll have the full body massage with the lavender scrub and flower petal bath." Lou handed the menu, rice paper bound with bamboo, back to the attendant.

"And I'll take the same." I said, just trying to get this whole thing over with as quickly as possible.

The attendant was a diminutive Balinese woman with her hair pulled into a tight bun. In a tone that implied I should already know this, she said, "Not for man, lavender scrub. Better scrub for you cocoa mocha."

I nodded, thinking, "Indeed, the cocoa scrub does seem more masculine. Especially before I bathe in flower petals." Lady, any shred of manliness that I wanted to hold on to, I left at the door with my sandals.

I was on the verge of a mini identity crisis here in the waiting room of the Juma Spa and Rejuvenation Clinic. What had happened to your rough and rugged correspondent? Is he really a spa person? Was this not the same man who leaped from mountains in Kyrgyzstan? Who paddled the jungle rivers of Honduras? Who endured two years of cold bucket baths and single-ply toilet paper in the Peace Corps?

How did I end up here, about to spend several hours and a ridiculous amount of money in this spa? For the price of this activity I could get two bungee jumps just up the beach, or rent a surfboard for the entire week, and still plausibly claim to have testicles. I was just thankful that my high school wrestling coach could not see me now. The man he made from a boy had become...well, something else. He would be crushed.

So really, how did I end up here deciding between lavender and choco mocha? I think you know the answer already: The Jedi mind trick. This is a technique which Lou has mastered and performs on me at her will. For those of you who don't remember the Jedi mind trick from the Star Wars droid scene, it goes like this:

Lou: I was thinking we should go to the spa for a massage and oil treatment, what do you think?

Me: Actually, I was thinking we should eat fried squid and drink beer on the beach.

Lou [waving her open palm in front of my face]: You were thinking we should go to the spa.

Me: Spa, yes... I was thinking we should go to the spa.

And, here we are. We are led from the reception room into a small wood-paneled chamber where we are stripped down and placed face-first on a padded table. These tables have a hole for your head which forces you to stare down at the floor, where a glass dish has been placed below strategically to catch any falling drool that might escape you are worked to a pulp.

Mood music, with the ostensible goal of relaxing you further, is piped in on low volume and played on loop. The music is that ambiance stuff that you might expect out of a fancy Brookstone alarm clock. It reminded me of the sounds in a techno club song when the rhythm drops away and leaves you floating for a few bars amid cosmic echoes, Andean windpipes, etc. In the club, this gives the dancers a chance to take a slug of of their room-temperature cocktail, before the pounding beat returns. Here in the Juma Spa there was no pounding beat, unless you count the fists of an 85-pound Indonesian woman raining down on my lower back.

During the next hour I was rinsed, scrubbed, salted, rubbed, kneaded, cracked, bent, stretched, and slathered with oil. I felt like a piece of cheap meat being prepped for a cutlet recipe. All that was missing was a little minced garlic, pepper, and flour. Then it was dessert time, and I was spread with a thick layer of choco mocha paste and left to dry. Perhaps accustomed to smoother Asian men, the masseuse accidentally got the paste caked in my armpit hair and had to pick it out crumb by crumb. Awkward! During all this, it took all my earthly willpower not bust out laughing, or crying, or both.

I sat up slowly and looked to my right. Lou was on the adjacent table with a wide smile on her face. "Mmmm. That was nice."

I hated to admit it, but yes, she was right. It was nice. I felt incredibly relaxed. I had enjoyed the spa. I enjoyed taking a scented bath amid floating flower petals. I enjoyed the atmosphere of the music and incense and perfectly regulated temperature. I enjoyed having the stress knots from the March marathon and the May wedding forcibly wrung out of me. I even enjoyed the tangerine ginger extract shot they gave us for skin exfoliation or digestive enlightenment or whatever it was for. All in all, a highly recommendable experience.

I had to admit also that no number of push-ups, pull-ups, stair sets, or sprints could ever redeem me in the eyes of my wrestling coach. I was a lost cause. Sorry, coach. I'll hit the showers and hang up my singlet. By the way, could we possibly get some scented soap for the locker room?

Atentamente,
Your correspondent