Backwater boating and an Ayurvedic massage
Kerala, part 1
These posts are going to be a little bit different to what’s come before… I’ve tried and failed to wrap up three weeks of Kerala in one or two posts. And I’ve been having a think of what stories I want to tell from this part of my trip. I’ve just about drafted them up now… they’re smaller than usual, but I still feel they capture the essence and have the right tone and pace…
Here we go….
You can’t go to Kerala and not sail down the backwaters of Alleppey on a house boat.
My nose and cheeks are pink from a few days on the beach. Palm trees and banana trees line the perimeter of the canals and beyond that is more farm land. It all looks the same, a bit like the background of cartoons when one character is chasing another. The swilling of the water moving around the boat just about drowns out the noise of the engine. An extract from my diary for this day simply read "Boat ride… Living my best life". And sure if you look down the river at the 10 other house boats all sailing along you might conclude it’s a wee bit of a tourist trap. But so be it. Right now I’m not a fly caught in a web but a fly drowning sweetly in a fresh pot of honey.
After stopping for lunch the sailor-cum-chef who is accompanying us on our boat asks us if we are interested in having an Ayurvedic massage… he hands us a ‘menu’ of treatments… its huge… something like A3 and laminated, but sort of old and shabby, the way laminated things go after a while. The edges are starting to split and the sticky sides are grubby. He doesn’t explain who’s doing the massage, where we would have it, how much it will cost or any of the details really. I’m used to this but Maria is full of questions… but regardless we both settle on the one hour, full body. Let’s have it.
And if Maria was confused before it’s nothing to what’s about to happen! As our captain finishes tying up the boat on the bank of the backwater, somebody looking very suave on the shore throws a plank on to the boat and motions for us to walk off. I’m fumbling around trying to get my sandals on but he point to a near by shack in the bush and shouts:
“No shoes necessary my friend, just a short walk”
On entering the shack the smell of hot and fragrant oil is unmissable. To the left is the 'front desk' which the suave man gets behind to greet us formally. The walls look like they are layered with wood panelling but it could just be wood-effect PVC. Before I get chance to properly look two people appear through a curtain at the side of the desk. One man and one woman. They have a smiling grin which is half way between overly-friendly and sinister. They are both very short, their skin is very dark, and it’s oily shiny.
"Come with us, it’s time for your massage" they say in unison.
With that we are led through the curtain. I realise it’s not just one shack but a complex network of shacks all covered by one roof. It’s dark - the sort of orange shadowy darkness you get in a sauna… it smells like one too. Maria and I are separated with chance for just a short goodbye and led in to our own private shack each.
The room is darker still… candle lit… and incense aroma seeps all around. There are clothes hooks in the corner and I’m asked politely to get undressed. I’m down to my boxers and ask if he wants me to leave these on?
"NO. Fully naked. Please sir".
Interesting.
What follows is one of the most confusing times of my life.
I go to sit on the massage bed in the middle of the room, but no no no. Not yet. First I sit on a stool next to the bed as asked. What commences I can only explain as a mixture of a soothing head massage and being slapped repeatedly all over my face then having my skull knocked on as if it’s a door. He pulls on my hair trying to open up and have a look inside.
HELLO ANYBODY IN THERE?!
My head is pulled and pushed… twisted and shook in many directions as if he’s trying to release it free from my neck. He slaps my cheeks bones as if I’m not concentrating but oh my… I didn’t know my neck could be in so many positions at once. Society often looks to mediation to increase awareness but I’ve found the new ticket - want to be fully aware? Pay someone to slap you around the face and head for 10 minutes!
Through the disorientation and without knowing I was walking or moving I find myself laying face up on the massage table… like in a dream the scene has changed without the adjoining parts being recognised. I am lying with my eyes closed being truly leathered with oils. I notice the smell again and for the first time pay attention to the gong sounds playing ever so quietly they come and go over the whole ordeal. I’m used to towels being placed over the groin but not here - that’s clearly a relic from Victorian England and there’s no place for it in Ayurvedic medicine. So much happens all at once that I’m convinced he’s been replaced by the Goddess Durga with her 10 arms.
As he massages long, violent strokes up one side of my body… starting from my feet and going all the way up to my shoulders, I can’t help sliding all over the place on the oily bed. At this point I’m conscious that my cock is flapping about and keeps getting in the way. Oh god what is going on? Inside I can’t help but wonder and laugh at what Maria must be going through in the other shack. My daydreaming is broken by the masseur sorting out the flapping cock problem by wrapping it up in a towel like a little burrito and using the remainder of the towel to tuck it under my leg. With no burrito distraction he’s now properly going for it. How he manages to not rip my nipple piercing out is pure skill… it’s nothing short of second nature movements.
The massage will centre on different parts of the body but ultimately it keeps returning to the feet - they are cleaned to pristine. I later learn ayeuvedic doctors pay close attention to a person feet, believe they hold secrets to all other parts of our body.
One action I wasn’t expecting (was I expecting any of this?) is having my pelvis pushed heavily in to the table. Sometimes he’s so close I don’t know who’s massaging who. Let’s just hope that burrito stays tucked under.
And so it continues… this massage. Up, down, side to side. Flip over on to the front. Bish bash bosh. That sweet spot between pleasure and pain.
The massage might be finished but the session isn’t. Next I’m led to a small shower cubicle and lathered up with soap and the most minty fresh fragrant water, oh you wouldn’t believe. Sitting on another stool in the shower every inch of me is bathed by the guy. I decide not to try and explain I don’t usually shampoo. After being patted completely dry I get back on the massage table for a short mediative rest and Mr Masseur leaves the room telling me to come out when ready.
Back in reception Maria is already sat waiting when I get there. I can tell by her face she has her own stories to tell.
There’s a laugh in her tone when she asks "well, how was that?".
"Whatever you’re thinking might have happened, it happened" I reply in a giggle.
But trust the process, because as we walk back across that plank back to our boat there is a sensation in both of us. We feel alive. We feel fresh. The hangover and headache has vanished. My sun burn no longer hurts and the skin is less red. We both feel fucking great. Maybe we both lost a couple of marbles when they were pingpong’in our heads around but as the boat sets off our parting words are: we’d do that again!
