Bred in the Midwest, it is at this point that my fear of people seeing me naked and my fear of hurting someone’s feelings do battle. Yes, I realize that by taking on this thirty-day spa challenge, I should have expected a bit of exposed skin. But in the U.S., we at least carry on the façade of decorum by allowing the technician to fold sheets in various ways. In those situations, it is very easy for me to believe nobody can see my goods.
Timidly, I oblige her request and then the next, even scarier question comes to mind. Is she actually going to slather this stuff on my boobs? She can’t. I mean that’s kind of crossing the line, isn’t it? She’ll probably just work around them. Right?
“Excuse me, sorry,” she says kindly.
“It’s okay. Thank you.”
Wait! I just gave permission to and then thanked a woman for rubbing her hands over my bare breasts with a thick, yellow Javanese concoction. Not only that, but in just a few minutes I know that she’s going to have to return to the scene of the crime to wipe it all off. And not just with a gentle brushing, but with pressure. This stuff is goopy and dries like elementary school paste.
I decide once we are done, I will quietly file this away deep in my psyche where the other awkward moments live. There it can take its rightful place next to such scenarios as “The time the Vegas stripper from Cheetahs insisted I fondle her newly enhanced chest” and “The time the bikini waxer told me I was pretty down there.”
Before I know it, the masseuse moves onto the yogurt conditioner, which she also rubs across my chest. Then she escorts me to the shower to rinse off. I notice that the once-empty tub is now filled with water and a thick mat of red and pink flower petals. It’s pretty and strikes me as being very thoughtful, much like the woman herself has turned out to be.
After a cool shower, I submerge into the warm tub. The woman brings me a cup of water and tells me to take my time. As I lie back and let the buttery flower petals caress my skin, I decide that aside from the initial shock, this whole experience really hasn’t been half bad. Perhaps I’ll even do it again sometime. I mean, I’ve got twenty-eight more days to go.
Travel Betty Basics
Putri Bali II
(Jl. Seminyak near Supermarket Bintang)
Ambiance: 3.5 out of 5 Passion Fruits
Treatment: 4.5 out of 5 Passion Fruits
Cost: 100,000 rupiah (including tax)
What that means in U.S. Dollars: $10.90
Three (Almost Four) Massages In One Day. Oh My!
In order to keep myself from having to go to the spa every day while I’m in Bali (too much pressure for a vacation!), I’m allowing myself to double and triple up treatments when necessary. Just so long as I get thirty in by the end of my trip, I’ll consider this whole 30 days/30 spa treatments experiment a success.
So after all the poking and boob fondling of the first two days, I decide to give myself a much needed break on day three and instead, go sightseeing.
