Real Housewives of Goa

I have completed five days of ayurvedic treatment, including six straight days of ayurvedic massage. By day four my doctor had herself gotten sick. I no longer had an accumulating relationship with an ayurvedic specialist to gauge my day to day health in response to the time spent at the clinic. When those consultations ended, the massage treatments took on less purpose in my mind. Every day prior my doctor would explain the reasoning for the day's customized routine. Once that was lost, my facade of positive thinking was replaced with my deep seeded New York-esque impatience.

I've explained previously that the ayurvedic massage is not my proverbial jam. And after 2.5 hours a day, on the fifth day I had what a middle school teacher might refer to as 'ants in my pants.' And since I wasn't wearing pants, I just got straight up pissed.

And on this fifth day, I kept note of the little things that pissed me off:

• My shins were raw from combination sun exposure and being rubbed mercilously over the course of the week.
  
• Daily I acrrued a new batch of mosquito bites to be irritated by this dude's callous hands.
• I only had one masseuse today instead of the usual two. What am I, an untouchable? (That's a caste system joke for all you fellow Indophiles out there)
• Have you ever had someone massage your stomach? It's obnoxious. And today I had to pee, so every time that fucking guy pressed on my abdomen I wanted to slap him in the face and take his sister out to a nice dinner.
• Due to the cyclone off the coast of Goa, gale force winds were tearing through the window, blowing wide open the curtain separating my bare paper thonged ass from the rest of the clinic. Actually, that one was hilarious.
• I was in a different room than usual, and when I tried to sit in the steam box (read: medieval stocks) it was a physically impossible fit. So the masseuse simply slide the seat down. For four days they crammed me into this box, banging my knees on the door and forcing my torso into an awkward hunched formation. Today he decides to lower the seat.

As I sat in the sweat stocks with a man on hand to do nothing but dab my misty forehead and massage my scalp if requested, it dawned on me. This must be why the Real Housewives of reality television fame are nuts. When a form of pampering becomes a routine - an entitlement - it's easy to complain that the man you hired to wipe your ass hasn't cut his fingernails. And to forget that you're in a position to hire a man to wipe your ass. Which, by the way, I highly recommend.

So on my last day, I went in to my massage calm and composed, and it was super. Because it was my last day I was given a hot oil bath. Laying on a slanted wooden board, they pour hot oil over you and massage it into your skin. My favorite part was when I had to turn over. It was like a slip n' slide with spotters and a paper thong.

At first I was unequal parts relaxed and concerned of the possible scalding of my reproductive organs. But eventually I relaxed, and once again sought solace in Slippery Superman's next great adventure - his showdown with the arch nemesis of any pro-slip spiritual agent of justice - The Succubus Shaman Stay-Put Non-Slip Shower Mat Man.

(2.5 hours is a really long time)

The Ayurvedic Massage

I'm a deep tissue massage kinda guy - I like to be roughed up a little. Ayurvedic massage is essentially the opposite of that. Every year I give the ayurvedic massage another try in India, and every year it's been a disappointment. Last year's was an all time low. If you've never laid naked on a table while a strange man pokes you awkwardly all over your body, well, it's probably for the best. But that's another story - a hilarious, terrible story - for another blog.

I'm currently doing a five day intensive Ayurvedic treatment in Goa at the Ayurvedic Natural Health Centre (ANHC). Ayurveda means "the science of life," and this traditional Indian medicine is practiced throughout the world as a form of complementary or alternative medicine. The treatment here includes 1.5 hours of yoga every morning, a daily consultation with a doctor, herbal medicines, a regimented diet of amazing vegetarian Indian food and yes - ayurvedic massages.

There are many variations of ayurvedic massage, and my three previous experiences differed dramatically, so my expectations were both low and uesless. Because of traditional customs, in India you only receive a massage from someone of your gender.

Despite all possible expectations, I am going to try with all my might not to use the phrase 'Nothing Gay About it' for the rest of this blog.

The massage started with two men asking me to strip.

. . . give me a minute.

In exchange for your cloths they dress you in what is essentially a paper thong. It feels like a cross between the material of a hospital gown and a plastic toilet seat cover. If you're ever going to a gay sumo club, this is your outfit.

Ayurvedic massages are heavy on the oil. The masseuse follows the lines of your body, rubbing you down at varying speeds and altering the amount of pressure. At the ANHC they provide two masseuse's because, well, it's more awesome.

You start sitting up while they rub oil on your face and head - the relaxation version of war paint. Once you lie down, they start at your feet and focus on isolated regions of the body, then add on. It's a very fluid, flowing motion. They will focus solely on your shins for a period of time just rubbing up and down. Then they move on to your thighs before massaging up and down your whole leg. They follow this process across the whole body, front and back. The purpose is everything from increased organ function and blood flow to relaxation.

There are many variations to the types of treatment. At one point I was seated on a platform inside a wooden box that came up to my shoulders. They closed the box with a lid that had a hole cut out for your neck, like the medieval stocks. Next to the box is a boiling pot of water. The steam is diverted through a rubber tube into the box - a steam room for your body. As I'm taller than the average Indian, the neck hole fell too low, and the leg space left something to be desired. I sat there with two men simultaneously dabbing my forehead while my sweating body was awkwardly placed on the other side of a partition from my head - like the stalks.

Another treatment consisted of them simply pouring hot oil across my forehead for 30 minutes. It's either supposed to increase mental function or qualify me to work in a call center.

2.5 hours is a long time. After about an hour of laying motionless I was drenched in oil and knee deep in daydreaming. I tried to crack my knuckle and couldn't; my hands were too greasy. I started to wonder - what would happen if in some freak spiritual accident this oil permanently fused to my body? And then, only as I finally started to come to grips with my new condition, terrorists attacked the health centre? Then it would be up to me to save the day.

I'd become Slippery Superman. Unable to walk like most mortals, I would embrace a slingshot method of thrusting myself into harms way utilizing doorways and pillars as a launching platform, sliding in attack formation towards the jihadists.

My lubricated physique would deflect their blows, and any attempts at grappling or holding me down would result in comical slips and falls. Sadly this superpower would also mean that hugging is now forever futile, and therein lies my melodramatic superhero subplot: I'll never again be able to embrace the love of my life.

My kryptonite? Bullets. Also knives, bombs and crossbows. Any normal deadly weapon, really. But just my luck - these terrorists are Greco Roman.

Overall the treatment has been a great experience so far. Now three massages deep, it looks like I've found my ayurvedic massage centre. As for my overall well being, we've all just witnessed it's impact on my mental health.

I start at the call center next week.