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The masseur commands various positions, the first of which requires one to lie face down in the previous victim's semi–sanitary puddle of water. The masseur then starts in on a rough, bruising deep–tissue routine that lasts for a painful few minutes. A smack is applied to an all–too bare ass to signal the completion of the torture. Suddenly the aches and pains are exchanged with sore, exhausted muscles and the thermal bath seems immeasurably more inviting than before. The Gellert Baths, located in Budapest, Hungary, in the Gellert Hotel cost, 1,500 Ft or 750 Ft after 5 p.m. weekdays.
Beach Blanket Bali
Four women, eight hands, one hour, fifteen bucks. That's 37 cents per finger per hour–that's an Indonesian massage. Just south of Denpassar are all the expensive resort hotels of Bali. Just south of those are white–sand beaches and scores of locals trying to make a buck. You can jet ski, take surfing lessons, buy drinks and food from roving vendors, or get a meltdown massage. But beware. Don't expect to be massaged by Tropicana–contestant caliber girls. It's more like getting attacked by your grandma's bingo club, most with "summer teeth" (some are there, some are not). But it all feels the same once they start.
The way the women gossip with each other, you can't help but feel like the blanket at an Indonesian quilting bee; your presence is not in the forefront of their minds. The massage itself is a little amateurish and even a combination of 40 little fingers are no match for a backpacker's weary shoulders. In addition, little massage oil is used for those spoiled with gobs of it in the past. All in all, though, it was a very relaxing experience. In Indo' the return on investment is great–splurge the 15 dollars on a massage and you walk away feeling like a million. * TRAVEL WARNING * The Department of State warns U.S. citizens to defer travel to Indonesia. The terrorist bombing of two nightclubs in Bali, and the attack near the U.S. Consular Agency in Bali, along with the current security situation within Indonesia, puts U.S. citizens and interests at risk. For details, see http://travel.state.gov/indonesia_warning.html
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Sweet Dreams are Made of These
An L.A. massage is truly a therapeutic experience. I check into a small, dimly lit, eucalyptus–scented room with sounds of water flowing from a desktop fountain and a Café del Mar CD playing softly in the background. Naked, I slip beneath a thin white sheet and lie face down, my arms at my sides. Moments later, in walks my masseuse. Her touch is strong and purposeful, and the instinctive erotic fantasies soon disappear as she magically loosens my back. Her touch is never interrupted even as she applies different kinds of oil. At one point, she breaks a comfortable silence to ask if I had any pain in my lower back. Amazed, I say I do and she slowly eases the tension. Far from the ass–smacking Hungarians and the arthritic fingers of aging Indonesians, quality and professionalism are what one can expect from a Los Angeles massage.
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