The WWF of Massages, Revisited

My skin doesn't fit anymore. I stretch out my fingers and their wrinkly tips creak and complain. My palms look like saran wrap that's been pulled too tight. I am the kind of winter-white that makes people think I'm fighting a nasty bug. And I feel glorious!

The scrubby massage woman at the bathhouse near my apartment is thin and pretty. She has long hair that she wears tied in a neat ponytail, and a cheerful face. Bucking the trend, her lacy underwear is pale blue instead of the uniform black of all other scrubby massage women in Korea. But don't let the soft exterior fool you. Other scrubby massage women chat while they work. She does not. She is too busy working up a full sweat to spare energy for something so mundane. When you lay down on her table, she means business. And her business is removing every trace of impure skin from your body. This is a woman that would make Hannibal Lecter proud.

I have had lots of scrubby massages in my six years in Korea. Done by lots of different scrubby massage women. Most of them are interchangeable, uniformly good. Once in a long while, one stands out. The time in Seoul that two women simultaneously scrubbed was pretty exceptional. And the very first time I ever had one, with the woman who looked like a sumo wrestler, that was exceptional too. But of all the scrubby massages I've had, with all of the innumerable massage women, tonight's was the best of all.

First, the head massage (totally a first) and face mask. Usually this is a quick towelling off, and the application of a thick layer of shredded cucumber. It feels nice but the juice inevitable drips into my ears. But here, no cucumber in sight. She starts by massaging some kind of soap in, very, very thoroughly, and removing it with a hot towel that she wields like a traction machine. I can feel all the muscles lifting into higher, happier positions as she pulls on the folded edges in rapid succession. After the soap, a similar procedure with something aromatic and oily. And then the thick stuff. Applied with a soft paintbrush. Smelling of sugar and Chinese medicine. On top of which she puts a layer of gauze. And another layer of goo. There's a momentary panicky feeling at being so wrapped up, but it fades quickly into a kind of sweet, warm haze. I don't know what this stuff is, but it feels GOOD.

Then to the rest of the body. There's no hiding things from your scrubby massage woman. While all of my other friends and acquaintances in Changwon have been telling me how newly thin I look after my vacation (in which I put on 5 kg in only 5 weeks, man I LOVE Chinese food!), this woman tisks about each new roll she has to negotiate. Every extra bit of skin is more work for her, and she knows there is more than there used to be. Her hands in their abrasive mittens are like weapons. When she scrubs my backside, the waves nearly make me seasick. I think she uses the side-by-side, up-down technique on purpose just to make a point - 'you jiggle'.

Back, side, side, front, side, side, back. Feet, ankles, calves, thighs, hips, thighs, thighs, thighs (okay, I get the point!), calves, ankles, feet. Rotate. Repeat. She spends less time on my chest than usual, probably remembering the time that she scrubbed so hard she accidentally made me bleed (just a little). But infinitely more time on my mid-section. When there is as much balled skin rolling around on the table as there is on my body she throws basin after basin of deliciously hot water over me and peels the gauze off my face. Time for step two.

I feel momentarily jipped that she spends so little time with the soap and silky shower pouffe. Usually this part of the massage is nearly as long as the first part. But then I realize that she's not finished, she's just warming up. More basins of hot water. And then the hot towels appear.

Another first, layers of steaming towels laid over my back, with her kneeling on top using her elbows, knees, feet and hands to knead with. This is Korean scrubby massage meets Thai stretchy massage, and I am a FAN. Especially since my return to yoga this week has left pretty much every muscle in my body groaning. When I dare to open my eyes, I can see the sweat beading on her forehead reflected in the mirror in front of me. Her forearms across my calves make my legs feel like they've been rolled through the wheels of a pasta press (in a very good way). I can feel all of my vertebra snap into more comfortable positions when she walks up and down my spine.

Now I am exceedingly satisfied and content...but she's not done yet. Usually a scrubby massage ends with an oil or cream layer, squirted on liberally and rubbed in half-heartedly just before you are released back to the shower area to rinse off. She uses honey thinned with milk, and treats it as the oil in a classic Swedish massage. I have no idea how long I've been on the table, but I never, ever want to leave. At least 3 other people have come to ask about having massages too, but she's told them all to wait. Explained in terms of karma, I must have earned some SERIOUS bathing bonus points with my cleaning rituals in China to deserve this now. Forget sitting under a bodhi tree for umpteen years, THIS is definitely the path to enlightenment.

At the end of the massage, the scrubby massage woman is streaming sweat. And smiling. She thanks me (!!) for coming and tells me not to wait so long next time. And immediately goes to work on the next woman. She interrupts her flurry of skin-peeling just long enough to take my $20 and thank me again. I already can't wait for the next time.