Massage? It's touch and go finding a good one

Massage? It's touch and go finding a good one

MELBOURNE, Australia (JP): A hundred years ago -- or close
enough -- at least once a week, my grandmother would send for her
favorite masseuse from a nearby kampong. The masseuse, armed only
with a bottle of natural homemade oil, would then push back the
sleeves of her kebaya and begin to work on my grandmother, who
would be prone on a single bed.

Conversation would flow, punctuated by grunts of satisfaction
from my grandmother, until she fell asleep. Then the masseuse
would keep working in silence, for another hour or so. When she
had finished, my grandmother, relaxed from the roots of her hair
to the tips of her toes, would dreamily slip some notes into the
masseuse's hand -- or was it down the front of her kebaya? -- and
slip back to sleep.

This practice continued down the generations, faltering with
me, because in my younger days in Indonesia I did not feel the
need for regular massages. However, throughout the years various
masseuses have been called in to give me therapeutic massages,
such as the time I sprained my ankle falling off a motorbike and
when I tweaked my back sneezing and slipping at the same time, on
the bathroom floor.

I was thus very much aware of the difference between
traditional massage and "Turkish massage", which was part and
parcel of the spreading business of "Turkish bathhouses" in the
1970s, though, being a woman, I only heard of how the latter was
done.

After receding into the background for sometime, it seems that
traditional massage has regained currency in Indonesia, though it
does not always resemble the massage -- therapeutic or otherwise
-- of days gone by.

When I was in Indonesia recently, under the guise of
researching the current practice of natural therapy, I had
massages from numerous masseuses in different towns. In reality,
of course, I felt the need for these massages, maybe because I am
fast approaching the age my grandmother was when she needed
regular visits from her masseuse, or, more likely, because I have
become self-indulgent.

The general impression gained from this "research" was of the
watered-down service provided by today's practitioners. To begin
with, very few worked more than 20 minutes. And the strength of
their hands and fingers was no match for the masseuses of my
younger days. Consequently, very few managed to bring relaxation,
let alone induce sleep.

In a West Javanese town, my friend and I were each given a
massage by a youngish woman, who stopped every few minutes to say
some mysterious prayers and mantras, and 15 minutes after it
began, told us it was over. Predictably, we were left more greasy
than relaxed.

One masseuse who had a lot of promise -- strong hands and
fingers, a no-nonsense appearance, did deliver what was expected
of her, a traditional massage, but in a truncated version. Twenty
minutes for each of us.

We were beginning to think that maybe the aggressively
commercialized era in which we lived dictated this time
limitation, when we came across a surprise.

The masseuse, recommended by a trusted friend, arrived on a
motorbike, clad in bike pants and a tight T-shirt, carrying a big
bag containing thick mats and various bottles, jars, bowls and
tubes. She was not a big woman, and apart from having a very
smooth and pretty face, she came across as a sophisticated person
who was accustomed to human communications.

Our masseuse was a masseuse-cum-beautician, and the treatment
she gave us was so thorough we even forgot our dinner. We were
each given a massage that lasted nearly 45 minutes. Then she
disappeared into the bathroom with various jars and
accouterments, and reappeared with a big bowl of paste smelling
of fresh fruit. The paste was then spread and massaged all over
our bodies for another half hour, at the end of which time she
again disappeared into the bathroom. When she returned she had
another big bowl in her hand, and proceeded to transfer the
contents onto our bodies. We were given a full-body mask. While
waiting for the mask to dry, she gave each of us a manicure and
pedicure.

While we bathed, she cleaned the room. By the time she left,
almost midnight, all we wanted to do was crash into bed and sail
into oblivion. And luckily, there was nothing to prevent us from
doing so.

It might take some time to find the kind of massage that suits
you, but if you hang in there, you will certainly find it. There
is such a large range to choose from. It would be wonderful,
however, to know what is on offer before making the choice.

My grandmother would likely be thrown into bewilderment if she
could see all the different versions of massage currently
available. She might even frown with extreme disapproval. But her
own version, it appears, has been pushed into the deep recesses
of history, and we have to accept the fact. We have no choice but
to change, to keep up with the wheel of time.

-- Dewi Anggraeni