Thai vs. Balinese Massages, and a Drunken Night out Solo

 

Leslie and I had a wonderful afternoon free from the kids. Leaving them behind, giving them carte blanche to order room service, we headed over to a nearby outdoor mall called The Bali Collection. Lots of high end fashion shops, lots of low end tourist trinket places, a multitude of massage houses, and a plethora of outdoor restaurants. It was a short 20 minute walk along a manicured path, that passed a few other resorts, before arriving at the entrance tot he mall. After fueling up with a few cocktails, Leslie and I partook in a 60 minute full body massage, followed by a pedicure. All for only around $100 USD (granted, given the touristy locale, this is more expensive than can be found elsewhere. A full two hours of pampering.
One observation I'd like to share is that Balinese massages aren't nearly as good as Thai massages. No, I'm not talking about the lack of any 'happy ending', but with Thai massages, they want you stripped down naked, and really go at your buttocks and inner thighs. I swear, with Thai massages, given the way they drape the towel when they cover me, they must get a fleeting glimpse of my privates. Nonetheless, the Thai method is much more pleasurable (not enough to get me excited, if you know what I mean). On the other hand, the Balinese are much more modest. When asked to dress down, they provide these flimsy, disposable briefs that, on my big ass, pretty much tear as I put them on. They also avoid the areas that the Thai so readily engage.

My 60 minute Thai foot massage for only 200 baht (around $6USD)

Liam relaxing, enjoying his foot massage

So far, on this trip, I've enjoyed a (Thai) chocolate mask treatment, two 90 minute (Thai) massages, a 60 minute foot message (Thai),  a 60 minute Balinese massage, an hour long pedicure (boy, that poor girl was going at my heels with a razor, scraping off dead skin for a good 30 minutes), and after a lovely, solo dinner and two liters of sangria, I went for a late night 60 minute back, neck and foot massage (for a mere $16 USD).



This poor girl spent 20+ minutes with a razor, shaving off the dead skin from my heels. What nasty feet I have!

Back to my story - after our visit to the mall, and a few drinks at the hotel bar during its happy hour, Leslie jumped into the shower. The kids had ordered room service, so I thought she was getting ready to go out together with me for a nice dinner. Nope. She was tired and was heading straight to bed. With her glad permission, I headed out, walking the beach path, passing several other resorts (the layout reminded me of the Kaanapali area of Maui), making the 20 minute trek to the Bali Collection outdoor mall. I made a beeline to the same restaurant where, two nights previously, I sang The Girl From Ipanema (in Portuguese, naturally) with the band. However, this time, I brought my kindle along, since I was riding solo.

As with the other night, I ordered the Churrascuria, the endless supply of barbequed meat served at the table. Of course, I also imbibed one (ok, two) liters of sangria. Needless to say, I was feeling no pain, and was quickly losing my inhibitions. I struck up a conversation with the couple adjacent to my table (normally, I'm too shy to do this). I discovered that they had lived in Curacao for four years (a place I've visited a few times in my cruise ship lifetime), and now resided in Hong Kong.

The lead singer of the band (yes, the same one with whom I sang the other night) was trying to coax me up to the stage. I told him, quite honestly, that I was simply not drunk enough to make the leap. That said, after my second pitcher of sangria, I ended up dancing with the staff of the restaurant (I couldn't figure out why the entire staff - cooks, servers, hostesses, were dancing to a latin tune). In any case, one of the servers pulled me up, and I ended up showing her some latin salsa and merengue moves (vestiges of my time teaching basic dance lessons on cruise ships).

Well buzzed (nay, drunk) at this time, I settled my bill, and headed over to the supermarket, and basically filled my basket with Oreos, large bottles of Coke and other sweets that seemed yummy and desirable at the time. My attempts at idle chit chat with other shoppers was met with a hundred yard stare, but that didn't bother me. I charmed the Balinese staff with my limited vocabulary - Ohm Swasti-ass-tu & Sook Samon (how are you and thank you, respectively). Westerners clearly don't bother learning these basic phrases, so it always got a smile from the Balinese on whom I used the phrases.

After completing my purchases, I was in the mood for a foot massage. The trade winds were blowing strongly from the east, and I was in a grand mood; what better time to enjoy the skilled hands of a professional?

Waiting for my massage, a couple was also in line, awaiting the therapists to free up. An attractive blonde was waiting as her (later learned) husband was visiting the loo, so I struck up a conversation in my innocent, uninhibited drunken state. She was Russian, from Moscow, living in Germany with her German husband. She was a flight attendant for Aeroflot (I really had to hold my tongue, so tempted was I to make a few jokes about how awful a reputation that airline has). She told me she met him when he was a passenger, traveling to Moscow from Germany. She kept serving him bottles of beer, and he wouldn't drink them, but rather ensconce them in his carry on. Apparently, that strange behavior - and also because she thought he was cute - was the start of a relationship that eventually led to the altar. A very cute story.

It turns out my neck, back and foot massage therapist was very talkative as well. He grew up in the northwest of Bali (an area we'll be visiting in 10 days or so), and goes by the name of Alan. Not very native, clearly; however, his Aussie friend gave him the moniker when his friend couldn't pronounce his Balinese name, and it stuck.

When my foot massage came to an end, I paid the $16 USD plus a $4 tip (the practice of which isn't widely adopted in Bali), and then headed to the entrance of the Bali Collection. I was too drunk to make the 25 minute walk back via the beach, so I hailed a cab to take me the short jaunt. I wanted a night cap when I arrived at the hotel, but everything was closed down - and it was only 11pm! That's Nusa Dua for you. A quiet, isolate area dotted with high end resorts. Not the real Bali, by any means, but also not the backpackers and drunkards' center of gravity either (that's reserved for Kuta - where Islamic extremists set off bombs in nightclubs on two separate occasions years ago). The security is omnipresent at resorts across the island - mirrors checking under the cars, obligatory passes through metal detectors upon entrance to hotels).

I had a really fun night going solo. Tomorrow, Leslie promises to have the energy to return to Bali Collection (and the main reason is that the restaurant prices are half of the resort prices - yet only a few minutes walk away), and have a nice meal with the entire family on our last night in Nusa Dua, before moving on to our next destination in Jimbaran (on the other side of the peninsula sprouting like a tumor from the bulk of the island).

We're excited to visit the Rock Bar, a venue with beautiful sunset views located at the base of a towering cliff overlooking the crashing waves. An Aussie couple with whom we chatted told us they had to wait an hour and a half to take the funicular down to the bar. Fortunately, hotel guests - which we'll be - can cut to the front of the line and get down in no time.