844 days, 20,256 hours, 1,215,360 minutes, or 72,921,600 seconds. That is the approximate duration of my world tour. I never wanted it to end and now, in a manner of speaking, I suppose it never has to. If you wish to go by country do so by clicking on one above. They are numbered in the order I visited them, more or less. If you enjoy reading about it even a tenth as much as I enjoyed living it then you will not have wasted your time. Grab a refreshing beverage, settle in a comfortable chair, and make a journey across the world, experiencing it as I did. Then get off your ass and check it out for yourself. You're not getting any younger.

Massage and Mackeral (Ubud, Indonesia)

January 16th, 2009 – Today, I received a foot massage from a Balinese man named Wayan. My second hotel (Kebun Indah, still in Ubud) has a shop that sells various types of crafts and offers massages, reflexology, and what have you. It was raining and I had nothing better to do so when the woman working in the shop asked if it was a good time for a foot massage I thought, Is it ever a bad time for a foot massage? I guess I thought she would be doing the honors but it was her male coworker’s (Wayan) turn. It wasn’t bad but a foot massage is kind of like a tease for the rest of the body. I thought about explaining this to my new friend but I seriously doubt he would have appreciated the nuances of my humor.

Unfortunately, I did manage to get a full massage later that day. Now for those of you thinking shady massage parlor this is not necessarily the case. Health and wellness-type establishments area as common as souvenir shops in Ubud. From what I’ve read you can seriously pamper the hell out of yourself here. So far I wouldn’t know. When a gentleman outside one of these places said I could get a massage for roughly six dollars I thought, I’d be an asshole not to. What I did not realize was that I was about to be vigorously caressed by another man for the second time in one day, two times too many I should think. Perhaps, there is a societal taboo here against massaging members of the opposite sex (Author’s Note: Nope. Guess I was just lucky). 

So there I am lying on a table practically naked (except for some rather flattering paper tissue bikini underwear) getting oiled up by Indonesian male massage guy (I did not catch his name). Talk about relaxing. All I could think was, This needs to end NOW!! But it kept going, mostly because I rarely have the courage to hit the eject button in situations where misunderstandings might lead to hurt feelings. Basically, I did not want to insult the guy and felt the language barrier would prevent me from explaining myself effectively. I would be lying if I said he did not come dangerously close to the kids and I have to believe that the occasional brush of his elbow against my konker was completely inadvertent.  Please let that be true. Please.

No homophobia here. Gay As You Wanna Be! That’s my motto. However, a woman’s touch is just so much more relaxing. It’s like black licorice. I hate it. The very smell makes me want to vomit. Can’t do anything about it. It is part of my psyche. And so it is with receiving a massage. Nothing like a woman’s touch.

I am writing this from the Pundi Pundi restaurant. I ordered the garlic mackerel. It smells like smashed asshole. Yum.


3 comments:

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  2. Elegance is definitely a large element apart from usefulness of the item. The best foot massagers tend to be elegantly created as well as hyper efficient. The item includes a vibrating dish which encourages acupuncture factors

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