One of my goals for this year was to be open to new experiences. I can now happily report that I have succeeded in achieving this goal in each of the seven countries I've visited during 2011. It was this goal, that lead me to the ashram and it was also this goal that saw me signing up for an oil massage.
My first oil massage (yes there have now been more than one) was at the ayurvedic clinic at the Ashram in Neyyar Dam. It took the immense pain that resulted from 5 hours of cross legged sitting and 2 yoga lessons each day to overcome my natural reluctance to try this ayurvedic treatment. Why was I reluctant? Well, during an oil massage the only thing dangling between you and complete nudity is a rather small calico loin cloth.
I was prepared for the loin cloth, having discussed the massage procedure with other women at the ashram, so I was not surprised when my lovely masseuse smiled, handed me the small scrap of calico and gestured that I should remove all my clothes. There were, however, a few rather awkward moments after that while I waited for her to leave the room and she grew more and more insistent about me removing my clothes.
It turns out that even the modicum of modesty that the loin cloth affords you is an illusion as the masseuse gets to see everything anyway as you struggle into the loin cloth. As if the entire situation was not embarrassing enough, I then managed to tie the loin cloth on back to front and my masseuse had to rip it off me and retie it herself.
After this less than stellar beginning, the rest of the oil massage was as smooth as...well...an oil massage. My aching ashram abused muscles truly loved the oily attentions of my masseuse. After an hour of treatment I was so relaxed I didn't even pop open an eyelid when she massaged my boobs for longer than I thought was strictly necessary (there are, after all, very few yoga postures requiring strenuous use of your breasts).
By far the best thing about that first massage was the hot water bathing afterwards. There was a cold shower in the small bathroom adjoining the treatment room and I was also provided with a large plastic tub of lovely hot water to aid the oil removal process. I also managed to craftily discover the hot water tap in the bathroom and was thus able to refill the tub several times during a luxurious 20 minutes of bathing.
After that initial experience, I started encouraging others in the Ashram to try the massage with the passionate fervor of a new religious convert. Some of the women that I spoke to said that they didn't enjoy the oil massages that they had previously tried as they were "a bit rough". I thought they were completely mad until a week later when I had my second experience with oil massage.
As a reward for surviving two weeks of yoga vacation in the Ashram, I decided to treat myself to a deluxe oily experience in the beach resort town of Kovalam. This time I opted for the full body massage as well as the sirodara (which is a treatment involving the steady stream of oil poured onto your forehead for half an hour). Other travelers I've met had credited the sirodara treatment with everything from deep relaxation to opening their "third eye" so, needless to say, I had high expectations.
In addition to the sirodara, I had also forked over a large sum of rupees to have not the regular, but the four handed massage. It seemed I had learnt nothing about the dangers of excess in the Ashram, as I reasoned that if I had thoroughly enjoyed the attentions of one masseuse in my first massage surely I was going to have a transcendental experience with two masseuses.
It all started well.
Now that I was familiar with the practice, I did not hesitate in stripping off in front of the two women and, after I donned the loin cloth, I sat on a stool to enjoy a vigorous head massage.
The first clue that this treatment was not going to feel exactly like my first oil massage came in the form the table I was asked to climb onto. This was not the standard padded massage table I had lay on in the Ashram but rather a heavy, wooden structure about 1.5m x 2.5m with a small groove carved around the sides to allow the oil to drain into a pot. As I gingerly reclined on the hard surface I was reminded of my friend Lana's comparison of a similar table she had her massage on to a butcher's block. I now had first hand knowledge of how accurate her description had been.
Determined to relax, I shut my eyes and tried to enjoy the oily attention. I have to say though, that I did not love the four handed nature of the experience. When there is only one masseuse there is some certainty in where the next hand will be placed on your body. For example, if one hand is massaging your left shoulder you know you will not suddenly feel someone tugging on your toes. The same cannot be said for the four handed massage.
As the massage progressed I also began to get the unnerving sense that the women were egging each other on as each stroke felt firmer and faster than the last. Forty minutes in, the strokes got so vigorous that it felt like they were trying to physically redistribute my fat to other parts of my body. The sensation was sadly more bruising than relaxing.
When I had to be assisted to turn over, slipping and sliding near naked in the pooled oil on the table, the sheer absurdity of the situation hit me and I got the giggles. I had thought that having four hands lavishing attention on my body would make me feel like a worshipped goddess. However, the reality of the experience was closer to that of a greased pig!
Oh well, I thought, even if the full body massage was not as lovely as I had hoped at least I still had the steam bath and sirodara to look forward to. However, as I was asked to climb down from the slab, it soon became apparent that the steam bath was not going to involve the masseuse running a hand held steam producing device over my reclining body as it had in the Ashram.
In Kovalam the steam bath involved me climbing into a large wooden cupboard, with a stool inside, that looked remarkably like an iron lung. Once the door was shut, my entire body from the neck down was encased in the steamy enclosure. The steam did feel lovely on my oily skin, but it wasn't long before my giggles returned. I tried to explain to my puzzled masseuses (apparently laughter is not a normal reaction to the treatment) that I felt like a magician's assistant waiting for someone to slide a sword into me - but they didn't seem to understand.
Finally I was released from my wooden enclosure and lead to another wooden table, with a large brass pot suspended over one end, for my sirodara treatment. The steady stream of warm oil on my forehead initially felt quite bizarre. After I while I found it difficult to focus on any sensation apart from the oil being squeezed through my hair before being returned to the dangling pot above my forehead.
I certainly didn't feel anything close to my "third eye" opening but there was a nurturing aspect to the experience...A bit like having your hair washed by your mum when you are a child. This comparison turned out to be uncomfortably accurate. For just as my mum rarely managed to keep the shampoo out of my eyes as a child, it wasn't long before my eyes were stinging with therapeutic oil in Kovalam.
All in all, my deluxe oil massage and sirodara treatment in Kovalam turned out to be not so much transcendental...as excruciating :-)
My first oil massage (yes there have now been more than one) was at the ayurvedic clinic at the Ashram in Neyyar Dam. It took the immense pain that resulted from 5 hours of cross legged sitting and 2 yoga lessons each day to overcome my natural reluctance to try this ayurvedic treatment. Why was I reluctant? Well, during an oil massage the only thing dangling between you and complete nudity is a rather small calico loin cloth.
I was prepared for the loin cloth, having discussed the massage procedure with other women at the ashram, so I was not surprised when my lovely masseuse smiled, handed me the small scrap of calico and gestured that I should remove all my clothes. There were, however, a few rather awkward moments after that while I waited for her to leave the room and she grew more and more insistent about me removing my clothes.
It turns out that even the modicum of modesty that the loin cloth affords you is an illusion as the masseuse gets to see everything anyway as you struggle into the loin cloth. As if the entire situation was not embarrassing enough, I then managed to tie the loin cloth on back to front and my masseuse had to rip it off me and retie it herself.
After this less than stellar beginning, the rest of the oil massage was as smooth as...well...an oil massage. My aching ashram abused muscles truly loved the oily attentions of my masseuse. After an hour of treatment I was so relaxed I didn't even pop open an eyelid when she massaged my boobs for longer than I thought was strictly necessary (there are, after all, very few yoga postures requiring strenuous use of your breasts).
By far the best thing about that first massage was the hot water bathing afterwards. There was a cold shower in the small bathroom adjoining the treatment room and I was also provided with a large plastic tub of lovely hot water to aid the oil removal process. I also managed to craftily discover the hot water tap in the bathroom and was thus able to refill the tub several times during a luxurious 20 minutes of bathing.
After that initial experience, I started encouraging others in the Ashram to try the massage with the passionate fervor of a new religious convert. Some of the women that I spoke to said that they didn't enjoy the oil massages that they had previously tried as they were "a bit rough". I thought they were completely mad until a week later when I had my second experience with oil massage.
As a reward for surviving two weeks of yoga vacation in the Ashram, I decided to treat myself to a deluxe oily experience in the beach resort town of Kovalam. This time I opted for the full body massage as well as the sirodara (which is a treatment involving the steady stream of oil poured onto your forehead for half an hour). Other travelers I've met had credited the sirodara treatment with everything from deep relaxation to opening their "third eye" so, needless to say, I had high expectations.
In addition to the sirodara, I had also forked over a large sum of rupees to have not the regular, but the four handed massage. It seemed I had learnt nothing about the dangers of excess in the Ashram, as I reasoned that if I had thoroughly enjoyed the attentions of one masseuse in my first massage surely I was going to have a transcendental experience with two masseuses.
It all started well.
Now that I was familiar with the practice, I did not hesitate in stripping off in front of the two women and, after I donned the loin cloth, I sat on a stool to enjoy a vigorous head massage.
The first clue that this treatment was not going to feel exactly like my first oil massage came in the form the table I was asked to climb onto. This was not the standard padded massage table I had lay on in the Ashram but rather a heavy, wooden structure about 1.5m x 2.5m with a small groove carved around the sides to allow the oil to drain into a pot. As I gingerly reclined on the hard surface I was reminded of my friend Lana's comparison of a similar table she had her massage on to a butcher's block. I now had first hand knowledge of how accurate her description had been.
Determined to relax, I shut my eyes and tried to enjoy the oily attention. I have to say though, that I did not love the four handed nature of the experience. When there is only one masseuse there is some certainty in where the next hand will be placed on your body. For example, if one hand is massaging your left shoulder you know you will not suddenly feel someone tugging on your toes. The same cannot be said for the four handed massage.
As the massage progressed I also began to get the unnerving sense that the women were egging each other on as each stroke felt firmer and faster than the last. Forty minutes in, the strokes got so vigorous that it felt like they were trying to physically redistribute my fat to other parts of my body. The sensation was sadly more bruising than relaxing.
When I had to be assisted to turn over, slipping and sliding near naked in the pooled oil on the table, the sheer absurdity of the situation hit me and I got the giggles. I had thought that having four hands lavishing attention on my body would make me feel like a worshipped goddess. However, the reality of the experience was closer to that of a greased pig!
Oh well, I thought, even if the full body massage was not as lovely as I had hoped at least I still had the steam bath and sirodara to look forward to. However, as I was asked to climb down from the slab, it soon became apparent that the steam bath was not going to involve the masseuse running a hand held steam producing device over my reclining body as it had in the Ashram.
In Kovalam the steam bath involved me climbing into a large wooden cupboard, with a stool inside, that looked remarkably like an iron lung. Once the door was shut, my entire body from the neck down was encased in the steamy enclosure. The steam did feel lovely on my oily skin, but it wasn't long before my giggles returned. I tried to explain to my puzzled masseuses (apparently laughter is not a normal reaction to the treatment) that I felt like a magician's assistant waiting for someone to slide a sword into me - but they didn't seem to understand.
Finally I was released from my wooden enclosure and lead to another wooden table, with a large brass pot suspended over one end, for my sirodara treatment. The steady stream of warm oil on my forehead initially felt quite bizarre. After I while I found it difficult to focus on any sensation apart from the oil being squeezed through my hair before being returned to the dangling pot above my forehead.
I certainly didn't feel anything close to my "third eye" opening but there was a nurturing aspect to the experience...A bit like having your hair washed by your mum when you are a child. This comparison turned out to be uncomfortably accurate. For just as my mum rarely managed to keep the shampoo out of my eyes as a child, it wasn't long before my eyes were stinging with therapeutic oil in Kovalam.
All in all, my deluxe oil massage and sirodara treatment in Kovalam turned out to be not so much transcendental...as excruciating :-)
No comments:
Post a Comment