Friday, October 8, 2010

Living in the land of Spaahhh


Besides rice, traffic, motorcycles and plastic; there is an incredible abundance of spas in Indonesia. Since I am totally nuts about a great massage, this is a wonderful match-up for me.

I first became addicted to massages when sweetums and I lived in New Orleans. I love the smell of a spa, the great relaxing music they play, the calmness. It practically makes me swoon. The fragrance is what I would call a clean beachy smell. Kind of salty, a tad bit earthy, and ever so slightly musky. At this point I feel like I should be saying, "My name is Judi, and I have a problem."

One of the interesting and surprising parts of this culture is that massage is very much a part of life for practically everyone. It doesn't matter if you live in a palatial home or you are someones housekeeper, massage is deemed a great cure-all for many things. They seem to appreciate the therapeutic value of human touch.

Another thing that I have found unique about the spa experience here is the huge variety of spa experiences you can have. Let me tell you about a few of them.

One of the most widely popular massage/spa experiences is called a cream bath. No, it does not involve sitting in a tub of high fat dairy product. It is the application of a delightfully rich conditioner to your hair accompanied by a head massage. The application of the conditioner and massage usually takes about 30 minutes. Bliss I tell you. After the application, and having your head rubbed and scalped coaxed in to submission, your hair is wrapped in a towel to allow the goop to work its magic and not drip all over you. If that weren't enough, while you are waiting for the transformation of your lovely locks, you are given a shoulder and arm massage by an ever attentive technician. AAAHHHH. After about 15 or 20 minutes of that, the towel is removed from your head and your hair is washed, rinsed and blown dry. Your silky tresses are glorious and you feel so relaxed I think you wouldn't really care if they had shaved your head. Hmmmm. Wonder what's in that stuff? As mentioned before, this treatment spans a huge socio-economic slice of the population. It is something that should be offered in the US and isn't. They are missing the boat on this little money maker.

Next up, on the totally opposite end of your body, is the fish massage. This is a spa treatment that appeared in a few locations around the US; briefly. It was shut down after some regulatory commission sighted health concerns. Not sure if they were more worried about the fish's health or the patrons. Whatever the case, it is not an issue here, so Fish Spas are all over the place. While not as abundant as the cream bath venues, you do see at least one in every mall. The point of the fish spa is that the hungry little buggers will nibble all of the dead, dry skin off of your feet and legs and they will be transformed in to smooth, sleek, appendages. Appetizing, no?

Several of my friends enjoy visiting these spas. I held out for a long time because it just seemed so....strange. However, I succumbed to peer pressure and the un-refusable request from a very sweet friend to accompany her to the fish spa before she moved away from Indonesia. Thus, on a sunny morning in August we drove to the mall and headed for the fish spa. We were the first customers of the day, which I had hoped for when we set this up the day before. Instead of the heady spa fragrances and the quiet little treatment rooms where the piped in music puts you in an almost catatonic state, you have multiple islands of fish tanks scattered around the room. I don't know what the formal name is for where they keep the little fishes. They aren't really aquaria, yes that is the plural of aquarium, and they aren't really ponds. So let's just settle on calling them tanks, but you must use your imagination here.

When you enter the spa it is restful and there are those tanks of cute little, hungry fish swimming around just waiting for you to put your feet in. But before that happens, you sit in an area where they wash your feet and legs before you are allowed to dangle them in the tank. Don't want any icky lotions from your legs making the ikan(new Indonesian word for you to learn - means fish)sick. They give you little slippers to wear so as to not get your nice clean feet dirty while you walk over to the spa tank. Sitting on the side, you slide your slippers off and plunge your feet and legs in almost to knee level. I learned that you don't want to be the first one to stick your feet in. Those guys swarm you. Your feet and legs become covered with eager fish. It looks like you are wearing these weird boots made out of wiggly fish bodies. Oddddddd.

It is kind of a buzzing sensation when the fish work you over. It kind of tickles and vibrates all at the same time. So I guess that is why it is called a massage and not a fish pedicure even though you are kind of getting a little bit of both. Maybe we could call it a fish pedisage. No, that sounds worse. Never mind.


Now according to my sweetie pie, he had a similar experience every time he got in our backyard water garden to clean it or make adjustments. He would get in the pond and the fish would come over and size him up to see if he was good eating. Somewhere along the way, he would have to get out, change from shorts to long pants because the fish were getting a bit to interested for his liking. The little nibbles would begin to feel like piranha attacks according to him. Keep in mind we did have some sizable fish. Most notable were the three LARGE albino cat fish. Those guys were big enough to fillet and eat. I would not qualify this as a fish spa experience by Indonesian standards.

There are a couple of OTHER kinds of spas that I WILL NOT address on these pages (and no, I am not talking about THOSE kinds of spas. They are here too, just like most anywhere else in the world). These are a different kind of spa. It is very strange to me to live in a place that so strongly encourages woman to cover up almost completely and holding hands in the mall gets you stared at will tolerate this. I guess I still have a lot to learn about living in a different culture.

Let's move on. Reflexology is also very popular here. It is one of those kinds of treatments that you think to yourself, "This is going to feel so much better when they quite torturing me." Reflexology is based on the theory that the soles of your feet have points on them that match up to various organs or areas of your body. The technician will rub and kneed your feet; sometimes using her knuckle to dig in to places on the bottom of your foot or the pads on the bottom of your toes. It is sometimes painful, sometimes it feels good, and sometimes you are almost crying for mercy. When it's all over, your feet feel a little tender, but surprisingly good.

It is nice to know that when the streets of Jakarta get you down you can go to a tranquil spa and let them work out the knots in your neck, kneed your muscles until you feel like the Pillsbury Dough Boy, and float for a while on a gentle river of music until you feel relaxed and ready to get back out there and do it all over again. It's a spaaaahhhhh world after all.

Friday, October 1, 2010

Mother's Day Out - the Indonesian version


When my son was young, I enrolled him in a Mother's Day Out program. Typically, that was the time that I would schedule appointments or take care of things that were difficult to do with a little one in tow. When he got older, he attended various camps and activities during the summer. I loved picking him up and seeing what the artistic creation du jour was. Usually it involved macaroni, glitter, Mardi Gras beads, clothes pins and or toilet tissue rolls.

His little smiling face would go between looking at his project and my face to see if I was totally getting how utterly fabulous it was. I truly got it and just like millions of parents everywhere, displayed it proudly. The "Hall of Fame" area would have to be culled due to over crowding. Old stuff had to be moved for new things to take their place. I think we still have every single one of them tucked away somewhere among all of our things in the storage facility that is holding our goods until we return. They better take good care of them or Mom is NOT going to be happy.

Now, you are wondering what in the heck does this have to do with my blog. Well, I am going to tell you. One of the things that I have wanted to do for a very long time is to paint. This has been a desire for more years than I care to admit. I signed up for an art course my senior year in college, but chickened out and dropped it before I even got started. I have multiple blank canvases, in storage, that I have attempted to paint. However, I could never get past where to begin. I don't know why in the world I didn't just stick with the first one and stare at it instead of adding additional blank surfaces to mock me. Was the next new canvas suppose to be the one to break the spell? Massive performance anxiety at its worst.

With the move to Jakarta, I decided to try and pursue this desire to paint. As great luck would have it, there is a British woman who lives within walking distance of my house who gives art lessons. She has been painting for over 20 years. She has a MFA and is a very prolific acrylic artist. Every Thursday afternoon, I pass through her gate and into her home and do art. She has room for 8 students. I am so happy to be one of them.

The first class was all about blending and shading and values. I like that she teaches art based on the gray scale just like in photography. Those of you who are familiar with Ansel Adams, the master of black and white landscapes and the fellow who introduced the zone system, will understand what I mean. It was a good exercise for me and the end result was acceptable for a beginner. It was raining when I finished class, so I had to have my driver come and get me so my painting wouldn't get drenched. I came out smiling and jumped in the car and rode home.

During the second class, we did a collage on plexiglas. A totally different concept, but one that exercised the brain. I whined on and off through the class. You had to lay out the basic idea, then do it in reverse on to the plexiglas. The front of the plexiglas had a piece of protective paper over it so you couldn't really see what it looked like until it was all over. At this point I begin to realize that I am sharing some pre-schooler tendencies. Whining about stuff and getting paint on me and my clothes. I complete my project and peel off the paper and clap my hands. Looks pretty darn good. Once again it is pouring rain, as we are now in to the rainy season. I text message my driver to please come and get me. This time, he is on his way home from picking up my honey pie from work. I wait a bit and I see my sweetie come through the gate with an umbrella. I come out the door showing off my new art work and smiling this big ol' goofy smile. What fun! I have now officially regressed to kindergartner status. I have to show off what I made and tell everyone all about what I did today.

During this past Thursday's class, the teacher turned us loose to paint either what we wanted or something that she set up. I had photographed this really cool fern that we have growing in a container on our patio. I thought it would make a neat painting. I sketched a likeness of it on to the canvas and lugged it to class. My teacher liked it and began to give me instructions and pointers on how to begin. I could feel the anxiety building and just kind of sat there. She suggested that I do the entire painting out of one color so it would act as a kind of underpainting and give shadow and depth to the next layers. I wet my brush and began to paint.

I am sure if she had made a video of me painting, my tongue was sticking out of the side of my mouth at times and my brow furrowed in concentration. I turned my painting this way and that and the picture this way and that and my head this way and that. I am surprised that I wasn't dizzy by the end of the class. After three and a half hours the teacher looked at my canvas and told me to step away from it so I could see what I had done. Holy moley! I couldn't believe I had acutally made something that you could tell what it was. It wasn't like, "Nice pony you painted there sweetie." It looked like the fern in my photograph. Only in shades of blue.

I felt kind of bad that I was the last person to leave. My teacher had much better things to do I am sure. It just so happened that this Thursday afternoon it had stopped raining by the time I finished. Therefore, I walked home carrying my creation. If you saw me walking home, please tell me that I didn't skip. I was just so excited! I got home and sat my painting where it could be admired when honey bunch walked through the door.

He arrived not too long after I did and oohhed and ahhhed. The problem is now I am afraid to apply the remaining layers because I fear I can't repeat this act of magic again. My poor teacher.

As you read this, I am sure you think I have either lost it or am having a second childhood experience. I hope it is the latter and not the former. This has been an unexpected perk of our move. One I had not quite anticipated but am so very happy that it offered itself to me.

This time Mother's Day Out has taken on a whole new meaning for me. I am the one doing the art projects. I come out of class and smile and show off . It is such a delightfully good time.

Here's to being brave. Being unafraid to dive in. Enjoying creative adventures even if they involve macaroni.