A haphazard chronicle of my inevitable misadventures during a year in Vietnam and points east.

p.s. I'll be pitifully grateful if you send me email during my exile: TravelerKaty@hotmail.com

October 2002 November 2002 December 2002 January 2003 February 2003 March 2003 April 2003 May 2003 June 2003 July 2003 August 2003 September 2003 October 2003 November 2003 February 2006 March 2006 May 2006

 
Since I'm doing so much walking, I figured it would be a good time to test the popular Vietnamese foot massage. All over the city there are colorful lighted signs that look like a map of a huge foot, with every important pressure point or area identified by shape and color. Who knew there was a link between your right foot and your spleen?

So it sounded like a bang-up idea. How relaxing! How invigorating! What could possibly go wrong?

Well, did anyone see that episode of "Friends" in which Monica is described as the absolute worst, most painful masseuse in the whole wide world? I have determined that Monica was unjustly maligned -- she was simply employing traditional Vietnamese-style massage techniques.

The foot massage begins delightfully, as the massage girl led me to a huge comfortable yellow armchair, quite the largest chair I've seen in Saigon, City of Tiny Furniture. Flanked by two pillows, I lounged in cool, dim comfort with a cup of tea at one hand and feet soaking in a vibrating bath. This is the point of the process in which the cute little Vietnamese girls lull you into a false sense of security.

Next one foot is dried and wrapped in a towel and rested on a matching stool, while the other foot is placed on a towel in the lap of the massage girl, who is dressed in what resembles a tennis outfit and brutally high-heeled shoes. My massage girl was named Hieu. I will henceforth associate that name with sweetly delivered torture and pain.

The actual foot massage consisted of three main parts. First was the deep rubbing of feet and calves with oil. This was acceptable in the beginning, but became increasingly painful as Hieu dug her freakishly strong hands into my various muscles and other foot and calf-related parts. She was delighted to locate a spot on my right calf that, if gouged in a very special way, would make my toes involuntarily curl under. Ha ha ha. Good one, Hieu. Let's see that for the 15th time.

Part Two was what I refer to as The Assault. With her sharp little fists, Hieu would pound my calves and feet like they were made of particularly annoying bread dough. Honest to God, I checked for bruises when I got home.

Part Three: The Pencil. This stage involved a devise other than the freakishly strong hands -- a piece of wood shaped like a fat pencil with a rounded, lead-free tip. This, as you might imagine, was used to poke me. As I followed along on the helpful diagram posted to my left, Hieu proceeded to prod, for 10-20 seconds at a time, each of the various pressure points advertised on the sign outside. She was not gentle, and frankly my spleen could have lived without the stimulation.

After a couple reprises of Parts One and Two, the right foot was complete. The worst part? Knowing that the left was yet to come. Poor left foot -- so innocent, so naive, so unknowing of the horrors that this adorable girl was about to perpetrate.

Once both feet had received equal treatment, I was instructed to shift positions, and a mini-version of the foot massage technique was conducted on my legs, shoulders, back, arms, hands and head, with the added excitment of some nutty thing she did that involved cupping her hands together as if in prayer and slapping the hell out of various body parts. This made quite a bit of noise, and was decidedly alarming when done on my head. Whew, all finished!

Now I don't want to sound incredibly cheap, but I'm really trying to economize since so far I'm only working 10 hours a week and my wage is not exactly professional-level. That was one of the reasons, in addition to location, that I selected this particular foot massage place -- it was only $3.25, as opposed to $7 elsewhere. Turns out it was a bit of a bait-and-switch involved. Once I got outside to pay, I was told that a 40-60% tip was appropriate. I conceded gracefully, given that I had made it out alive and still had the use of all my limbs, and it was only another 2 dollars.

As I was leaving Hieu asked me when I would be back. Naturally, I lied and said maybe in a few weeks. But right here and now I would like to publicly set the record straight: I will never, ever, get a Vietnamese foot massage again.

© 2002 Katy Warren

posted by Katy at 6:32 PM