Getting the kinks out

After my first experience with a massage parlor in Hong Kong, I learned two important lessons: 1) Australians are nothing but trouble and 2) Cheap massage joints are abundant but worthwhile only if you have a penis because you're sure as hell not shelling out $20 for a trained masseuse to lead you through some deep, transcendental Ayurvedic experience.

Since that adventure, I'd been hesitant to seek out a legitimate massage because the sound of the man in the curtained room continued to haunt me, and I didn't think it was treating my body like a temple to lie down on cartoon-character sheets that someone jizzed on 10 minutes prior. I'm germphobic like that.

I'm also cheap like that and couldn't bring myself to pay the prices at spas that probably change their linens regularly and where the employees are allowed to maintain some sense of dignity.

But last October, I went to Bangkok, where massages even at high-end spas are embarrassingly inexpensive by American standards and I was curious about traditional Thai massage.

My first full day in Bangkok started with dicks at the Lingam/Tuptim Shrine, where I was careful not to accidentally touch any lest the fertility myth turn out to be true, and ended with dicks in Soi Cowboy, where drunk ex-pats and tourists go to have them touched.

Along the way, I passed questionable-looking massage parlors on almost every corner, often with pasty, obese, middle-aged men entering or exiting with huge grins -- and on one occasion, with a small group of Thai women huddled around a tall, lanky white guy who sat on a stool as one woman cut his nails.

For most Americans, the word "massage" is indelibly linked to prostitution, and that didn't inspire confidence in finding a place that was either upscale enough to disappoint guys expecting a happy ending or downscale enough that they'd even service women. Because maybe I'd like a soapy, sexy massage too. I admit, I'm kind of jealous that men pay the same price that I do but get an additional service. I doubt it's a service I'd want if it were offered because I can't even bring myself to call someone on the phone out of fear I might inconvenience them, so I can't see myself exploiting someone who's selling herself to support her family in an impoverished rural village or whose only escape from poverty is to marry a gross, socially inept Western guy.

But Jesus, at least ask.

I gave up on finding a place that didn't offer some type of love-you-long-time service and was willing to settle for one that looked like it probably wouldn't give me scabies. While walking in an area near my hotel, I found Lavana, an honest-to-God spa that had staff in real uniforms instead of hot pants, sold its own brand of overpriced products, offered a customer-loyalty card, and provided herbal tea and a cream brulee-like dessert topped with pistachios.

It was more expensive than the other places, but a 90-minute Thai massage cost only US$16 and the most amazing treatment known to mankind, the four-hand foot massage, was only US$28. The foot massage and regular oil massage were relaxing and peaceful, whereas the Thai massage was like childbirth: painful and causes regret while doing it but the rewards manifest themselves the next day.

After my husband's oil massage, I excitedly asked him if he'd gotten the full treatment, and he seemed sad as he answered "no." I became indignant and asked, Why not? He gave me a confused look and asked, "What, you wanted them do it?" Well, yeah, isn't that what you're paying for? You got ripped off, babe.

I'm sure my husband thinks I was setting him up for some kind of battle-of-the-sexes, ohnoyoudidntmotherfucker confrontation that I can lord over his head for the next 50 years because another woman touched Mr. Winky, but no. Between the years of using a computer and playing video games, my handjob days are just about over, so God bless the young thing without carpal tunnel syndrome who can knock off 20 dicks a day. Enjoy your muscular flexibility while it lasts, girls.

Lavana turned me into a massage convert, and I vowed I'd find a place in Hong Kong that was affordable and had soundproof walls in each treatment room. And I did: Bua Hom Thai Massage. It doesn't have the ambiance of Lavana, but it also doesn't use Spongebob Squarepants sheets on beds they found lying curbside. A 60-minute Thai massage was US$25, and as my husband was in the same curtained area with me, he remained happy endingless, the poor bastard.

Lavana Bangkok
No.4 Soi Sukhumvit 12 Sukhumvit Road., Klongtoey, Klongtoey, Bangkok 10110
Tel : +66 (0) 2 2294510-12
Fax : +66 (0) 2 2294514
E-mail : lavana.bangkok@gmail.com
Opening Hours : 09:00 am - 02:00 am
Last Reception : 23:30 pm

Bua Hom Thai Massage
Rm501-2, 5/F
California Entertainment Bldg
34-36 D'Aguilar Street, Central
Tel: +852 2234-9322
Opening hours: Noon - Midnight