Seeing as we were lazing about all day and the Spa was just a short stagger from our sunbeds, it seemed rude not to give it a go. So Mum and I plucked up the courage for an ‘Ayurvedic Massage’. We were welcomed at the door by a beautiful Goan lady, wrapped in an amazing shimmering sari. The heat in the spa hit us immediately – a blanket of steamy perfumed air wrapped itself around us when we walked in – a fan on the ceiling moving far too slowly to make any difference. Mum was taken off by her two ladies, and I was welcomed into a tiny room with a huge leather massage couch and just enough room to walk around it. My massage ladies seemed very young and didn’t speak much English. They were both very sweet and pretty and giggled shyly at my shock when they took off my bikini. Yep, ALL my bikini.
I then had to sit, stark naked and rather embarrassed, on a chair while one of the girls stood behind me and dolloped a big handful of oil on my head when I wasn’t expecting it, making me jump and prompting more tinkly giggles. The sensation was similar to having an egg cracked on your head, but I soon forgot my shyness when she started doing all sorts of weird things like pulling little tiny handfuls of hair and massaging my scalp with amazingly relaxing little movements. Next up, the girls, still giggling quietly, tied a piece of cotton around my waist and tucked a hand-width strip of cotton material into the front, under my legs, then up around the back. I felt slightly like a sumo wrestler, especially being butt naked in the company of these two teeny tiny girls whose combined weight was probably the same as one of my thighs, but was relieved finally not to be standing around in my birthday suit. Then it was up onto the big leather couch, and an incredible amount of the same perfumed oil was poured up and down my body and sploshed onto my forehead. They then started the most amazing massage, with each girl doing exactly the same movements on each side of my body. I found the..er..chest bit somewhat embarrassing (I can honestly say that’s the first time I’ve had ONE woman touching my boobs, let alone two) but when they started whooshing their hands right from my feet up to my shoulders, then down my arms to my hands and back up again, it was so relaxing that I felt like I could nod off. They still whispered quietly to each other, and whether it was to coordinate their movements, comment on my cellulite, or to discuss what they were having for dinner later, I’ll never know. They did this thing standing either side of the bed pushing their palms up from my sides to my stomach and back down which was very tickly and prompted a ridiculous fit of giggles. The girls found this incredibly entertaining and did it far longer than necessary while I tried, unsuccessfully, to lie still without squirming. Then I was flipped over and the massage was repeated again on my back, the buttock massage being rather, well, thorough.
Then suddenly it was over and I was wrapped, still covered in oil, in a big towel and lead slipping and sliding to the steam room where Mum was already waiting. We sat on a bench, all greased up like basted turkeys, hair plastered to our heads, and proceeded to steam, getting hotter and hotter until we started to panic that they’d left us there to fry. Luckily we were rescued before we exploded and the girls, still whispering and giggling, towelled us down and helped us back into our bikinis. Before we knew it we were standing blinking in the sunlight again, feeling strangely calm and oddly worried that it had been some kind of candid camera stunt, and someone was going to leap out from behind the palm trees with a microphone.