they say it's your birthday

(Author's note.  This is a long blog. Scroll down to the pictures if my verbosity rankles.  Verbocity rankles?  Who do you think you are?)

Jenny turned forty-@#$%en during our trip.  Being the good friend that I am because I have the googles to remind me of important dates, I emailed Chandra ahead of our trip on the D.L. and asked if there were any traditional Indian birthday rituals, songs, dances we could do for her special day.  

Upon arrival, Chandra informed me that he had it all in hand.  A great treat.  A real coup.

The man delivered.  It only took an 8 hour car ride, a late night scramble to find accommodations, a half-dressed man named Dinesh and an x-rated spa experience to receive it.

Chandra booked us on a houseboat tour of the backwaters of the Arabian Sea in the state of Kerala.  On the map (see route), it is all the way across the country from Chennai, our original starting point.  It is one of those must-see experiences and well worth the journey.  The journey which started out late.  Too late to check in at our appointed destination.  Late, like driving down a two lane country road at 11:00 pm straight into the abyss or the hands of sex trade smugglers.  (Jenny and I were sure there must be a market for middle aged white women somewhere.  Anywhere?)  

Chandra worked the phones, pulled one out of his rear and found us lodgings at the famous Waterscapes Backwater Resort.  By Waterscapes, it meant it was hidden from plain view.  By Backwater, it meant you had to drive down a dirt road at the water's edge by a long line of houseboats.  It was so waterscapes backwater, that Chandra had our driver pull over. He hopped out and knocked on the door of one of the houseboats.  Um, yeah.  

A dude in a rumpled dhoti (it's the skirt you keep seeing the men wearing) comes to the door.  We've clearly gotten him out of bed.  He and Chandra gesture and speak loudly at one another.  Tamil is a harsh sounding language.  They could have been arguing.  Bad for us.  Or, they could have been discussing the tide timetables.  Still, bad for us.  Turns out, they were discussing directions.  Chandra gets back in the car and before we can get going, the dude comes running after us, banging on the window.  In retrospect, I should have been frightened.  It was rather an aggressive move.  Turns out (#2), all he wanted to do was give us his name (Dinesh) and number so could call him if we got lost again.  So gracious was this man that he called fifteen minutes later to make sure we had arrived safely.    

We did make it safely.   We checked in and watched Bollywood music videos until we fell asleep.  (Youtube this stuff. It is in another stratosphere of crazy.)  We decided against showers because who wants to feel judged like that.  We woke up to this:

Turns out (#3), The "resort" in Waterscapes Backwater Resort stands for State Park.  Clean, quaint and quirky, complete with emus, a beer parlor and a spa. Who doesn't want an Age Halt treatment for their birthday?

I can honestly say that had I known then what I know now, I would have said "no thanks, not this old lady."

Imagine, if you can, having a massage in a State Park bathroom facility.  Concrete floors, See through plastic roof, dripping pipes and all.  

Rated R.  The following material may not be suitable for adults with delicate stomachs.

Jenny and I go in for the 90 minute session.  Full body massage, Hot stones, steam bath and spa shower.  Ahhhhh.  

Awwww-hell no.  

I was greeted by a woman and led back to the treatment room.  Before I had an opportunity to take in my surroundings, she foists a hospital (not hospitable) grade loincloth on me and remains standing there until it dawns on me that I am to disrobe.  Immediately.  I do.  She fastens the thing on my thing and waves a hand towards this long, teak table worn smooth from its years used in a prison during the Colonial Era.  It had built in face holes just like its modern massage table counterpart, but without the padding, heated blankets, and bolster for under my knees because that feels so good on my lower back.

I go for the face-down landing on the table, but am quickly flipped by my masseuse and this other woman that has appeared from out of nowhere.  

This next part was nice.  Weird, but nice.  The women massaged my limbs ensemble, moving their hands in exactly the same direction with exactly the same pressure at exactly the same time.  If I had not felt so exposed to the elements (naked in a state park bathroom), I would have really enjoyed it.  

Next came what I will call the V05 Hot Oil Torture.  It's a popular treatment called Shirodhara where oil is slowly dripped on the forehead then worked into the hair and scalp.  It is supposed to clear the head and for an Indian woman with her gorgeous long black hair, I would image great for shine and manageability.  Given the length and natural oiliness of my hair, they could have shortened this experience to 5 minutes; however, so as not to rob me of the full immersion, I got it for 15 minutes.  Right in the forehead.   I'll admit, my head was clear.  ALL I could think about was getting the hell off that table.

Next.  The steam.  I was led into what appeared to be the laundry room.  My girl walks over to this industrial size front loading washer and opens it.  She gestures  for me to enter.  It was one of those vintage personal steamers that I thought only existed in Abbott and Costello movies and episodes of I Love Lucy.  

I won't even bother describing the shower.  I was handed a packet of Black Shampoo (it was) and ushered into a concrete cell.  I swear I could hear the muffled tears of a thousand other podgy white women who proceeded me into this Smokey the Bear Chamber of Horrors.

Once out of the shower, I discovered I would have to go back into the treatment room to retrieve my clothes.  That would be the same treatment room that my dear friend of 20+ years would be splayed out on a medieval torture table in her all together.  No words.  It must be what the survivors of the Donner Party felt like after returning to civilization.  It must be.  What happens in the State Park bathroom...

Deep, cleansing breath.  The day did improve significantly. 

Around noon we boarded our houseboat.  It was manned by a crew that not only skippered the boat, but also greeted us with fresh coconut milk, brought us tea and snacks, opened our beers and prepared our meals.  24 hours of bliss.  Like for real bliss.  

The following pictures are from our excursion aboard the Meenakshi.  Enjoy vicariously the warm sun, soothing waters, frosty beers, storybook vistas, tasteful decor, burning man performance (failed fireworks show) and fresh caught lobster and crab we dined upon.  

Happy Birthday Jenny Lou.  May I never see you on your birth day in your birthday suit again.