Hell's Massage

I love massages.

I love how a good massage loosens up the tension knots in my back and shoulders. I love the feel of someone else's hands comforting my exhausted flesh in loving strokes and kneads. I love the soothing scents of tangerine or Asian herbs that lulls me to sleep.

More often than not, to ensure that I get only quality massages when I am overseas, I would patronise the spa services in five-star hotels.

So when I was in Hanoi last weekend and having walked my feet into stumps throughout the Old Quarters, I sought out the masseuse at my hotel.

Most surprisingly... in a bad way... the massage service provided is plain horrendous for a property of such calibre.

Now, I've had enough massages to know that the masseuse would work through a series of strokes, kneads and presses in sequence, normally from the back down to the legs and feet, then up again to the arms and finally to the head and front of the body.

But that session was nothing like that.

I sensed something was wrong as the Vietnamese masseuse started rubbing my back like she's shuffling mahjong tiles. And she worked very hastily. I wanted to remind her that there is no need to rush because she would still have to complete 90 minutes of the session no matter how fast and furious she rubbed.

Apart from being hasty, she employed a unique massaging style. The Any-O-How style. A few minutes of working on my back, her hands leapt to the back of my thighs, up to my posterior, down again to my calves, and then back up to my back.

Occasionally, she would attempt to skewer me with her lethal thumbs.

I flinched and said: "Gentler."

She did not respond and continued with her attempts to drive her thumbs into my flesh.

I tried again with, "No no, pain." Still, she's not stopping.

Sensing that perhaps she did not understand English, I ejected the universal exclamation of pain: "OUCH!"

This time she pause, and then said: 'Oh, good?" And pressed even harder.

I lifted myself off the massage bed and tried sign language to tell her that whatever she's doing was murder. She smiled and nodded.

I was an idiot to believe that she understood. That diabolical masseuse started drilling into my spine the moment I laid myself down. I cringed and shouted, "Softer!" Quickly, she brought her hands to my shoulders and pushed her thumbs in while saying, "Shoulders, m'am?"

I gave up. I couldn't decide which was a greater agony - getting her to understand me or bearing with the pain.

That was not all. She kept trying to chat me up. Woman, all I wanna do is sleep. Since I cannot sleep because of the pain, can you just leave me to rest with my eyes tightly shut?

At one point she poked at the tattoo on my back and said, "Ah, this one very..."

Very? Very what? Very ugly? Very scary? Very evil? Very big? Very small? What? What? Complete your sentence, woman!

She went on to do the same to all my other tattoos. It was like a frustrating guessing game in which I cannot see her because I was lying on my front.

Then when I flipped over on my back to allow her to work on my front, she passed the annoying incomplete comment again. This time she said, 'Ah, your body very..."

Very what? Very fat? Very lumpy? Very pale? Very wrinkly? What? What? I could not bear it anymore and tore my eyes open, planning to confront her with a jab in her jaw.

Then I saw her beaming and rocking a thumbs-up at me.

Now, if you think I would be relieved that she was in fact complimenting me, you would be wrong. I do not fancy lying butt naked in front of a woman who is taking in a full view of my nudity and giving me the thumbs up.

Apart from the haphazard rub down, the head massage was just plain weird. She held little clumps of my hair and tugged violently at them. Did she think that the pain in my scalp would distract me from the pain in my tired calves?

The face massage was no less odd. She pinched my cheeks. Maybe she thought I am so cute.

Even more ludicrous, the masseuse would interrupt the massage by texting on her mobile phone!

Needless to say, this was the worst massage I've ever had and I was so eager to see the end of it. And it proved that even top-notch hotels have shitty spa services.

Since I will never swear off massages, the next time I have to go to Vietnam I will first learn how to say "OH GOD THAT FUCKING HURTS." in Vietnamese.

That might just be the key to saving my life.