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Published: April 8th 2022
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As the door closes on the cacophony of the street, there is the sound of tinkling water and the smell of lemongrass. A smiling lady with kind eyes wais (bows) and hands me a thick menu. On the first several pages are soothing images of herbal compresses, gold masks, aroma oil rubs, body scrubs, and head and foot massage packages. It isn’t until page 4 that the human spatchcocking is finally pictured – suspiciously buried beneath all the smiles and the spa treatments. This is the only indication of what ‘traditional Thai massage’ entails. They don’t warn you about what’s coming.
It all starts innocently enough. They take your shoes, wash your feet with a green herbal exfoliant, and lead you into a dim room divided by heavy curtains into several smaller ‘rooms’. In each, there is a basket for your clothes, a thin mattress on the floor, a pillow, and a pair of loose-fitting plum-colored pajamas. After changing, you lay on the mattress listening to the soothing hum of the air conditioner and idly wonder about the bar running across the ceiling. Shortly thereafter, the masseuse pulls aside the heavy curtain, raises her hands to her forehead - palms
and fingers touching - and bows slightly. This is the
wai khru, a prayer of thanks to the teacher, obeisance to the tradition, and a request for guidance. Then, without a word spoken, she begins. As she heel stomps my calves with both feet, I realize what the bar on the ceiling is for. When she bends my leg like a chicken wing, jams my knee under my chin, and drills her knee with all her weight into my hamstring, it occurs to me that I should have been praying as well. Since divine intervention does not seem to be forthcoming, perhaps it is time for tears.
Khun Wan is a stout woman with a vice like grip, ball peen hammer elbows and knees, and rebar fingers and forearms. Though we never exchange a word or even make eye contact, she seems intent on removing my muscles from the bones and rearranging my limbs into something like a cubist painting. Technically it all has something to do with balancing energy flow and removing obstructions, but details get lost when you are getting dismembered.
Thai massage originated in India 2500 years ago with the Ayurvedic doctor Shivago Komarpaj, a
(maybe) physician of the Buddha. Since Thailand was historically a crossroads where people, practices, and ideas from China and India met and mixed, Thai massage has been informed by both Indian Ayurvedic practices and traditional Chinese medicine. These practices believe that the body’s vital energy, what the Thai’s call the wind of life, moves through the body along pathways called sen lines. By strategically bending, pulling, poking, prodding, squeezing, and stretching, a masseuse eliminates energy blockages, and gets things rebalanced and moving in the right direction.
Like all good ancient wisdom, the history of Thai massage is shrouded in mystery. Although a healthy shrouding boosts international sales, this was not savvy marketing. Rather, in the 1700s, the Burmese sacked Ayutthaya, the ancient capital of Siam (i.e., Thailand). Since sacking involves raping, razing, murdering, pillaging, and burning, it is decidedly bad for oral traditions. With Ayutthaya in ruins, the capitol was moved to Bangkok, and the new Grand Palace was constructed next to the dilapidated 7
th century temple complex of Wat Pho (Wat just means temple). Under royal patronage, Wat Pho was rebuilt, renamed, and expanded. It eventually became home to a ridiculously gigantic reclining gold Buddha (15 meters tall,
46 meters long = 49 feet x 150 feet) and the largest collection of Buddhas in Thailand. It also became the repository for the accumulated knowledge of traditional Thai medical and massage. In parts of the temple not occupied by Buddhas, 60 marble plaques hanging on the walls depict the human body and the sen lines and acupuncture points associated with various ailments. These plaques, along with other murals and inscriptions in the temple, were originally both the archives and the ‘texts’ used to teach the art of Thai massage to new disciples.
Tracing the origins of Thai massage to the Buddha and rooting its transmission to a royal temple both legitimized and spiritualized the practice, but then the Americans invaded Vietnam. During the war, GIs on R&R, or “I&I” (intercourse and intoxication) as it was referred to, poured into Thailand. Massage parlors soon became synonymous with brothels. Despite Thai massage’s inclusion on UNESCO’s ‘Convention for the Safeguarding Intangible Cultural Heritage’, this reputation persists today; namely because it is accurate. Neighborhood establishments such as the Mango Room, Soapy Massage, Bangkok Passion, and Stocking Massage are likely not specializing in the kinds of services that require very much safeguarding.
In traditional Thai massage (and probably for the other kind as well), the script is generally the same, but differs in the details. For example, some masseuses specialize in the Shaolin iron finger poke and pull, while others are masters of the elbow drill, the forearm rolling pin, the knee knead, or the stiletto heel mash. Also, while one masseuse may be particularly hostile toward hamstrings, another may have a vendetta against triceps. One lady seemed determined to separate my tibia from my fibula, whereas another was laser focused instead on pushing my shoulder through the floor. The final variable is the dreaded two-tiered treatment: sometimes you get the Thai massage, and sometimes you get the tourist massage. While the tourist massage will still have moments of acute pain, there is a going through the motions feel that suggests the masseuse might rather be watching her Thai soaps (wildly popular). Or it could be the delicate touch is personal style. Or it could be she doesn’t want to deal with a blubbering foreigner. It is definitely a Goldilocks problem: too light seems pointless, too hard is debilitating, and then the rubber bandy, taffy stretching, bodily hallelujah that makes you feel like forty-minute boiled fettuccine noodles one that is just right.
For the record, this account of Thai massage shouldn’t mislead you into believing I actually know very much about any of this. I have undoubtedly bastardized most things while dressing up some cut and paste research with some largely untrustworthy narrative adornment. How you feel about dubious historical research, or whether you insist on the medical veracity of the pancreas and the gall bladder versus sen lines and the wind of life is irrelevant. None of it will matter in the slightest when someone sits on the back of your legs, puts their feet in the middle of your back and then bends you backwards by pulling both your arms. Though there is no happy ending, getting drawn, quartered, and reassembled is its own reward.
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Karen Bachman
non-member comment
Publish or perish
Yes. Very publishable. I suggest Gentleman's Quarterly or any number of mags for men! Your article had me laughing and that is good! No?