I long ago lost count of the number and variety of massages I’ve had in China. Foot massages within walking distance of our apartments were a favorite pastime of Lisa’s, Melody's, and mine, and a few times we branched out and tried some wild things. I’ll share the highlights, along with a general overview of our favorite Chinese foot massage routine. This is one of the things I'll miss most about China someday, let me tell you. In the interest of time and space, I'm going to gloss over the health benefits ascribed to foot massages and body massages in Traditional Chinese Medicine (a post for another day; for now just remember that the main point is to increase energy and blood flow and prevent blockages) and simply describe the rather enjoyable procedure.
洗脚 Xi Jiao
Next, the therapist sits cross-legged on your pillow and you put your head in her lap (no kidding - it's not as shady as it sounds) and have a soothing/stimulating face and scalp rub (sometimes with a sudden crack of the neck, sometimes not). After the therapist crawls out from under you and adjusts the chair back height, she gingerly kneads your shoulders, arms, hands, and fingers, with occasional pauses as she's distracted by the riveting soap opera or game show on TV. Eventually, you relax in the chair while your feet and calves are dried and covered in snake oil cream. As various points on the soles of your feet correspond to your inner organs and systems, hard, focused pressure is applied to the soles of your feet, your heels, and the tip of each toe; your toes are then pulled to make them crack.
You might think the massage is over when the therapist leaves the room at this point. But no - she's just getting a fresh bucket of hot water to rinse your feet. Once you're cleansed of any excess snail oil cream, tissues are wound between your newly-dried toes, presumably to prevent any moisture collection. Your legs are propped up and attention is paid to your ankles, calves, knees, and thighs, usually a combination of hard circular and long strokes followed by a bit of punching and popping. It's quite robust, and has left bruises. At the end of this part, the therapist will put your socks back on for you - it's a bit hard to get used to the power distance implied there.
Then you’re asked to turn over for a rather firm back and butt massage (yes, the Gluteus Maximus is included - it doesn't do to be squeamish at the expense of your health) before the whole process is repeated on the other side of your legs and sometimes even arms. Finally, your head, neck, and shoulders are revisited as you lay on your stomach, culminating in firm pressure, slaps, and kneading, with a few punches and pops for good measure, on your back and butt, possibly with the therapist's elbows (or knees and feet!) in addition to her hands. If you're lucky, she might crawl or stand on you. This is quite an amusing sight when, out of the corner of your eye, the therapist appears to be dancing on your friend's butt in the chair next to yours. (Don't knock it 'til you've tried it.)
As you can see, the foot massage covers much more than your feet. The whole 80-minute experience costs around $12 USD. In the summer you used to get a little souvenir of ankle-highs, the kind old Chinese ladies wear with their sandals, as the socks are flesh-toned, but this ceased and it took me a while to notice.
Add-ons
There are many variations to the foot massage. Some places are fancy, with lotus flowers floating in bowls nearby, and others are shabby, placing you in front of a huge window on a busy street for all to see. You can have your calluses scraped (highly recommended for soft tootsies). You can add vinegar, rose petals, milk or Chinese medicine to the water. (If you add vinegar, you will smell like a salad afterwards, I promise.) You can, indeed, add oil - common in the States but not so common in China, to the point that I was pretty shocked the first time the therapist said it was time to take off my shirt (but alas, I complied with no visible qualms - shows the confidence I have bestowed on my regular place). Personally, my favorite addition is sliced ginger. Long strips of fresh ginger are placed on your calves, which are then covered in saran wrap and steamed under a towel in an extra-large bamboo bucket. It burns for a little while, but then delivers a special warm feeling throughout the body and soul. (This is particularly divine in winter.) When Marisela visited, we went to a blind massage place recommended by Yucca where they put Chinese medicinal herbs on our backs, in the form of a black, viscous microwaved paste that sort of hardened into a sheet akin to clay and got progressively warmer as it did so. I presume this was to draw out toxins, but I can't say for certain. We had to interrupt it prematurely, due to time constraints, but...our backs are still hot.
Even more adventurous add-ons exist, of course. Occasionally, walking down the street in the summer, you'll see regular folks with red, purple, or black circular blotches on their backs, necks, and shoulders, sized roughly between a golf ball and a baseball. These giant bruises are caused by fire-cupping, a suction treatment designed to release toxins from the body. A flaming torch is quickly inserted into a glass cup and then removed; the hot cup is then placed onto the patient's skin, pulling the loose skin, blood, and muscles upward and inward as the material cools. It's possible for the cups to just sit there before being gently removed, and just this is what leaves the most common visible cues. At less spa-like and more doctor's-office-like places, however, the cups are made of bamboo, and are pulled, pushed, and rubbed up and down the patient's spine, shoulder blades, and ribs, which is more than a little painful. Although I was fine with the former treatment, the latter pulled too tight and induced in me a strong sense of claustrophobia, after which I started to hyperventilate - oddly, it took the doctor and my interpreter friend quite a while to notice this - and had to ask that the cups be removed prematurely. I swore off fire cupping for a long time, until a new doctor introduced a form with colorful glass cups topped with a slow-burning something. It's warm, and quite a pretty sight, though I'm still unclear on the medicinal differences between this kind and the others.
I mentioned in my original massage post that the stomach is included in many Chinese therapeutic arts, but once my technician expressed concern for the well-being of my intestines and asked if he could give me a bonus massage on the tummy that was supposed to help heal them. I agreed, and was treated to additional time in my mid-region that included mapping of many of those mysterious cords in there. I can’t be sure what it did or didn’t do (this only happened once, after all) but it’s worth pointing out that later on in Thailand a palm-reader proclaimed that I may experience severe stomach issues around the age of 35. We’ll see about that when the time comes, I suppose, but for now I’ll continue to eat the spicy green peppers as much as I want, no matter what anyone else says. (Notably, this same detail-oriented technician commented on my good flexibility and asked if I do yoga.)
按摩 Anmo
The cousin of the xi jiao is anmo, which actually does translate to "massage." Most parlors offer both of these, separated by wings or floors. Anmo comes with its own funky outfits, crazy pajamas with mismatched patterns, and often its own queen-sized mattresses - I've seen up to four in a room. Here, the tub of hot water literally is just for cleaning your feet, and then you lie down, hopefully with a blanket, while the therapist rubs, kneads, punches, pulls, and slaps various points of your body, from top to bottom, front to back, with her hands, elbows, knees, and feet. Key points are firmly pressed. You are twisted and stretched. Don't forget, all the while, cheesy television is blaring in the background, and afterwards, you relax with green or chrysanthemum tea and a seasonal assortment of fruit (anything from sliced watermelon to cherry tomatoes to the cutest little oranges you've ever seen).
Now, once Melody and I went to anmo at our usual xi jiao place and almost thought we'd die. Our therapists appeared at first sight to be the tiniest, shrimpiest little women imaginable, but they picked us up and twirled us around on one arm like basketballs. They bent us in half, diagonally on each side. They walked on our backs and danced on our butts. They sculpted poses I've never even seen in an advanced yoga class. Both of us are flexible enough, mind you, but this was intense, and rather terrifying. It was so scary that we didn't go to anmo again for almost a year, just because we wanted to live. After Tiffany came, however, we psyched ourselves up to capture this unique experience on film...and then...it didn't happen. The anmo was tame. At the end, the giggling, camera-shy therapist asked me if I wanted to add something, and I said yes, without understanding quite what she said, thinking that the craziness must have been an add-on. It wasn't to be - the therapists simply repeated the massage we'd just had, from start to finish. It was good, and with two in a row, it was long, but it wasn't crazy by any stretch of the word (pun intended), and thus, was a let down. There are only two anmo options listed on the parlour menu, however, and we went back to try them one-by-one...the first one was standard, the second with oil. The second one was its own funny story, as we were brought little blue plastic things that we didn't know what to do with - I thought it was a shower cap, to keep the oil out of our hair, and Melody thought it was to cover our shoes. It turned out to be underwear - we were supposed to strip. Well. That was a surprise, but still not the acrobatics we were eagerly anticipating. Those must have been a mutual hallucination which has now vanished into the ether, or part of the massage underworld. In any case, it's not on the menu.
It's important to note that, although massage is a significant part of Traditional Chinese Medicine, in China, massage parlors can often be fronts for prostitution - so choose your place wisely. I've found, somewhat unsurprisingly, that those attached to hotels tend to be the worst - not only are they overpriced, but either they are fronts for prostitution (and you find little business cards with scantily-clad women slipped under the door at night) or it's assumed that tourists don't know what to expect and/or won't be repeat customers, so the therapists get lazy...As usual, it's best to go where the locals go.
Pei Pei's place
In addition to my favorite local place, it just so happens that Pei Pei (one of the English teachers at my school, and technically the person in charge of my well-being) is the landlady of a reservation-only, password-protected massage parlor. She introduced Melody and me to her staff, and we got declining balance accounts. They are sweet enough there that they gave free massages on Teachers Day. Of all the massage places I've seen in China, this is the one that looks the most like an American spa. The treatments, however, are distinctively Chinese - and I still have quite a long list of things to try.
My most regular here is the back massage, half of which is actually the moxibustion usually combined with acupuncture. (I've only had acupuncture in China just twice, both at doctor's offices, once with electric cords attached to the needles in my legs that made me feel like they were blowing bubbles into my bloodstream. Otherwise, unnoteworthy). The most painful massage of my life was also at Pei Pei's place, though - a leg massage that actually made me bite my tongue to keep from crying. I have an exceptionally high tolerance for pain, but I almost had to ask the therapist to stop (she was, of course, a tiny, frail-looking little woman). The clinic's specialty, and Pei Pei's general method of workplace-induced-stress reduction, is a breast massage - American clinics might run away screaming, but there are a lot of nodes in there, and it's important that things run smoothly. Once again, I had to try the novelty, and aside from the awkward fact that my colleague was hanging out in the room to translate (while playing games on her phone, because she had her period), it was a beneficial experience, and I've been back for several. That quote in the title? Yes, the therapist, at the conclusion of a stomach massage, actually asked me that (in Chinese).
Sure, why not?
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