Endless oil

Recently, I found myself lying in a room in Karama lit only with dim, bare globe hanging from the ceiling. I was naked except for a towel, Indian muzack of Endless Love being pumped through the vents and my body was dripping with oil. I mean dripping with so much oil that I felt (and probably looked) like a rotisserie chicken. It had been massaged into every part of my body, including my hair.

A friend treated me to a very traditional ayurvedic massage in the Indian part of town. Not one to turn down an experience that I wouldn't normally get to have in Australia, of course I said yes.

We headed to Karama and went through an old shopping centre and up a dark flight of stairs and then through a set of winding corridors. Then through another small door where I was welcomed into the small massage room. After about 45 minutes of pounding and being scalded with oil and hot herb compresses and worrying where that oil and her fingers were going to end up, the lady masseuse left the room and I was left wondering what I'd gotten myself into.

Soon she came back, interrupting my humming to Endless Love, told me to wrap myself in my towel and follow her out of the room. Around through some more winding corridors she opened a door which let out billowing clouds of steam. She pointed me inside the room and shut the door behind me. I shuffled in, unable to see a darn thing until the shape of a person became clear. I hesitantly looked at them until I realised it was my friend and burst out laughing in relief. After a few minutes in the steam, I showered and attempted to wash the copious amounts of oil from my skin and hair.

Feeling strangely relaxed and once again dressed, if not a little oily. We set off for an Indian meal, a feast of prawns and crabs and chicken and lentils washed down with tropical juices.

I'm not sure if I will be heading back in a hurry, but it's just another one of those things to tick off the list.