On route to a gorgeous beach, I am enjoying the opportunity to sit back and be chauffeured around; lapping up the scenery of Curacao, totally unlike any other Caribbean island. I take a moment to laugh at the many snack stops all named with first names – Anthony hot dog, Helen snack and Daniel soda to name but a few. I also amuse myself by pronouncing all of the signs, until our dutch speaking South African friend (the one I am on watch with underway) can clearly take no more. I am so grateful that he is driving us of the main beachside tourist track so I force my mouth to a halt, bushalte, theres a dutch word that I learnt (Bus stop). Rotonde – roundabout, theres another one. Ok sorry, I'll stop now. We pass by the flamingo stop where I should have spoken up and asked to stop for a photo as now I have left the island where you can see pink flamingos without the smallest glimpse of a pink feather.
Having ran on about how much I wanted a beachside massage and totally deserving of one after the lengthy stint of hard graft, I finally spot my chance. When Aisha points out that it's a guy I am totally put off. I know that it's not usually in my nature to be such a prude, in fact one of the best massages I have ever had was from a guy, well I say a guy, they had a penis ; a lovely lady boy named Paris in Thailand. I was initially freaked out until she told me that everyone cancels on her when they see who she is. Her resemblance as a woman was questionable, but there was one thing for sure she was a bloody good masseuse. This blog isn’t supposed to be about my experiences of massages, though I have had enough that I could probably write a short novel dedicated to just that. Now that I have begun it is impossible not to mention the massage that still to this day makes me shudder.
Myself and a travel buddy had read that whilst in Bali it was a kind thing to do to visit the massage school of the blind. Pulling up in the taxi, a bunch of excited children came to greet us. When we nodded to their screams that yes, we were here for a massage, their delight made us feel like we were the first people to arrive in centuries. We entered the building where the first sight to smack us in the face was a large blind woman with an above breastfeeding age child sucking off each of her equally large nipples.
A massesue takes each of us, of course I get the guy and we uncomfortably undress ourselves, covering the normal places with the towels. I can't even begin to imagine what it is like to be blind and I feel terrible for the people that are and so lucky to be able to see the world through my own healthy eyes. Unfortunately getting a massage from a blind man in this instance was one of the most horrible experiences I have ever had. It hurt and he could not see my expression and with neither of us speaking the same language there was no way to make him understand. Already feeling the most uncomfortable I have ever felt with my clothes of...he then massaged my breasts. It was horrible.
This day in Curacao took me back to that experience, except this time the guy could not be excused for lack of sight, not that I have forgiven the last guy. I had asked for a half body massage and was getting quite edgy when the he asked me to turn over after he had massaged me from top to bottom on the back. When he gets to my thighs and makes one large sweeping circular motion way too far inward: I jump up, swinging my foot towards his face and my eyes stare to his in the most threatening way I can manage. He turns around and walks out. I quickly shove my clothes back on and go outside. I ask him how much he wants me to pay him, he replies $40 (the price for a half body massage). If that was a half body, I dread to think what the full body massage would entail.
Having ran on about how much I wanted a beachside massage and totally deserving of one after the lengthy stint of hard graft, I finally spot my chance. When Aisha points out that it's a guy I am totally put off. I know that it's not usually in my nature to be such a prude, in fact one of the best massages I have ever had was from a guy, well I say a guy, they had a penis ; a lovely lady boy named Paris in Thailand. I was initially freaked out until she told me that everyone cancels on her when they see who she is. Her resemblance as a woman was questionable, but there was one thing for sure she was a bloody good masseuse. This blog isn’t supposed to be about my experiences of massages, though I have had enough that I could probably write a short novel dedicated to just that. Now that I have begun it is impossible not to mention the massage that still to this day makes me shudder.
Myself and a travel buddy had read that whilst in Bali it was a kind thing to do to visit the massage school of the blind. Pulling up in the taxi, a bunch of excited children came to greet us. When we nodded to their screams that yes, we were here for a massage, their delight made us feel like we were the first people to arrive in centuries. We entered the building where the first sight to smack us in the face was a large blind woman with an above breastfeeding age child sucking off each of her equally large nipples.
A massesue takes each of us, of course I get the guy and we uncomfortably undress ourselves, covering the normal places with the towels. I can't even begin to imagine what it is like to be blind and I feel terrible for the people that are and so lucky to be able to see the world through my own healthy eyes. Unfortunately getting a massage from a blind man in this instance was one of the most horrible experiences I have ever had. It hurt and he could not see my expression and with neither of us speaking the same language there was no way to make him understand. Already feeling the most uncomfortable I have ever felt with my clothes of...he then massaged my breasts. It was horrible.
This day in Curacao took me back to that experience, except this time the guy could not be excused for lack of sight, not that I have forgiven the last guy. I had asked for a half body massage and was getting quite edgy when the he asked me to turn over after he had massaged me from top to bottom on the back. When he gets to my thighs and makes one large sweeping circular motion way too far inward: I jump up, swinging my foot towards his face and my eyes stare to his in the most threatening way I can manage. He turns around and walks out. I quickly shove my clothes back on and go outside. I ask him how much he wants me to pay him, he replies $40 (the price for a half body massage). If that was a half body, I dread to think what the full body massage would entail.