When in Rome

Believe it or not, we are now global citizens. If you think about it, outside of official travel documents, we are no longer comprised of one nationality; we have acquired bits and pieces of many nations thanks to improved global communications and the nomadic tendency for finding better opportunities.

There goes a famous saying, “When in Rome, do as the Romans do”.

That's exactly what I try to do. Sometimes it goes well, sometimes it doesn't. For example, when I lived in a predominantly Chinese culture, I tried everything within acceptable limits, from eating sticky rice balls, drinking flower teas and eating sea weed, to throwing litter in designated bins and asking restaurants to pack the leftovers of what I dined in for take-away. Now, in a predominantly Arabic culture, I tried the shisha, drinking exotic teas and getting henna paintings on my hands. It is sometimes impossible to isolate oneself from traditions unfamiliar to you when living in foreign country surrounded by these. It is an accepted idea that with trying out these, one is able to better appreciate foreign cultures and foreign counterparts, with whom you share a particular period of your life with.

Some time back, not so long ago, I went for a haircut (which normally costs about 70 in local currency). I was soon enticed to take up a limited period offer by the lady who gave me the haircut. It was the perfect deal; for 150 local currency, one would get to enjoy one main service (plenty to choose from!), and get two complimentary smaller services. My haircut being one of the complimentary services, I had to pick one main service and one smaller service. Getting hair highlights or a full body wax didn't appeal to me at the time. The lady was quick to recommend a "Moroccan bath" to me when I looked clueless and lost for choices. What the hell, I thought, my mom has made me have baths in various concoctions of boiled leaves, tree bark and dried roots, it can't get any worse than that! As for the smaller service, I picked a "30 minute shoulder massage" as I was suffering from a strained neck and shoulder at the time.

The day arrived, I was the first customer at the salon. I sat in the front couch, waiting to be called in and with no idea what this was going to be like. An elderly lady brought me a small cup of what looked like tea [What if this is spiked with something? Nevermind Shu, just gulp it down] which I drank hesitantly. It was actually herbal-ish and nice [There might be a tub full of this tea somewhere at the back, in which I'll probably have to soak in. This must be just the start to the experience]. Still waiting [Damn, I should have Googled this before I came. Why did I not think of it before? Oh wait, let me check with my sister]. I called my sister and asked her what they do and what I am supposed to do (she is a very reliable source of information on feminine issues). I was mortified when she told me "You'd be lucky if they let you keep your pants on" [WTF!!!]. Just when I was about to make a run for it through the front entrance, I was called in [HELP!].

Specific details of what happened next have been selectively wiped off my memory. I'll keep it short by saying, although I was lucky (by my sister's definition), I was scrubbed off of about 300 grams of dead skin cells (the horror!) by an elderly woman, old enough to be my mother. It was a thoroughly embarassing experience and even the soft and supple skin (that's how marketing materials word it, I believe) I had afterwards was not enough to counter the feelings of being nearly violated.

I wasn't going to pay absurd prices to a shrink to discuss this experience, that's why I had to blog about it.

"Madam, would you like the massage today as well?" [Are you freaking kidding me?? That's enough touching for a long, long while, thank you very much.]

My sister thinks I am overreacting, but I am certain that is the last Moroccan bath I will try (or the last Japanese public bath I will never try). I guess I won't be visiting that salon again either.