Massage at the Women's Prison

While Richard and the boys went off on the "Flight of the Gibbbons" adventure today, I spent a tough morning wandering the markets, and then wrapped up with a massage at the Chiang Mai women's prison. Yup. The prison. I couldn't resist.

The prison teaches inmates traditional Thai massage techniques as a way of giving them a job skill for when they are finally freed. They also get to keep some of the money they earn doing the massages, giving them a bit of a nest egg. They don't get to work in the shop until they are within 6 months of their release date.

The whole experience was pretty funny. It's rather weird to be greeted by a uniformed prison guard at the reception to a spa. Then you go into the massage room, where up to 8 people can get pummeled simultaneously. My masseuse plunked my feet into a basin of water and had a go at them with a scrub brush and soap: much needed after my day of wandering the streets. I then changed into the loose fitting top and pants (Thai massage is done clothed), and stretched out on the mat. I was given a cup of hot tea that tasted suspiciously of hay.

Meanwhile, three Australian guys were nearing the end of their massages. It was pretty clear that they had started the adventure full of fantasies about being the only men in the prison, and even more clear that the women understood this mentality, and were determined to give the guys the full Thai massage treatment. Which, as you know from Richard's post, is a lot like someone else doing vigorous yoga on your body. Their massages were punctuated by groans, exclamations and mutterings. "Oh Christ" "You hurt?" "No" gasp "it's ok, oh argh what's she doing now?" Great gales of laughter erupted from the women when one of the guys actually flipped himself off the mat trying to get away from one stretch.

In another slightly surreal moment, my masseuse must have been worried about her body odor (only fair, I was worried about mine!), because before she started my massage she took herself to the far end of the room and sprayed herself down with room freshener. Fortunately she spared me this treatment.

She wasn't the most skilled masseuse I've ever had, but she understood when I asked her for soft massage, and she left me feeling pleasantly invigorated, not abused.

She didn't tell me what her crime had been, but said she had been in for 2 years and 9 months, and was being released in April. The next masseuse over is being released in March, and had been inside for 11 years. Depressingly, neither one had a plan for a job when they were released. My masseuse said that if she got enough money, she could open a massage shop. When I asked her how she was going to get that money, she had no idea. Her english was easily the best of all the women there, so I hope she can parlay that into something remunerative.

After it was over, I changed back into my clothes, paid the prison guard, and walked out into the sunshine looking for a plate of noodles.