Going "Todos," A Massage Story

On Saturday I had a massage, my first in Spain, and it was truly an experience! I strained my back while reaching over a pile of boxes to open my Rouladen window shades. After a week on my neighbor’s heating pad, I was still in a lot of pain. Tiff had told me about a wonderful masseuse she found in our neighborhood, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity to make an appointment and try her out. Senora “M” gives a 90-minute massage for 22 Euros. That’s about $30 at the current exchange rate. That’s pretty darn reasonable. A 90-minute massage in the States can run as much as $85 or more. Way too steep to be a regular occurrence for me. That’s why I used to volunteer my time at our local massage school in Texas. I’m a big supporter of higher education! So you can imagine my excitement when Tiff told me about a 22 Euro massage. I have to hand it to the Spaniards--they know how to live! Tiff made me an appointment with Senora “M,” who speaks only Spanish, for 11am on Saturday.

As part of my massage prep, I called Tiff to ask about my clothing options. She told me it was customary in Spain to go “todos.” This is the all-clothing OFF option. In the States, it is customary to go “sans bra” and slip under the sheets wearing only your panties, but even this is a bit too much (or should I say, too little) for some American ladies. As I’ve blogged before, I am trying to embrace the Spanish Way and I want to “go native” as much as possible. It was in this spirit that I decided to say “Si!” to Senora “M” when she asked, “Todos?” I was not entirely unprepared for what I was about to experience thanks to the candor of my friend, Tiff. Many months ago, I received a call from Tiff after her first “massage experience” in Spain. We laughed and giggled as she told me about going “todos.” We talked all about American Puritan stereotypes, about how Americans are self-conscious of their “neck-id” bodies, and about how in Europe, nudity just isn’t as big a deal. It reminded me of a Seinfeld episode…In Europe, they are all just “sooooo… sophisticated.” She talked about the masseuse pulling the top sheet all the way down to her waist while she was lying on her back, “braless,” and then massaging her pectoral muscles using a “figure eight” technique. She was taken completely off guard. No one had warned HER about the peculiarities of this sort of a massage. I told her I thought I would just die if that had happened to me. She said she probably would have died too if it wasn’t a 50-something woman giving her the massage. She said that after a while, you just don’t think anything of it…

Fast-forward ten months. Now it was my turn. At least I knew what to expect, or at least I thought I did! I showed up all clean and scrubbed and shaved at Senora M’s beautiful casa just a few minutes before 11:oo. I introduced myself in my best Spanish, and we began to talk about Tiff, our families, and of course, my poor back. Then, the time for small talk was over. “Todos?” she asked. I said “Si” before I could change my mind. She pointed to the massage table, and indicated that when I was done changing, I could make myself comfortable up on the table. She even pointed out a little step stool to make the ascent easier for me. It all looked very luxurious, but I noticed something seemed to be missing—the top sheet. No matter how much I was trying to embrace the Spanish way, there was NO way I was going to get up on that table, buck-naked, without so much as a sheet over me. Immediately thankful for the Rosetta Stone lesson which taught me how to say “the cat is on top of the TV” and “the cat is under the bed,” I said, “De bajo la sabana?” pointing to what was clearly meant to be a bottom sheet rather than a top one. She got my point, pulled out another sheet, and laid it on the table. I said, “Gracias,” and she left the room for me to change. I undressed and took my place on the table…snuggling happily under the sheet.

Senora “M” returned, put on some Moorish tunes, and explained that my “head to toe” massage would begin at my feet. She started with my feet, then moved up to my legs. In the States, when the masseuse moves up to your legs, she uncovers one leg at a time. In Spain, when the masseuse moves up to your legs, she flips the sheet up over your waist. As Seven would say, “THAT was totally unexpected.” Couple that with the realization that I had, indeed, decided to go “todos,” and you may be able to understand my wanting to have a massive coronary right then and there. The feeling of wanting to die passed quickly, of course, and I was left alone, so to speak, with my nervous embarrassment. Anyone who has known me for very long knows that I am a “nervous laugher.” I fought back giggles during my wedding vows, for goodness sakes. So there I was, laying face-up on a massage table with the sheet up, trying anything and everything to stifle my nervous laughter. I chewed on my lip, but it was no use, the laughter was coming. I could feel it. I had to do something drastic, or I was going to start laughing out loud like a raving lunatic…not very sophisticated. So I started to think of the saddest images I could. You certainly can’t laugh when thinking about such things, but as soon as I stopped, the embarrassment came back, and so did the impending laughter. I tried meditation and prayer. Certainly God wouldn’t choose this moment to humble me. I said the “Our Father” and the “Hail Mary.” That seemed to stave off the giggling and before I knew it, Senora “M” was movin’ on up. The massage for my “top half” was slightly less embarrassing. At least I didn’t have to conjure up unpleasant images to stifle nervous laughter. After the figure eights, I was treated to a mini-facial…very nice. Then it was time to flip over and repeat the process all over again for my backside. I have to say that when Senora “M” whipped the sheet up to my waist this time, the embarrassment factor seemed greatly reduced. This struck me as odd, and as I had nothing else to do at that moment, I pondered why that might be. Why did some kinds of nudity bother me, while other kinds did not? In my relaxed state, I reconciled it thusly. It’s like the motion picture rating system developed and used by the Motion Picture Association of America (MPAA). The MPAA has decided that a brief sighting of a naked backside garners a PG rating, topless scenes definitely deserve an R rating and any bottomless front shot require an NC-17 rating, for sure. That was it in a nutshell. Since I had only experienced PG massages up to this point, it was natural for me to be a little uncomfortable. Too bad the MPAA only has jurisdiction in the US, and cannot therefore, apply their standards to spas across Europe. Not only was the massage, itself, different from anything I experienced in the States, but so was the conclusion of the session. When the massage was done, Senora “M” removed the top sheet, and began to give me follow-on instructions about certain stretches I could perform to maximize the benefits of the massage. I sat there and listened intently, trying to appear casual as I could with my legs crossed and my arms folded across my chest. After about five minutes, she left the room and I was able to change back into my clothes…alone. As soon as I got home, I called Tiff to relay my experience. She told me Senora “M” probably stayed in the room that long because she’s used to people getting up and changing while she’s still in there. I’m not sure I’ll ever be THAT Spanish! All that being said…the massage WAS great! And, I do plan to go “todos” again…this Friday, as a matter of fact. I suppose that to Senora “M”, the whole massage experience is much like any other chore. There is a job to be done, and there’s nothing to do but get down to it. I will try to think of it that way next time. I post this piece as a public service for those of you who may get the opportunity to “spa” abroad. Let my embarrassment serve as a cautionary tale for you…If you go “todos,” be prepared to “go naked.” Hasta luego…