Herein lies the rub
'Blind massage' in Shanghai strip mall gets lost in translation
SHANGHAI, China -- The cab dropped me off at a seedy-looking strip mall with giant signs advertising massages.
With no small amount of trepidation, I walked up an even seedier looking set of stairs and opened the door to Tang Dynasty Massage Care Center, open until 2 a.m.
(AP file)
A smiling woman stood behind the front desk. I quickly said a silent prayer that she spoke English.
"Hello," I said. "I would like a blind massage."
Judging by her quizzical look, I'll assume God had more important prayers to answer that day.
"Brind massage?" she asked, clearly confused.
"Blind massage," I said, covering my eyes with my hands in hopes of hurdling the language barrier.
In an effort to create jobs for the visually impaired, the Chinese government developed training programs and tax credits to help blind people become professional massage therapists. It spawned a mini-industry in a country that views massage less as a luxury and more as a medical necessity.
For many Chinese, massages are a weekly routine. The treatments typically are affordable and carried out in a no-frills environment. (Forget the fluffy robes, citrus water and glossy magazines.)
It's thought that blind masseurs have an especially keen sense of touch to compensate for their lack of sight. The concept sounded intriguing, so I asked the concierge at the Park Hyatt Shanghai to hook me up with a blind massage. But I was beginning to think something got lost in translation.
Looking at me skeptically, the smiling woman pointed to a list of treatment options on the wall. The words were in Chinese and English, which was a huge relief ... until I read the English: Medicine bag full body massage. Foot skewer. Kidney care massage. Foot scrape.
What? Where was the peppermint body scrub with chocolate aromatherapy? Or the lavender pedicure? Hell, at this point I'd have welcomed a run-of-the-mill Swedish massage.
I pointed to the safest thing I could find -- a full body workover -- and once again covered my eyes to remind her that I came for a blind massage.
She said something in Mandarin, probably along the lines of, "Yes, crazy American lady, I know you want a blind massage." She led me over to a saggy couch in the lobby and motioned for me to take off my boots. She handed me a pair of bright red Chinese slippers, which were about three sizes too small.
A man waiting on the saggy couch turned to me and asked, "Where you from?"
"America," I said, giving him a big I-hope-you-don't-hate-Americans grin.
"Obama!" he responded. We both smiled and nodded, realizing this was as far as our conversation could go.
The front desk clerk broke the awkward silence when she reappeared to take me across the creaky wooden floor to a tiny, dimly lit room. She motioned for me to get on the massage table, which, like the slippers, was too small. But I wasn't about to -- nor was I able to -- complain.
The clock on the wall went tick-tock, tick-tock, as I waited for my mystery masseur to show up.
After a short knock on the door, a man in his 20s entered the room. He did indeed appear to be blind. Either that or he was a very good actor sent in to appease the crazy American lady.
Traditional Chinese "tui na" massage uses deep pressure on certain parts of the body, purportedly to stimulate energy, improve immunity and relieve pain. Over the next hour, Mr. Blind Masseur dug his thumbs into my back, pinched my neck, squeezed my temples, pummeled my legs and vigorously scratched my scalp like it was an instant lottery ticket.
He sat me up on the tiny table and pounded my back the way you'd burp a baby. A baby you were trying to kill.
I don't doubt for a second that Mr. Blind Masseur knew all about acupressure points and meridians and qi, but this was way beyond the Mario Tricoci stuff I was used to. This hurt. And not in that so-good kind of way.
I would have gladly traded my entire Mandarin vocabulary -- ni hao (hello) and xie xie (thank you) -- for the ability to just say "softer," but the language barrier rendered me mute. As for him being able to see my discomfort, well, I was out of luck there, too.
When my 60 minutes was up, I hobbled in my too-small slippers back to the front desk to pay the bill. It came to a whopping $11.70.
Now that's a happy ending.