Wednesday, 16 June 2010
Toronto, Canada
Up on the 23rd floor the hotel is shrouded in rain. And the view is of the inside of a cloud. Tipping it down. Am struggling to walk, dear reader. My left foot. Is knackered.
Decide it needs seeing to. A massage is required.
Chinatown will definitely have massage places.
Upon arrival it’s not strictly Chinatown. More everything that’s not Canadian town. Tibet. Nepal. Jamaica. West Indies. Most of Asia really.
Quite a hippy and run down area.
Pick a random one that looks half decent and clean. Greeted by a bunch of Chinese girls. And explain requirements.
It’s CA$45 for an hour’s massage. This is not a euphemism for something else, dear reader. This is a genuine foot massage!
Feet are soaked in tea. For some time. All part of the service.
Young Chinese girl takes me to a massage room. She soon realises I’m too long to fit on the table. So relocate to a chair in the corridor.
And then she begins. Even I can tell how bad it is. Very stiff muscles and tendons. All that weight of the rucksack probably hasn’t helped. Plenty of clicking of joints. The sort of clicking that goes right through you.
And then she finishes.
Oh. My.
Now feels like I’m walking on air. Rather than being in constant pain.
Oh yes.
This is good.
