Tag Archives: Ayurveda

Last(ing) Impressions

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I had planned to spend my last evening in town.  I wanted to look a fish in the eye, and call it dinner.  Off I went in a taxi with fellow guests David and Sylvia.  We had all manner of plans for a nice stroll along the seafront, cup of tea, bit of shopping and then back to a fish restaurant for a non-veg dinner.  About 1km from the hotel, the rain started again.  I was wearing my lovely new red sandals (again).  


When we got to town, David and Sylvia waited in the taxi whilst I repeated my barefoot sandal saving dash to do my errands.  I said my goodbyes and picked up some lemon cake takeaway from my friend Geemon.  We stopped off in just one shop where I admired one of the most beautiful shawls I have ever seen and was “singing bowled” by the owner.  The use of the singing bowl is supposed to free the body of fears. 


 We then stopped at the “Divine Supermarket”  I checked the price of cups.  20 rupees including saucer.  That will be a detail for my email to the hotel manager.  He made the mistake of asking me to give him feedback.


Back to the hotel.  It was still raining. That did not hamper the performance of Indian dance (classical to Bollywood) and Keralan martial arts on the open air stage.  They gave us some tandoori fish for dinner, but it did not have eyes.



Bathed in oil

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I am now at the end of my stay here.  Beena and Binju have done their worst.  Today, it was a gentle massage followed by an oil bath.  They do not fill a tub with oil and get you to climb in.  You lie on the massage table and they rhythmically pour warm oil over you.  It would be very relaxing.  It is very relaxing.  For most people.  They warm the oil in large pots on a calor gas stove perched on a wobbly stool.  And that is why it is not very relaxing for me.  I lie there and hear the oil sizzling and crackling.  I am just waiting for it to ignite like a chip pan fire of old.  There is no fire blanket.  There is not even a lid for the pot which might kill the flames.  The rickety stool with the calor gas stove is placed directly in the 18 inches of space between me and the door.  There are bars on the windows. I am naked and oily.  How will I get out?  And so I lie there, all slippery, and just a little bit tense.  Every time the pot is removed from the stove, I can relax a bit.  And then the moment comes when they will pour it again.  In my neurotic mind, they have overheated it.  Blisters are forming on my skin before they realise their error.  I am deep fried and truly Scottish.