We're at Saravana Bhavan, nourishing a friendship back to health over a dinner of dosas and steamy cups of Indian chai. But our words fall flat, unable to remain aloft. To our left, the kitchen sizzles with the sounds of frying; to our right, a flat screen television blasts a Bollywood beat and above us, the piped in sounds of traditional Indian music together compete quite effectively, drowning out our conversation. We give up, our voices strained.
My friend suggests we do something relaxing and borrows my phone. She calls ahead. They are open late, she is sure. "Ok, ok, " I hear her say, "we'll be there at 10."
"What time do they close?" I ask. "Eleven p.m., " she says. "Let's give it a try," I reply.
We jump in the car and drive, passing by older style motels with neon signs. This is the seedier stretch of El Camino in Palo Alto. Then we see it - we think. There are two signs for very different businesses, but with similar names. It's confusing. Shadows move from behind the curtains - it's that one. We are not alone at this late hour. We duck into the non-descript, darkened building, chased by the night air.
Three people greet us. "We were at the apartment, " they say, "but we came back."
Sorry, says my friend, but I'm cringing of embarrassment. I'm not keen on being the last ones in. We're inconveniencing them. What time did they really close?
The dimly lit room seems enormous, with spaces for 15 people. We lie down on side by side oversized loungers. I feel nervous. Nobody talks. (Clothes are on, only my head band was removed.)
Slosh, slosh.
Water, hotter than I'm used to arrives in a plastic tub. I slip my feet into it, trying to relax but my mind is at odds with my feet. My mind says relax, stay. My feet say run away quickly. Too hot!
I bristle but my germ free feet stay put.
A man arrives, freeing my feet from the cauldron. A fuzzy white towel and then ooooh, nice! I like that...mmmm. I sneak a peek at my friend through the darkness and she's got her eyes closed, a half smile on her face. I close my eyes as well, letting go of everything. This is so different, a new experience. I like thi...OUCH! Owieowieowieowie!
My feet are being touched by someone who is angry. My feet are not happy. I am not happy. But this is Happy Feet Foot Spa so why aren't my feet happy? Why aren't I happy?
This will feel good in the end, so worth it.
Ouch. My body is tense. Stop. Please stop, I say silently.
But the strong hands continue. I start to relax, tolerating the pain. It hurts but I don't want this to stop. I feel alive.
Then the hands move to my scalp, molding my hair into a rat's nest, before making the journey southward toward my arms, my hands, my legs, my back. The hands press down on my legs like a chest compression in CPR and when they move over my bum left knee, my entire body tenses up, anticipating the pop of my knee cap, but the hands are gentle there, sensing the fragility.
The hands work for an hour, non-stop. Deep tissues have been awakened. I will be sore tomorrow. Then, it's over and I am gulping down water from a small cup.
I look over at my friend, dazed. She looks over at me, dazed. We stumble to the cashier to pay, our hair tousled in an unbecoming way. We whisk out our payment of twenty five dollars apiece and step out into the night air, shuddering at the cold.
We collapse into the car, not sure what to think. We stretch, acutely aware of our muscles.
"That was great, " my friend and I agree, trying to convince ourselves.
"It will feel better in the morning, " I manage to muster.
We are so tired.
"I fell asleep, I think, " I say, trying to figure out how I really feel.
Lavande this is not, but then again, Happy Feet isn't trying to be a day spa. This is Chinese reflexology, an ancient art.
Will I go back?
Well, yes.
I went back last week, in fact, with this same friend, our friendship mended, six months after our first trip to Happy Feet.
This time, six months later, the room is crowded. It's 8:30pm on a Friday night and every lounge chair is taken. A Yelp sticker graces the front door. The ambiance is different this time, it feels safer.
Lather. Rinse. Repeat.
The experience is the same. I neither loved it nor hated it. I can't say that for a mere $25, I feel like a million bucks because I just don't feel like a million bucks. I feel like 25 bucks. Would I go back? Yes, absolutely. I think it's got to be doing me some good. Yelpers, it seems, love Happy Feet! Me? Not so much. I had a dazed mind but fairly happy feet and a friendship which is back on track. I'm happy.
There's even a Happy Feet in San Jose near De Anza college! I was thinking of arranging a Mom's Night or Day Out to Happy Feet, but it's just so quiet there. There's none of the chit chat I'm used to hearing at day spas and we moms love to chat.
Original post to Chalk and Cheese Chronicles.
