Oh Jodie

She was stern, but her hands were strong. As the robe slipped off my shoulders and fell lightly around my arms, I realized that, though public nudity probably plays a larger roll in my life than it should, I have never been so publicly undressed (verb). It was a strange thing to feel so helpless, to feel the next thirty minutes were entirely up to those tiny, firm hands. In my state of heightened awareness, the lotion was ice on my back, an uncomfortably effeminate affront to my already fragile masculine nature. And then, all of a sudden, it didn’t matter any more. There was pain, but it was oddly euphoric, a strange dichotomy that my mind couldn’t quite wrap itself around, but that my body was very convinced of.

I was getting a Creme Bath at Jodi’s Salon, the decadence of which was in stark contrast to the rest of my time in Papua. But maybe I should start from the beginning.

I crossed the threshold into a world of curling irons and steamers, a world so foreign that it might as well have been populated by bobble-headed aliens. In fact, I actually thought it might have been, until I realized the steaming-headed extraterrestrial was actually a woman getting her hair … something’d. And so I was a bit discombobulated when they handed me a folded up robe and ushered me into a changing room. Why did I have a robe? What should I take off? The shirt seemed a foregone conclusion, but what about the pants? I thought they were only going to work the shoulders, but then why the robe? Would I look sillier if I were to be wearing pants when I wasn’t supposed to, or if I wasn’t wearing them when I was supposed to be? The pants stay on, for sure. The tough decisions made, I unfolded the robe and put it on. It only came about three inches past my waist; the pants were a good choice. So far so good.

Then came the shampooing and the head massage, followed by the shoulder massage, which was where I lost all inhibitions about checking my masculinity at the door. As I sat there in a blissful stupor, she kneaded the tension out of my shoulders, alternating between deep pressure and lighter swoops. And oh the swooping. I was a fan of the swooping.

When the swooping stopped, my mind kicked back in, and I began to wonder about the other clientele in the adjacent chairs. They obviously had money (at $7 US or 70,000 rupiah, Creme Baths didn’t come cheap), but what was their life like? Papua, to me, was a hodgepodge of beaches, jungles and rivers; it was a series of ‘outsides,’ where ‘inside’ served only as a quiet, cool reprieve before one again returning to the Papuan outdoors. But a lot of the hair that I was seeing emerge from the steamers was sculpted, crafted, sometimes seemingly cajoled and magic’d into place. It was inside hair. What would it be like to experience Papua from the confines of a room? Would they be content in their air conditioning and Creme Baths, content to reduce the Papuan beauty to scenery?

I have to admit that I got on a bit of a high horse, smugly condescending on my ivory pedestal as I viewed those who have lost an appreciation for what was just on the other side of the door. The masseuse might have been a bit clairvoyant, because it was at that moment that the swoop became a decided jab, and the change in pace interrupted my thinking a bit.

When the pain subsided, I forgot that I was thinking about them, and started thinking about me. Had Beibei become nothing but scenery? How much of my time was in closed restaurants and coffee shops, or in massage parlors or living rooms? How much of my time was spent trying to manage my surroundings instead of finding ways to enjoy them? How much was I trying to be comfortable in spite of Beibei and how much time was spent appreciating Beibei itself? I feared that in some ways, I had lost touch with the very things that drew me to Beibei.

I loved the CrËme Bath, but it was more Vidal Sassoon than Sentani. If that was all that I know of Papua, had I ever even been there? Had I left Beibei long before ever getting on a plane? The questions got to be very ponderous and kindof a drag, so I avoided them by opening an Indonesian Cosmo, taking the love quiz by randomly choosing answers, and then having Jared translate my results. Apparently I’m a “handle player,” whatever that is. Either way, it was a pleasant distraction from the unpleasant questions.