After an exhausting day of adventuring we passed by a massage place. It looked clean and tidy, so we said why the hell not?

We were met at the counter by a scruffy looking gent, two woman and two young kids. I was immediately taken back to the fateful massage we endured in Cambodia where a naked toddler essentially pole danced in me Jenny’s face – encouraged by the owner – his mother!

The chap opened up his appointment book with a heavy sigh – they were so busy.  We locked our time and went on our way. 
On our return the two women, who were obviously the “therapists” were there. They looked at us and the man announced “they are for the massage”. 

The man was the father of the two kids and from what I could gather his wife ran the dead skin fish eating spa around the corner and they both tried to get the kids out of the shop, who were playing around the equipment. 

As soon as the women started our foot massage they threw themselves into a Greek whisper marathon where they took turns at taking a breath. There was a lot of eye language between them, looking at the man, then back at each other, then out the door, all the while frantically whispering to each other. Every now and then one would ask us if we were ok or if the pressure was good, to which the other immediately copied. They even mirrored each other’s massage moves, making me think that one was learning from the other, we couldn’t tell which one though. 

I did wonder if perhaps they threw themselves into the “reflexology massage” with as much gusto as they did their conversation, we might have had a half decent treatment. But, then I wondered if perhaps it was their choice to work there. Were they being forced to rub strangers feet for the scraggly looking man? Was he paying them fairly? Had they had a break all day? They clearly weren’t trained therapists, so maybe my theory was true. I was fascinated. If only I could understand Greek I would have asked them to speak louder. We could have hatched a plan to save them and get them off the island…..

At the end of the massage Kiki’s lady asked if she had problems with her hands. Kiki said she did a bit with one hand. The therapist said, “yes, I could feel it.” My therapist, having watched and listened to that exchange immediately turned to me and asked if I have a problem with my head. Ummmm, sorry, what?

That night we walked by the shop again and next door at the cafe, drinking and laughing together was the scraggly man, his wife, both the woman and some other people. 

This doesn’t mean that the case is closed, but it probably means that I’m off the case. 

This might be where he made them live.