Bali or São Paulo?
I have finally arrived in Brazil with 2 extra pounds on my scale. Let’s not forget that here it’s summertime and I must wear my bikinis to go to the beach. I could not take anymore of those amazing French cheese and baguette bread and those Greek olives that my French paparazzi friend Cedric keeps on bringing to my apartment with the excuse that we only live once; nor of those inevitable chocolate blue frosted cupcakes from the Magnolia bakery in Soho that Natasha, a friend of my daughter, makes also a point in bringing to the apartment for just a small taste as a comfort from the New York’s cold weather.
Part of my plan for the weight loss is an emergency coconut water diet to detox and I have immediately called a clinic that does miracles in sculpting female bodies without the traditional knives and scalpels. If I recall, the phone number is the same, but the answering machine voice sounds more like an AT&T operator just like at home in the States. “If you want to schedule an appointment, press the touch tone key 1, but this is just for one appointment; if you want to cancel an appointment press 2, for all other enquiries please stay on the line, an operator will soon assist you”.
After waiting on line for enquiring how I loose 5 pounds I am asked if I want my lymphatic drainage massage in the bungalow or inside the house. Bungalow? What Bungalow, do I have the wrong number? Apparently not, the operator’s voice recognizes me and warmly greets me with a: “ Welcome, Joelle, everything has changed, you’ll love it! Huuuff, I am back in Brazil.
I choose the bungalow, this evening, at 7. The space has drastically changed; I am at a totally different place at the same address, maybe the Jymbaran hotel spa in Bali? A young and pretty girl takes me to a corridor where old Balinese wooden fences surround a Jacuzzi and Nandina plants, a kind of bamboo used by the Japanese to throw their worries on and keep the negativity out at every main entrance door of their houses.
Candles and cement Asiatic lanterns are located on a small bridge under which carps are swimming elegantly in a little water pond. Half a dozen rooms are named, on their walls, after Indian gods like Shiva, Ganesh and Devi. I am already feeling that goddess- to-be sensation by smelling from far my favorite aphrodisiac scent, Ylang Ylang, prepared especially for me in the form of an essential oil waiting to be spread on my skin in the so expected bungalow. Before I take my clothes off, my attention is caught by the picture, in a Playboy magazine cover of this month, framed and hung on the wall, of an bombastic and pretty girl that I have met in person, thanking the owner of this place for we all know what.
Ok, my decision was perfect, my lymph and all the water that I retained in my cells all these months in NY will leave my body so fast that my picture will one day be hung on the wall of someone special to me, very soon. The sound and sight of a gracious and very noisy waterfall is not allowing me to hear the pretty masseuse screaming that my bungalow is right in front of me…. I am already dreaming of a thinner me on a beach under another bungalow.
The hammock is warmed to a temperature of 22 degrees, the orchids, ventilation, oils, mask for the eyes and infrared light for extra warmth on the feet are on place, and no, I am not in Bali, nor in São Paulo, I am in heaven.
To be honest, I must be honest, lymphatic drainage massage hurts tremendously if you have some extra weight to loose, but you see, this is what sculpting is all about. The little Rodin girl, while applying this strong and firm massage to my body, is asking me with a voice full of disappointment and astonishment: ”Joelle, why did it take you so long to come back???”
My answer was, while watching the sapê fiber and raw wood ceiling: Never ever again, I promise.
Related Links:
http://www.hara.com.br
Petter Hegre's
