Tuesday 14 August 2007

You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours... or something like that!

So I was sitting in the banya with my friend.  We had just been in the sauna room and were now sitting out in the cooler change room, covered with face mask goop. The banya is possibly one of my favourite places to be in Kazakhstan. There's nothing quite like sitting (naked) next to a good friend, either in companionable silence, or baring your soul while sweat is gushing out of every pore. As the toxins leave your body, so does the pent up stress. I don't know what it is - possibly the lack of clothing - but in the banya you can say things you just can't say anywhere else. There's an element of vulnerability and trust that just doesn't exist outside the steam-filled walls!

So we were sitting there in companionable silence when one of the other woman in the room began talking to whoever would listen. She bemoaned the fact that her son was still not married "How can this be when he is such a good boy?" she asked with overly dramatic wide eyes. Casting them over the handful of women in the room, she finally rested their gaze on me. "Девушка - you're not busy right now? Good. You can rub this honey on me."

I've been in the banya enough to know that this is a perfectly reasonable request to make of a stranger. I've even applied honey to various rough patches of my skin and seen how, combined with a good steaming session, it can turn elbows and heels soft and beautiful. I've just never had the privilege of scrubbing someone else with the sugary grit until this day. Following my usual habit of "fitting in", I wordlessly rose and proceeded to spread honey all over her back. But not even my oft-repeated silent mantra "just be like a local, just be like a local" could make me go further down than the small of her back - even though I know she is expecting me to continue on to her buttocks! While my mind is occupied with the absolute absurdity of the situation, and how I could possibly ever explain it anyone outside of Kaz, her mouth is still yapping away and I find that I am half listening to her. "Ahh, девушка, this is good is it not? You are such a fine young girl. It's so hard to find a good girl these days. How will I ever find one for my son. I need to find him a wife that will be a comfort to me in my old age. Sometimes a daughter-in-law can be better than a son, yes? But only if you find the right one. I need to find one like you who will look after me like this for the rest of my life..." On and on, her voice, as sickly sweet as the honey I'm rubbing into her skin, glides over the drum beat of my internal chanting "be like a local, be like a local" It's become a bit of a game for me here - seeing how long I can be anywhere before someone pegs me as an иностранка, one of my least favourite russian words.

Finally - its over. Or so I think.

"Thank you so much, now turn around..."

And so I found myself being vigourously scrubbed with honey - and she being a local, had no problems reaching all the way down below the small of my back... and all the while she is exhorting the merits of her poor unmarried son...

And, so steamed, scrubbed, detoxified and pure, I left the banya, once again thinking "once you get over the 'this is NOT normal in my culture' thoughts, it is really quite a wonderful experience!"