birthday recovery

After surviving my 21st birthday, I set out with some friends to wander among the Beijing hutong, the traditional courtyard houses martial arts movies have familiarized you with. Like many medieval European cities, hutong developments have narrow, winding streets and high walls. The only unobstructed views are down alleys. Many of the hutongs have been renovated to attract tourists, their insides stuffed with Italian espresso, Indian curry, and Belgian beer instead of Beijing families of less money and more tradition. Still, given Beijing's track record, the revamping has been remarkably unobtrusive and tasteful.

After a 2pm breakfast of ricotta ravioli, Chimay, and surprisingly good espresso, I felt inclined to a massage. My more experienced friends suggested a medicinal massage clinic a stone's through away, and I paid the equivalent of $7 for a thirty minute foot massage - what seemed like the safest way to test the waters. My therapist was quite friendly, and we gossiped about Beijing in Chinese while he scraped the dead skin off of my feet with a chisel. Most of the massage was below my pain threshold, but about twenty minutes in the guy's fingers hit the mother of all nerves on my right sole. My therapist immediately looked up and, through a mixture of infant Chinese and impromptu sign language explained that my unnaturally sore sole was a result of tension in my shoulders. He suggested cupping to ease the tension. He was insistent. My comfort zone was in need of stretching, so I decided to try it out. Two minutes later, I was face down on a table with flaming glass bowls sucking on to my skin. I'm sure this is old hat for lots of you, but I had to try hard not to whimper. Fortunately, though, the glass parasites were removed in a few minutes and I limped home in one piece. My shoulder should be pretty loose now.