Massage for Money

THE ESSENCE OF VULNERABILITY

Walking, walking, dressed all in white carrying a white chair under one arm, a small poster in the other. It reads: "Need a back rub? how about a... Massage!! Pay as you wish". The path I have trodden up to this point, that of a shameless attempt to provide massage services in exchange for some form of profit, is an intricate path. Sprouting from the need for money, and getting momentum from my sense of silliness, I thought why not? People should get more massages anyway. But shame is an interesting thing, halting us along the way with whispers of disapproval... Were it not for a stubborn impulse to experience what I dream up (as much as possible!), I surely would have given up on the project; instead I devised a ten-point plan, structured carefully to ensure my sense of self-worth (read: ego) would not get in the way of the final objective. So it went: type flyer in computer... print and photocopy flyer... pick up cardboardbox in supermarket trash... draw a sign on cardboardbox.... etc. I gain a brief insight into how men are able to accomplish military objectives - by focusing on specific tasks one needs not fathom the ultimate disgrace of their actions.

The idea may not seem wholly unreasonable from the outside, but everytime I stopped to think I began to laugh - self deprecating humor is enviable, isnt it. So I consciously halted the thought process, arriving at the center of the old town, where literally thousands of wandering tourists, pretty girls, and other performance artists congregate, and stroll about. To actually put the poster up on the wall to advertise my availability as a masseuse was like jumping off a 40 foot cliff into an undisclosed depth of very cold water. It took me the greater part of an hour to do it, breathing heavy. Meanwhile, this guitar player by the fountain was singing such awful music I was sure it was intentional for comic relief - how could this clown get up there and play his gig, while I sat huddled like a frozen cucumber?? No matter he was inebriated with liquid confidence, most likely in the form of beer; i knew I had to do it alone. What is shame, but being afraid of exposure to vulnerability. It compels us to keep our clothes on while in public, and uphold such noble concepts as integrity and decency; yet it also keep strangers from talking to each other in a grocery store. Plus, it is that much harder when you lack company, and in your aloneness there is no friend to push you along, and laugh together when things fail. This insecure shame kept me teetering...

When I stepped off the cliff the freefall was pleasant, as expected. Ironically, everyone was too embarassed to actually sit down and be massaged- all I got where some girlish giggles and strange looks. Perhaps this is why people spend $50/hour on a massage, to get a guarantee that this isnt just a display of eroticism. I crashed into the water - ie, the shit hit the fan - when I glanced over to the clown by the fountain and a solid crowd had gathered around his dissonant sounds, magnetized by a histerical group of drunk Italians who decided to sing along. And I learned my first formal lesson in public dynamics: you are only as popular as the amount (or kind) of people which give you attention. So I packed my bags, so to speak, in composed failure, and walked the long way home.

A few days before I had made a similar jab at getting work at the marina, where hundreds of yatchs and sailing boats converge. I thought, surely someone seeks the companion of a charismatic, robust young man as myself - and besides there are some really rich people here who might actually pay money for me to cruise the Mediterranean. Like the a royal prince from Oman, who reportedly has two mega-yatchs (one for him and many wives, and one for their acquisitions) and sends $1000 each day on flowers. However, I was at a loss when it came to approaching boat owners, most of whom spoke no word of english. When I asked for help at the main office I was nearly chased down by the receptionist saying, how dare you try and steal the jobs of young unemployed Croats, who are still struggling after the wartime? I remembered this that night when I walked back home dressed all in white, with my chair and massage poster, and I felt like a soggy dumpling which has been dipped in milk too many times. Frustrated, because I imagine perseverance is the only way in succeed in unconventional ventures; but I just didnt have the necessary kind of extrovert energy to make it happen. The energy is powerfully inwards, like a vaccuum in my mind being filled by bubbly gas; so I decided to rid myself of this external stagnation and bail out, leave Dubrovnik. The next day I met a French couple on vacation; we ate dinner together, they offered me a ride north tomorrow. My aim now is to send off most of my baggage to an undisclosed post office in France, where I can pick it up in a few weeks; hence I may travel light, camp in scenic beaches, and hitchhike across Europe.