Lying facedown while one of the Gigantes in the spa pummels my body in a massage that goes beyond shiatsu or Thai massage or Swedish deep-tissue, I flash back to my first days at the inn. The scent of neroli oil, whatever that is, fills my nose, and the whole massage experience fills up my senses. Just like it did then. And oh boy, I am a lot more experienced than I was then.
"What's so funny?" Daji asks in a sleepy voice. "You're snickering to yourself."
"Sorry, didn't think you could hear me over the sitar music and the pounding," I answer.
"Well, I can."
She's facedown with her arms folded beneath her head so she can't point to her fox ears, as perked up as antennae.
"I'm impressed--OW!"
I moan and groan as my gigantic masseur works what feels like the mother of all knots in my deltoid muscles. The knot unravels and I melt into the massage table.
