The Boy With The Arab Backscrub

For as long as I can remember I've had a sore neck and shoulders. I think it's something to do with the way I sleep. My neck is so out of whack that I can touch my head on my right shoulder, but I cannot do likewise on my left. However, I've always just put this down to being another one of God's little obstacles for me. I've never sought of rectify the situation, I'm not really one for taking care of myself. I don't actually believe in it.
However, this morning I was down at the Victoria Gardens shopping centre on the corner of Burnley and Victoria streets (you know the one, where the Ikea is) and walked past this Chinese massage place. 20 coins for a neck and shoulder massage. Feeling reckless I decided to venture in. I slapped a twenty down on the counter and told them to sort me out. Whilst the massage was taking place my mind drifted back, way back, to October 2002. My cousin Lucy and I had decided to go to Morocco. Well, the truth is that Lucy had decided to go to Morocco and I exclaimed in my most paternalistic tone "Well, you're not going by yourself!", forgetting for a moment that Lucy is a vastly experienced traveler, and that I have a comfort zone that barely extends beyond the dimensions of my bedroom. The adventure was a wonderful experience, however there was one specific wonderful experience that I was recalling as I was getting this Chinese massage. A few days before we left Morocco we were in a town called Essaouira and decided to go to a hammam (respective male and female versions of). Now when you go to a hammam you can either just sit around in the corner washing yourself, OR you can do it the traditional way and hire an 11 year-old boy to scrub you down. Not wanting to offend local tradition, I went for the boy. Let me tell you, if there's one thing 11 year-old Moroccan boys know how to do it's clean a man. But not only did this boy clean me, he stretched my body in ways it had never been stretched before. I came out of the hammam not only feeling more shiny and clean than I ever have, but totally loose and flexible. My body felt fantastic! I paid the boy his 30 dirham (about £2) and gleefully gushed "Merci!" almost a dozen times. I think he was sure I was going to slip him a few more dirham to extend the service, but unfortunately that wasn't my scene at the time.
Just as my beautiful recollection was finishing the Chinese massage was doing likewise. I walked out of the place with hope, but I felt nothing. My shoulders and neck were still stiff, I let out a longing sigh and drifted my mind back to Morocco once again as I walked home. Will my body ever feel so good again? It may cost me an expensive airfare, but I hope so.