A Pampering of Sorts

Sundays have become one of my favorite days of the week.  A Sunday Funday I call it, filled with some of my favorite things: mimosas, a myriad of facial cleansers, masks, and scrubs (maybe not in that order) much to the chagrin of my husband who looks at me after a sigh that speaks more than words ever could say and then shakes his head or tilts it to one side confused. I don't really know if all of the creams, masks, scrubs work, but it makes me feel good, and isn't that the real point of it all. But my self care doesn't just stop there. I enjoy a mani, pedi, my manicurist being one of my best friends, and of course a monthly massage or facial, depending on how I feel.

So, it should be of no surprise that finding a nail and massage salon was literally high on my list of things that I needed, no, not just wanted, needed to do for myself, even if I was in another country.  Now you may think that everything is so much cheaper in Mexico and it is in places, but you have to look for them and the service may be a bit unfamiliar, but you are in a different country, so that should be expected.  If you want the American version of things you can find them here of course and you will pay American prices for them, or at least the prices that I pay in middle America.  If I lived on the coasts I might feel a bit differently.

I took my time finding a nail salon, having written down some numbers and whatsapping more than a few places. By the way, I love the fact that the salons here prefer a WhatsApp message rather than a phone call. The amount of anxiety I have when calling someone is extraordinarily quite high. Sometimes I forget what to say next or I begin to talk when the other person is talking. And then if the date and time that I need does not align with their schedule, I shakily try to switch back and forth from my google calendar and our phone conversation, always hitting the wrong button and then frantically apologizing before trying to figure out how to to put them on speaker phone. In other words, texting was and is a godsend for someone like me.

Many of the salons that I reached out to were charging 800 to 1000 pesos for an acrylic manicure fill with gel.  That’s an equivalent to 43 to 53 American dollars, depending on how the dollar is doing of course and lately it hasn’t been doing that well.  And a pedicure with gel was going to run me about 600 to 700 pesos, or 32 to 40 dollars.  You may think that is still cheaper than in America and to be honest with you I probably would have picked one of those places, but G loves to truly become a local when visiting Mexico and going to a tourist trap quite literally would make his skin crawl. I knew this of course, so I went looking to find a better, cheaper option. Surprisingly, the better deal was sitting right next door to our studio apartment.

The Beauty Salon, located in Playa del Carmen, is where I decided to go.

This is the outside.

And the inside.

Cute, right?

I, of course, brought my own beverage.

I showed up at The Beauty Salon, missing two fingernails and feet that needed some tending to.  Areli didn’t bat an eye, but let me know that her English was limited. She started with the pedicure first. My feet, I'm embarrassed to say were really needing it. But I had been walking about 20,000 steps a day and have been trying to get back into running.  Needless to say, my calluses were callusing and a particular two toenails, the same ones that I had completely lost in an unfortunate sandal debacle during the Austen City Limits music festival had seen better days.

 At one point I told her, using broken Spanish of course, and having this uncontrollable need to over explain why my feet were in such a state, that I was a runner.  I also knew the Spanish word for run, so I wanted to impress her with my amazing Spanish vocabulary. She looked at me for a beat and then said, “And do you run with tennis shoes?”  As if to imply that perhaps I run barefoot and that would explain why each toe had a marble sized callus on it or maybe she wasn't implying anything at all, tennis shoes being the only word that she knew. I get it. Conversing is limited when words are not remembered and the tone can sometimes get lost, diminished or misinterpreted. If you have ever struggled with learning a new language, please drop me a comment, would love to share a story or two; maybe I'm not the only one that feels like an idiot when my too large tongue can't wrap itself around the unfamiliar words fast enough.

Areli worked diligently on my feet for perhaps two hours and my hands for another two.  So different from America where time seems to always be running out, the person that has their time slot after yours is already lined up, ready to take your warm chair so that they can get started on their own nails and then get back to their daily life, whatever that may look like for them.  But this is Mexico for you, never rushing, taking time like it’s an unlimited quantity. After you get over the initial idea of not rushing through things I think you will find it a refreshing way to live.  And this makes me ponder the question: why do we rush around so much anyway? Do all of our tasks really have to be completed when we think that they do or can they wait, can we wait, can others wait, and while all that waiting is happening can we just simply begin to live?

Both manicure and pedicure cost 900 pesos or 43 dollars.  Over half of what I was paying in the United States and it was well worth it.  Areli was sweet, kind, put up with my limited Spanish skills and messed up feet like a pro. She was very worried that I did not like her process and wanted to make sure I left satisfied. There were a few things this shop did not have, however. When getting my pedicure she asked if I wanted warm or cold water. When I said warm, she went to the coffee pot, where water was warming and used that to fill the small bowl at my feet. The water was at best luke warm, but it being over 90 degrees outside, I really didn’t mind it.

Here is the final product, feet not included. This isn't an Only Fans’ account.

Now onto my massage.  Around every corner you will see a massage salon and most of them are rather cheap, 35 American dollars or so, but they are on 5th Avenue, one of the busiest streets in Playa del Carmen. Many masseuses' yell at you to come get a massage from them when walking up and down this particular street. I don't like being yelled at for one, and second, I often will do the opposite of what seems the most glaringly popular. If a book has blown up on social media, I will rarely read it. That famous movie that is based on an equally famous book? Unless I have already read the book, I won't read it once fame has gotten itself involved and I most definitely will not see the movie. The same goes for being pressured into getting a massage from the pushy ladies that are throwing pamphlets my way and calling me blondie. That's two strikes actually.

This is the place that I found or rather G found for me.

My masseuses' name was Marie. Before I even made it inside her salon, she had the door open, cheerfully waving me inside. She then ushered me into a small room with a massage bed.  I noticed that the white sheet she instructed me to get under had seen better days, but I wasn't really that bothered. I of course laid in the opposite direction of how she explained in English mind you that I should. She entered the room, laughed when she noticed what I had done and then told me to turn the other way. Embarrassed I gripped the questionably white sheet and awkwardly made my way to the other side of the bed. There was no music to be turned on, no questions of which scented lotion I would prefer, like I said no frills. 

Before I could even completely get comfortable Marie got to work on my back and the strength in this small woman’s hands had me squealing, but alas, I needed it.  I wouldn’t say it was a relaxing experience, but it was a necessary one.  My back was in knots that went all the way up to my neck and she got them out one right after the other with sharp precision and surprising strength.  The whole thing cost me 500 pesos or 26 dollars for 60 minutes, although she finished a few minutes early. I found out later that  she will go to your hotel, apartment, house, if a massage bed is available for a little extra cost.

Needless to say I will be going back to both ladies.  After finishing each treatment I had a feeling of loyalty to support truly local, independently owned salons, both seemingly owned by women and that was really the best feeling to me anyway.  Areli was very good, precise, but she did take a very long time, so if you want to wait it out, for the price, it's a diamond in the rough.  In contrast, Marie was fast, she got my knots out, but it was not a relaxing experience.  If you need someone strong to work on you, then she may be your girl, but if you are wanting to relax, be wined and dined, I would look elsewhere, but like anything, you will pay for it. 

I have to say my self care preservation has remained in tact, and I’m relieved to note that I will be able to find comparable salons to the ones I adore in the U.S. once we live here full time. Mexico really has everything, but you must have the patience to look, the patience to wait, and really is that such a bad thing? The ocean is my neighbor, and a cat being around every corner, I have promises of many a waiting buddy.

Let me know if you have had a manicure, pedicure, or massage in another country. Would love to hear about your experiences.