Stellenbosch, Spier Winery, and A Terrible Massage

After a lively stay in Cape Town, we did an overnight in Stellenbosch, a colonial-ish university town surrounded by thick vineyards. We thought this would be our opportunity to finally slow down, drink wine, and relax for once. More than a few friends recommended going to Spier, famous for a few reasons: wine (duh), their farm-to-table food sources (omg), and an all day kids club (hooray!) 

In short, it was delicious, nice, and pretty. But, not particularly relaxing- because the minute we laid eyes on the black and yellow cruiser bikes, we all gained a second wind. We couldn't just not ride, so we brought the kids to their club and took off as if we were starring in a summer romance film in the country side. I loved every second of it, plus Mark took the kids on a bike ride while I could escape for an hour to get a relaxing massage. However, I am pretty sure I just don't know how to relax...

A five foot tall, 20-year old man-teen with a sparse goatee and meat-packer hands called me into the room. I made my usual idle chit-chat and during my massage I managed to learn the following: he's 1/2 Afrikaaner, 1/2 German, and 1/2 Portuguese (verbatim). The latter is why he likes spicy food so much. Though he's never left South Africa,  his dream is to travel to the United States and visit... Kansas... for no known reasons other than "it speaks to me" and that he likes the color yellow.  He loves gaming, hates his parents, and considers himself the black sheep of the family. Lastly, he hasn't quite graduated from massage school yet, but he knows deep in his heart that aromatherapy is a holistic-health game changer. He just couldn't stop talking! But I guess it's not his fault, I couldn't stop responding. 

As we came to the near end, I figured he'd finish the massage with arms and hands, my absolute favorite part. Apparently, that is an extra 250 Rand (17 USD), and proceeded to the scalp massage instead. He announced he'd be doing something different and not asking to see if I'd care.  Like an oily baptism, he ladled directly onto my face and proceeded to rub his hitch hiker thumbs into my 3rd eye. It felt like a mother sternly rubbing dirt off her kid's face, but grosser and totally unrelaxing. Then he palmed both sides of my head and squeezed it like a cantaloupe. With that, he left me to gather my leaked brains and get dressed. 

Now, I had a feeling he used a bit of oil, but I didn't know how much until I stood up. I wiped out taking bottles of lotions and the bedding with me. No one can make a graceful exit after that, but I held my lubricated head high as best I could, and strolled out the door like I did that sort of thing every day. I found Mark who had just dropped the kids off at their club. We drank some wine, ate dinner and laughed at my non-relaxful, sopping existence before preparing ourselves for a full day driving back to southern Namibia. 

The only photo I took that day, and I was of a tireD cow in Stellenbosch.
I guess I was too busy drinking wine and getting slopped on.