The things we do for massages

Jakarta has something like 15 million people and the sun is always an indistinguishable orange-ish blur behind a thick layer of pollution that doesn't let up, which makes doing things outside mostly disagreeable.
That and it's constantly hot and humid, and crossing the road is taking your life into your own hands. Which is why we called our driver to pretty much take us across the road - remember the Ritz - in full visual from the apartment - yeah, he drove us there. I actually think he was really confused and thought we wanted to go somewhere else, and that even the spoilt fat white women wouldn't be that lazy. Yeah, well, we are.
We were greeted by men with machine guns, sniffer dogs, a car inspection (not just a token effort) and actually frisked (and again, not just a token effort, that woman now knows my inner thighs). Inside it was a ghost town, and I got a bit of a shiver thinking about the bomb. There's absolutely no evidence of damage - apart from the fact there is totally no one there and a sense of desperation from staff to greet you with a smile and desperate enthusiasm. These two keen day-spa-ers weren't going to be held back by machine guns. I totally got my nude on too, my therapist had a rather liberal attitude to it all, and clearly wasn't going to leave the room while I changed or showered after I was coated in oil, so what option was I left with. I'm usually pretty prudish about that sort of stuff, but there are times when the meh impulse takes over.
Two 90 minute hot stone massages later we were ready for lunch. We went to the "Satay Club" which is a popular chain, and very delicious. I had chicken satay and gado-gado. nom nom. Oh - and fresh mango juice. Important.
Then we got our shop on - back to the same place we were yesterday to purchase things we passed over thinking we'd find more later. Turns out we didn't, so back to get running pants, running socks and Banana Republic knits. Banana Repubic is the best. We totally need it in Oz. I was totally excited to see Top Shop, but everything was a bit Supre (cheap and nasty and best left to 13 year olds), Marks and Spencer (purchases were made, but it was hard work finding good things amongst all the really bad stuff), Club Monaco (apparently there is no need for anything over a size four), Zara (purchases made), and Mango (I know we've got it, but it's different o'seas). So pretty much all of my purchasing was done in international chain stores we don't have in Oz.
Oh - AND I found another Diane Von Furstenburg store, which had a blue leopard print wrap dress in my size, and I got it on, and it was super cute, but it just wasn't love. And it was more than $400 AUD, so bap bow. I totally love my current one (which Jamie bought me for my birthday a couple of years ago), and this just wasn't love, which I think is a pre-requisite at that price, so I walked away. And sometimes the things you walk away from are just as important as the things you take home.
Frank is arriving home shortly, and I'm making salmon with mushy peas and slow roasted tomatoes. Yum! Disappointingly un-Asian, but mum thinks he'll be over Asian after some time in Aceh (where incidentally they've just passed some laws allowing stoning for adultery and homosexuality, but bribery and corruption they aren't so concerned about).
So there is only one thing left to do that's really on my list (apart from magically transform into a size four) - I want to go to a place where they have the fish that suck on the dead skin on your feet! And they have them, so it's just a matter of us getting organised to do it. I don't want the Dodds to be the only bloggers who have had this experience - you know, for the sake of impariality. The Dodds might be in the pockets of the sucker fish people and be giving good reviews in exchange for free sucks. Ah ha ha. That last sentence could be so rude, but it's also in context, so I'm going with it.