The hot shower felt especially good that morning as I contemplated the rest of the day. I decided to head out for another quick breakfast nearby first and then to make a call to Massage Sense to set up the next stage.
This morning’s breakfast consisted of more fresh bread, this time with cheese, orange juice, and the usual — and strong — coffee.
Thus fortified, I headed to a park not far from the café, found an empty bench partially shaded by mature trees, and placed a call to the Massage Sense number that I had previously programmed into my cell phone.
“Hallo,” came a spirited acknowledgment over the phone.
“Goedemorgen,” I replied. “I’m afraid I don’t speak much Dutch. Do you perhaps speak English?” I questioned the voice at the other end.
“A little,” was the response. “How can I help you?”
“My name is Michael Tallent. I’m only in The Hague for a few days and I’m afraid I’ve suffered some pulled shoulder muscles. The concierge at the hotel gave me your number and suggested that a massage might just be the thing to relieve some of my aches. I was wondering if you might have some openings today for a massage? Oh, and the concierge said that Niels was very good. Might he also be available today?”
“Just a moment. Let me check our schedule book.”
There was silence from the other end for a brief moment and I could hear a faint shuffling of paper before the voice came back with “Yes, Niels will be working this afternoon and he has an opening at 3:00 p.m. Would that be satisfactory?”
“Very much so,” I replied quickly. “I’ll see you this afternoon. My name again is Tallent, T‑A-L-L-E-N‑T. Dank ye.”
With a few hours to kill before the massage appointment, I decided to visit some of the museums in the city and settled on the Gemeentemuseum and the Maurithuis. Visiting both would require some driving, but it would also allow me to see some additional sights while doing so.
After a few fulfilling hours at the museums, I drove to the massage salon on Zoutmanstraat and entered into a clean and orderly establishment that was obviously not one of those parlors catering to clients looking for something more than a massage.
“Goedemorgen,” I greeted a pleasant-looking lady behind the counter. “I’m Michael Tallent and I have a three o’clock appointment with Niels.”
“English?” was the polite inquiry directed to me.
“Yes,” I replied. “I apologize that I don’t speak much Dutch.”
“Quite all right. Niels speaks a bit of English as well so you should have no problem.”
“Dank ye,” I smiled. “I’m trying to learn a bit of your language even though I will only be here a short time.”
She offered directions, “If you will go down the hall to the second door on your left, you can disrobe there. When you’re ready, just press the button near the door and Niels will be with you shortly. Each room has a shower and there are towels there as well.”
“Dank ye,” I said and started down the hallway.
After shedding my clothes, donning a towel around my waist, and pressing the button on the wall, I lay face down on the padded massage table to await the arrival of Niels.
The room was spotlessly clean, a high-class operation.
Before long the door from the hallway opened and in walked Niels, clad in a white, short-sleeve shirt, white trousers, and white sneakers. He was not a bulky individual, but wiry and tight-muscled, dark brown hair and about five feet, nine inches tall.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Tallent,” he began. “I understand that you don’t speak much Dutch. English is fine. I trust my accent isn’t too pronounced.”
“Not at all. You speak English very well. May I call you ‘Niels’?”
“Of course. You have pulled shoulder muscles, yes?”
“Right. Just aching right now. I don’t think there’s any permanent damage, but I’m hoping you can make the soreness go away.”
“I’m sure a good massage will help,” he said as he moved to a small metal table and picked up a small jar of yellowish cream, scooping a sizeable glob onto his fingers.
The cream felt quite cool at first when it hit the skin between my shoulders, but it began to warm pleasantly as Niels moved his hands expertly across the top of my back and onto the shoulders.
“That feels very good, Niels,” came my muffled voice from the facial slot in the table. “Do you use this cream on all your clients?”
“Yes, indeed. It’s a special concoction that I made up recently. My clients seem to like it so much that I’m thinking of marketing it. I have one special client who likes it so much that he gets a massage every day and wants to buy several jars to take home with him. I heard he’s about to be released and tomorrow may be the last massage he’ll get from me.”
“Prison?” I acted surprised. “You give a daily massage to someone in prison?”
“Yeah. Rules here are pretty relaxed and he seems to be a personality. Plus, he pays double my usual fee, so who am I to question things? His name is Stenolic. He’s from Serbia. That’s about all I know about him.”
“Strange,” was all I could say as Niels continued rubbing and my imaginary ache vanished.
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After about twenty minutes, Niels let me know that he was finished, “That’s about all I can do for you, Mr. Tallent. I hope you’re feeling somewhat better.”
“Very much so, Niels,” I said. “I appreciate being able to get in to see you so quickly and the reports of your ability don’t give you enough credit.”
“Thank you, sir,” he responded. “You can make payment at the front desk, but tips are always appreciated.”
We shook hands, he left the room and I went to shower.
After dressing I left a twenty Euro note on the table and a little something extra in his massage cream.
