Looks like you're in the UK. Did you know The Strategist is too? Soon after we moved to Italy to open our new hotel we decided to try out massage therapists for the property. I distinctly remember the first tryout with a rather handsome man who also happened to be our second chef. I was lying on the table — front up — and to my surprise he removed my towel, poured oil on my nipples, and then for a good five minutes massaged my breasts. After living here almost a decade, I have become entirely at home with this aspect of massage in Italy.
Although I do always suggest that masseuses inform our guests of this part of the therapy in order to avoid any embarrassment on either side. Case in point: the paper panties that you must wear during treatments. In most massages I have had the world over, you get to choose if you wear the disposable underwear left on the table, but in this country, not wearing them is a decided affront. I can always tell who are the German tourists and who are the Italian ones when I go to one of the spas in the northern part of the country.
The Germans have absolutely no issues about taking it all off nota bene: Leather sandals and hairy balls do not a good sight make whereas the Italians will always wear a bathing suit even in a single-sex sauna or steam room.
A bikini-line cleanup is fine, but if you ask to take it all off or even for a narrow landing strip, an uncomfortable silence descends and you will end up only with a conservative approximation of the request. I sometimes think about what they would say about the complete Brazilian of the J.
There are some treatments in my new home country that are of a completely different emphasis than I am used to. For example, I love an intensive facial, one that involves extraction, including an old-fashioned needle, microdermabrasion, and a pain level close to a first wax experience. So I tend to get massages and body wraps here, but wait until I am out of the country for my facials. But going back to the pert backside.
