Day 29: Renewing
My Journey to the Sea and Beyond
Some days don’t change your plans.
They change your skin.
What happened today wasn’t luxury. It was precision. Cotton. Heat. Quiet.
A woman named Marta, strong hands, no performance, only presence.
And somewhere between steam and clay and pressure points I forgot existed, I returned.
Not to memory.
To now.
Today was a yes.
My Travel Diary - Previous Days:
1 / 6 / 7 / 20-1 / 20-2 / 21 / 22 / 25 / 26-1 / 26-2 / 27-1 / 27-2 / 27-3 / 28-1 / 28-2 / 29-1
Day 29: Renewing
Casa Refugio – Rooftop Terrace
I don’t know how long I lay on that lounge chair.
I only know this:
I am not the same person
I was this morning.
It began when I undressed.
Slowly.
Not shy,
but careful.
Not out of shame,
but because I knew
my body was about to listen.
They handed me a white robe.
Thick.
Soft.
Not luxurious,
but perfect.
It smelled of sun, of cotton, of detergent without perfume.
The woman who received me was named Marta.
No model.
No angel.
Completely woman.
Wide hips, strong hands,
a body shaped by a calm life.
She spoke little.
Only what was needed.
But her tone
soothed me instantly.
First came the face.
Steam bath, rosemary, moist warmth.
I closed my eyes
and released the trembling in my jaw.
Then the scrub,
rough, circular, guided by fingers that knew
where the old tension still lived.
She brushed on a clay mask.
Greenish, cool,
with a soft brush.
I felt every stroke
across my forehead, cheeks, nose, chin.
Then silence.
Only my breath,
and the faint crack of terracotta walls in the heat.
Then the foot reflex massage.
A chair.
My legs raised.
She began gently,
then firmer.
She pressed into zones I couldn’t name,
but my body knew they mattered.
My back sank deeper into the seat.
My head fell to the side.
I was there,
but no longer awake.
Completely myself,
but weightless.
Then came the real massage.
I lay on my stomach.
She covered me,
a small towel over my hips.
Enough to feel safe.
No more, no less.
Her hands began at my neck.
Slow.
Firm.
They moved across my shoulders,
taking time with each strand of muscle.
Down my arms,
forearms,
fingers - each one.
I had forgotten
how much tension lives there.
Then down my back.
Gentle work with elbows.
Long, sweeping motions.
She pushed, pressed, stretched.
Every knot suddenly not an enemy
but information.
“Something happened here,” my body whispered.
She massaged my buttocks.
Naturally.
Broad, strong, without hesitation.
A muscle like any other.
And yet, so sensitive,
so full of memory.
Then the thighs.
Outer.
Inner.
The muscles around the knees
finally allowed to lengthen.
And the backs of the knees…
I had forgotten how delicate they are.
How alive.
Then the calves,
her thumbs tracing along the Achilles tendon.
And again, the feet.
She held them for a long time.
Not only to work them.
To feel them.
Then she asked me to turn.
She laid a narrow cloth across my middle.
Discreet.
Functional.
She began at my temples.
Circles.
Pressure.
Then forehead,
cheekbones,
jaw.
She released something
I hadn’t even known was tight.
She left the chest untouched,
not out of modesty,
but respect.
Yet she touched the borders,
where skin softens
and trust resides.
Then belly and waist.
Her fingers made no difference
between important and unimportant.
Everything was important.
Every surface.
I felt my abdomen loosen.
I no longer held it flat.
I simply breathed.
Fully.
When her hands reached my hips,
she rested them on the cloth.
Not firmly.
Just present.
I could feel she was asking,
silently.
I took her hand.
Softly.
Steadily.
And with my eyes I said:
No. Not there.
She understood.
Immediately.
No awkwardness.
Just a small nod.
She continued.
Inner thighs.
Close.
Near.
But never beyond.
And it was,
yes.
Arousing.
Not sexual.
Awakening.
As if someone had turned the light back on
in a room I had forgotten existed.
She finished at my toes.
Slowly.
Lingering.
Held my feet in her hands
like something you return -
whole.
I stayed lying there.
She said nothing.
Neither did I.
When I dressed again,
I was soft.
And new.
Now I’m sitting here again.
On my terrace.
In my body.
Not in thought.
Not in memory.
Only in this moment.
Tomorrow will be another day.
But today
was a yes.
“This one is pure body-memory.
No plot. No drama. Just… renewing.
Did it make you exhale, too?” 🌿