For all girls out there, a Shellac gel manicure at Lixing Guangchang is only $12 U.S.! That's an amazing bargain, since comparable treatment in the states ranges from $25-45 at least. The first time I visited Lixing's manicurists, the result was a beautiful green shade that lasted for weeks. This time I was going for a bright, coral-tinged red- just in time for spring.
Eleanor, Lesley and I rode the not-quite-so-crowed city bus for 30 minutes or so before arriving at Lixing. We put our names down for manicures, then perused the wonders of H&M until the time came for our appointments. I casually picked up a cropped Pink Floyd t-shirt and denim shorts, since the selection of spring/summer clothes I brought to Hangzhou is pretty limited- and I was craving some aspects of Western culture. Punk rock all the way!
We arrived at the manicurist's and settled down into the three cute little round seats as peppy Chinese manicurists gushed about Eleanor's pale skin, my blonde hair, and Lesley's awesome highlights, feeling like quite the superstars. Not only had we shocked them by nature of being American, but today our choice of attire was actually, by Chinese standards, above-par. The pampering began with all the usual pomp and splendor as our manicurists filed our nails into perfect square shapes and pushed back overgrown cuticles. It was paradise- especially compared to our usual daily afternoon activities of cramming for listening exams and writing essays.
The situation was about as perfect as could be expected, except for one unfortunate aspect. Although it was about 63 degrees outside on Friday, on the second floor of the Lixing Mall it had to be at least 85. The heaters were pumping out hot air like it was nobody's business, and were doing so without the least bit of circulation. The atmosphere of stagnant hot air was kind of nauseating, and coupled with the not-so-heavenly fumes of nail polish remover and whatever scary chemicals are hidden in Shellac (a kind of nail polish that won't chip for a month), I started feeling ever so queasy and light-headed.
The manicurist had just put the first coat of red polish on the nails of my left hand when all of a sudden the edges of my vision started filling with tiny, dense black specks. I stood up, grabbed my hand away from the meticulous embrace of my manicurist, and collapsed into a nearby pedicure chair with my knees drawn up to my chest, suddenly overtaken in waves of nausea. Whether my lunch had contained something not-so-great, or that Snickers bar at Watson's (a drugstore by H&M) just didn't agree with my digestive tract, or if the combination of chemical fumes and stale air and horribly uncomfortable heat just got to me, all of a sudden I was compelled to grab the nearest trash can and relieve my stomach of everything it had consumed that afternoon. In the middle of the nail salon. I threw up about four times, all right there in the middle of a Chinese mall kiosk manicure parlor.
By the time I returned, embarrassed and sickened, from cleaning my face up in the sketchy mall bathroom, I found the Chinese manicurists all matter-of-factly going about their business. One had cleaned up the bits and pieces that didn't quite make it into the trash can by wiping the floor with tissues. One had purchased a bottle of water for me and pressed it, and a few more tissues, into my hand. My own manicurist had picked up a vial of mint-scented essential oil and waved it under my nose, dabbing a bit onto my upper lip, temples, and the center of my forehead. Their calmness and apparent lack of surprise about the whole situation was surprising, almost unsettling, but I really appreciated their help (since I felt like the China Plague had finally done me in). Maybe people throw up at Chinese nail salons on a regular basis- that's how nonchalantly they handled the situation. In fact, as soon as I wasn't visibly retching anymore, my manicurist promptly grabbed my right hand and proceeded to finish my manicure, all the while with the trash can right by my side, just in case.
There really must be something to Eastern medicine- after thousands of years of practice, the Chinese have definitely figured some things out. The mint smell did wonders for the state of my stomach, and helped counteract the effects of the wide variety of delightful odors circulating the Lixing mall. As the manicure was finishing up, my manicurist was explaining (in Chinese) that it was a good thing that I threw up, since that way the "bad stuff" was out of my system. I felt gradually better and better as the mint did its job, but just to make sure, I crept back downstairs as soon as the primping was over to breathe some fresh, cool air. Surprisingly, I felt great- great enough that our original dining plans did not even change, and we went to the Teppanyaki restaurant as planned. Heck, I ate an all-you-can-eat Japanese steak dinner that very evening, almost to apologize to my stomach for dealing with so much abuse that day.
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| Teppanyaki restaurant (on a previous occasion.. I stuck with Sprite last night!) |
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| More Teppanyaki love |
Looking back on it, it's actually a pretty funny situation. How many times in life does one throw up at a Chinese nail salon? Hopefully, for me, just this once. But maybe I'll go pick up some mint essential oil, just in case.
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