This happened in Costa Rica.
I didn’t plan to be wrapped in a banana leaf. I simply booked a massage. A normal, responsible, post-travel massage. And yet, before I knew it, I was standing barefoot in the jungle while someone carefully prepared a banana leaf like it was part of an ancient rite.
At no point did I ask what the banana leaf was for. That felt disrespectful.
Costa Rica will heal you whether you like it or not.
You can’t just get a massage there. Wellness finds you. You arrive thinking you’re sore from travel and leave reconsidering your lifestyle choices.
Before the massage even started, I rinsed my feet, stated an intention, and acknowledged the earth. Only then was I wrapped, slowly and ceremoniously, in a banana leaf. It was warm. It was large. I looked like a very relaxed tamale.
The banana leaf wasn’t about function. It was about context.
It told my nervous system I was no longer a person with emails. It told my brain this was not a spa, this was a transformation. Would my muscles have released without it? Probably. But without the banana leaf, how would I know this massage was different? How would I justify the price? How would I explain it later?
The massage happened outdoors. Birds were chirping. Something rustled nearby that I chose to believe was a sloth.
At one point, the therapist said, “Your body is holding a lot.”
I nodded. Of course it was.
In Costa Rica, no one needs proof. You don’t question the process. You let the jungle take care of it.
Afterward, I was handed tea and encouraged to sit quietly. I felt lighter. More grounded. Like maybe I should make fewer plans and eat more fruit.
This clarity lasted approximately three hours, but it was powerful while it lasted.
So yes, it counts as a massage. But only because it happened in Costa Rica, I was wrapped in a banana leaf, and at least one person mentioned energy.
Anything else would have just been a massage.
And honestly? I didn’t fly all that way for just a massage.