New Thing #41 – Fish pedicure

Oct 26, 2010 |

Feet. Stinky, big, ridiculous flaps at the end of your body that are annoyingly vital for walking, running, swimming and playing some ball sports badly. Some people decorate them, others clothe them, some even enjoy doing revolting sexual things to them. For most women they represent, I’m led to believe, a financial sink-hole with millions being spent each year on filing, painting, moisturising, clipping, massaging, grating and even tattooing. For most men, meanwhile, they are a proud source of talon-like toenails and epic odours.

Throughout my short life I have treated my feet like I imagine most men have – relative disinterest and casual disdain. They have been housed in a variety of unsuitable shoes and used to kick a football badly and a rugby ball terribly. They have carried me barefoot across deserts in Australia, steppes in Mongolia and, with any luck, over a pit of broken glass in a couple of weeks (stay tuned). One thing, however, that I have never done is moisturise, file or in any way take care of these functional, ugly bits of body.

Even the fish dress better than me

Which is why, on hindsight, agreeing to try a pedicure was slightly unusual for me. Agreeing to try a pedicure where little fish ate the dead skin off one’s feet, however, was just about the most unusual thing I’ve done so far this year.

I arrived somewhat apprehensive at the Aqua Sheko fish spa in High Street Kensington, London on a cold, wet Monday night. There was one other customer being prepared and a row of tanks teeming with lively-looking fish. I was greeted by the lovely Evelina who was on her knees washing my feet within seconds of me walking through the door. The spa was playing some quiet, relaxing music and the staff were hugely professional yet also quite chatty. I could get used to this, I thought.

It is a strange, subservient experience to have someone wash your feet but I couldn’t fully enjoy it as I was transfixed by the tanks of fish. They were literally teeming with little Garra Rufa fish who would soon be feasting on the delights of my hard, hairy, hobbit feet.

Cleansing over, it was time for the foot bath. Sporting an attractive pair of disposable white slippers, I was led to the throne on a platform with an under lit tank at my feet. Deciding that to hesitate would be foolish, I did something I’ve never done before: I thrust my feet into a situation knowing they would be attacked by an animal.

I felt like Gulliver at an aquarium

Now I appreciate that the Garra Rufa in my tank ranged from between half a centimetre and about 4cm in length. I like that they are freshwater and originate from a lake in Turkey somewhere. I even understand that they had no teeth and simply sucked the dead skin off my feet (literally I feel a bit sick just writing this). But nothing could prepare me for the sensation of 100 of the little blighters all sucking on my pale, white feet at the same time.

It felt similar to jacuzzi bubbles, a gentle tickling sensation all over the foot. My notes tell me they congregated around my heel but the pictures show they were far less fussy and covered every possible bit of skin, including half way up my leg. They swam in and out of my toes (unbearable) and sucked on the bottom of the arch of my foot (TOTALLY UNBEARABLE). I couldn’t believe what a feast they were having. One particularly big bastard clamped himself onto the top of my little toe and didn’t move for the whole 25 minutes. He just sat there staring at me like a sullen child.

The fish like pasty white legs apparently...

Slowly I became used to the sensation and settled down. Evelina brought me some green tea and explained how the industrial filters change the water eight times every hour and how on a busy day each tank of fish will eat their way through fifteen different people and how….err, hang on. FIFTEEN people? Good god. So these little fish not only live on human beings’ dead skin, they aren’t picky about who they chow down on either. Creepy.

After 30 minutes or so it was time to lift my feet out of the warm water (forcibly shaking some Garra’s off I might add. I must be tasty) and have the “warm-down” foot massage. Sadly Evelina was with another female client so I had the added awkwardness of having a foot massage from a chap called Luca. As if having hundreds of fish eat my feet wasn’t unusual enough, I now had muscled bloke being intimate with my newly-softened feet. I did not relax at all.

15 minutes later and it was all over. I was handed my my shoes and socks and given a chance to examine the results. I have to admit, my feet were incredibly soft. Where before my heel was harder than a granite chav, it was now about as soft as a day-old beard. Mrs NT says they are like “new feet” and I should now try an “overnight foot masque”, whatever the hell that is.

So, after probably one of the least manly yet utterly surprising and totally delightful New Things so far, would I do it again? Absolutely. It’s weird, it’s wonderful and it’s just a little bit great. Just don’t expect me to clip my toenails.