Hammam, Marrakech-style
Saeed, the night manager at the Riad Hamdane, assured me that Moroccans visit hammams weekly; polishes the skin, says Felipe. OK, I'm in. It was one of those adventures that I was sure I was going to like.
All 5 of us, Valerie Burson, Kirsty Morris, Susan Wright, Felipe Gomez, and I, arrived at the appointed time, armed with our bathing suits, as advised; and split into our different directions. First was the delight of a deliciously cold swimming pool in the cloistered courtyard – desert sun directly overhead – nice polarity of temperature on the skin – served their special hot, sweet tea, of course.
Then a short respite on a chaise longue until summoned by 3 small, round women in black, who hurried Valerie, Kirsty and I into a large pizza-oven-room – small, hot walls, domed ceiling, no windows – where we baked for a period of time. So there we were, 3 white women, lying on plastic mattresses, laughing at what we had got ourselves into. Then the door burst open, and 3 black-garbed women yanked the tops of our suits off, slathered our bodies (front and back) with some kind of slick sauce, then left us to bake some more. In due time, the door bursts open again, and we are briskly led to the shower by the door of the pizza oven and sluiced off, while they take a bucket and sluice down our "bed." Then we were attacked with a brillo pad shaped like a mitt (which they gifted us with as we exited). The polite term is exfoliation. The term we used was "scraping off the top 3 layers of skin." I was afraid I wouldn't have enough skin to hold my organs in situ.
Ah, but that's not all! Back to the shower – sometimes hot, sometimes cold – off slides the remaining skin. Back to the "bed" where we are basted with some kind of mud. Left to cook some more. Meanwhile, Kirsty and Valerie and I are laughing at our own wonderment, the two of them working out what we were being asked to do .. in French. I am guessing we were on some kind of a timer, because the moment we were 'done', in they burst with the next round of treatment. In this case, yet another shower, now standing ankle-deep in water, then basted with an olive-oil-soap mixture – quite soothing – healing to the new skin. Not much talking then – blissing out. But only for a short amount of time, before we are hustled to the shower, robed and taken to a serene room, piped music, soft lighting, chaise longues with pillows. All that in 45 minutes.
And finally – an hour's massage! What a way to spend 2-plus hours!
PS The mitt that was used on me had little spikey things on it, and it was black (so you couldn't see the blood). LOL (I'm making light here, but I would do it again!)
