On Tuesday morning, I spend a long time choosing my underwear. Not too big so I look dorky, but not too small either. I’m going to a hammam, where I will wear only my underwear, and I want to find the perfect balance.
This is my first visit to a hammam. They had them in Mauritania, but I was put off by my Arab friend Aicha’s description of waxing. “You leave a bottle of Fanta orange in the sun until it’s become just a paste, it’s sticky,” she told me. “Then you smear it on your arm and yank it off!” I curled my body into a ball and shrieked at the thought. I have very sensitive skin.
“No, no,” said my friend Sumi. “A hammam is a bath. It’s so relaxing, and afterwards you are so clean!” To top it off, an American friend described going to a Westernized upper-end hammam, where afterwards you lie on a heated marble slab while getting a massage. That did it. I was convinced I had to try it.
I wanted to try a traditional Moroccan hammam rather than one that caters more to expatriates. Sumi offered to take me to the one nearest her house, in L’Ocean. (Guess where that part of the city is?) She bought me a keiss at the market, which is basically sandpaper disguised as a sponge. She bought the traditional soap, which is piled in goopy brown pyramids in the medina. She tells me it’s made from “olive bones.” I don’t correct her because I like this imagery.
The hammam has women’s hours in the mornings, and opens about 10. We meet at her place where we drink water before heading over. When we walk in, we see piles of wood, roots of trees, etc. “That’s very traditional,” she points out. The burning wood heats the water. Usually next door there’s the neighbourhood bakery, and the same fires are used to heat water and bake bread, but for some reason, next door in L’Ocean is a garage.
We pay our 11 dirhams (about $1.40) and enter a large tiled room. I sniff appreciatively—chlorine! Smells like a swimming pool! I feel like I’m in a locker room as we put our bags down on a bench and strip to our undies, then hand our bags, plus 1 dirham (12 cents) to a woman who’ll watch them for us. We walk in to an empty room that’s only a little warmer than the one we just left, and from there into a room that’s definitely warm. Women sit round the edges, several of them accompanied by children. Each has several buckets in front of her.
We keep going into the hottest room, and take our places in the corner closest to the oven, which is behind the wall. “If it’s too hot, we can go back,” says Sumi, but honestly although it’s quite warm, it’s not even as hot as a sauna. We spread out our plastic mats and sit back. I’m impressed with this place—it’s very clean and tiled. We have plenty of company—there are probably 20 other women in the room, surrounded by their buckets, but everyone keeps to themselves.
Sumi’s already spoken to the woman who works there, who is wearing a headscarf in addition to her underwear. She brings us bucket after bucket of hot water, filled from the taps near us.
Sumi instructs on how to smear one’s body with the traditional soap, which she swears is unique in its properties to penetrate layers of dead skin cells. I dunno—my money’s on the sandpaper, but I don’t deny that it’s pleasant and may have exfoliating qualities. She even puts a little on her face.
We sit back and relax to let the soap soak in and loosen up those dead skin cells. We sit there, eyes mostly closed, for about 10-15 minutes before the woman comes back. She takes my keiss and briskly, professionally, rubs my entire body. It hurts! I grit my teeth and squinch my eyes. It feels lovely on my back, though. I open my eyes and view with amazement the fat grey little rolls of dead skin on the mat beside me. The woman laughs! Yes, it really works.
Afterwards, she rinses me off with the hot water from the buckets, at one point dumping an entire bucket over my head! Then she moves on to my friend. My skin is lobster red and I look parboiled, but I’m very relaxed. She refills our buckets, and I take my time shampooing my head, rinsing bits of dead skin off my mat.
We pad our way back out to the first room and retrieve our bags, then we wrap ourselves in towels and just sit on the benches for a while. We apply lotion to our bodies. Then we dress and head out back into the cold, draping scarves round our heads to ward off chill. We tip the “scrubbing woman” 30 dirhams each—about $3.75. Grand total for this expedition—a little over $5.
Back at her house, we drink several glasses of water and eat some oranges, chatting of this and that. Later, at my own home, I eat lunch and then just sort of sink into my bed. I can’t keep my eyes open. But my skin feels incredible. It’s never been this soft. I feel deeply clean and relaxed. I wake an hour or so later feeling refreshed and renewed, and totally addicted to this new experience. I can’t wait to go again.
21 comments
January 25, 2010 at 6:21 pm
Rachel
Where do I sign up?? 🙂 Sounds positively relaxing, much better than going to the gym.
January 25, 2010 at 7:35 pm
Mrs. G.
This sounds warm and wonderful. I’m in!
January 25, 2010 at 8:51 pm
bea
Wow that post was riveting. Not QUITE as good as the real thing, maybe, but almost.
January 25, 2010 at 9:04 pm
jean
I would need to go buy new underwear. It sounds delicious.
January 25, 2010 at 9:17 pm
planetnomad
Rachel, according to my friend, the deep scrubbing loosens up your fat cells and makes them release oil, so it helps you lose weight! Sounds like urban myth to me but I don’t care–I’m in. Definitely more fun than the gym.
And Jean, no you wouldn’t. I’m sure I put more thought into it than anyone else.
January 25, 2010 at 9:22 pm
Becky
Your life is so much more exciting than mine…. 🙂 Thanks for the details. Those kind of things fascinate me! I’ll just live vicariously through you until my kiddos get a little older.
January 26, 2010 at 1:19 am
viagemafora
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January 26, 2010 at 5:29 am
KathiD
Ohhhh, that sounds lovely and luscious.
January 26, 2010 at 6:56 am
Linda
Where can I find me some olive bone soap? That sounds like a great experience except for the wet hair in the cold part.
January 26, 2010 at 7:27 am
LG
Wow, who is Mrs. G? not me, but that’s what my students know me as!!!! Identity crisis.
You know, in NKC it cost 2500 UM for the hammam. I guess that D. bought me a keiss, though she had a different name for it. But the little baggie of black soap we got at the hammam and it burned my skin. It hurt so much, I had to wash it off early. And the scrubbing hurt. I had tears running out under my squinted eyes, but I didn’t know how to tell her to take it easy! I think you want to wear out your Keiss a bit doing dishes or something, so it rubs a bit more gently!
But yes, my skin felt so soft. I sort of meant to go back, but you know, being married has its advantages, I can give that little black glove to Mr G and have him scrub me and it doesn’t even cost 2500 UM!
January 26, 2010 at 9:04 am
Susan
One of the tags for this post is “boring everyday life” … that always cracks me up. Boring – my Aunt Fanny! Which being interpreted means, no way is this uninteresting stuff. I love reading about your discoveries there. Makes me want to stick my nose out a bit further, outside of my comfort zone, and try something new here in Switzerland. As soon as it stops snowing, that is.
January 26, 2010 at 9:24 am
planetnomad
LG, the soap was nice. It didn’t burn. I have extremely sensitive skin, which was why I’d never tried this before, but I had no problems except for pain during scrubbing. Sumi said the Moroccan hammam and soap are the best in the world, and she’s someone who’s traveled a lot. I believe her!
January 26, 2010 at 3:38 pm
Tonggu Momma
It would be a tad more expensive for me to go… I’d have to purchase new underwear. Heh.
January 26, 2010 at 7:15 pm
gretchen from lifenut
I am another who has glommed onto the underwear issue. Yes, a shopping trip would be in order.
The experience sounds scary and heavenly. I too love the image of soap made from olive bones. “Olive Bones” would be a good book title.
January 26, 2010 at 7:57 pm
Debbie
Hey – can we go while I’m viiting you? 🙂 Sounds great! I’ll probably be ready for some relaxation by the time our “grand tour” is over!
January 26, 2010 at 11:01 pm
Kelly @ Love Well
I’m not sure you should share the story with us non-hammam Westerners. It sounds incredible. I wonder if they left pregnant women in?
January 27, 2010 at 4:59 pm
Pieces
Wow. That just sounds amazing!
January 27, 2010 at 5:25 pm
Mary Margaret
ahhh!
January 29, 2010 at 5:42 pm
nonlineargirl
It sounds both great and a little scary (sandpaper on skin).
January 30, 2010 at 3:28 am
LG
Hey Debbie, did you ever go in Mauri?
February 1, 2010 at 1:56 pm
MaryWitzl
Oh, take me with you the next time you go! This reminds me so much of the sentos in Japan. No massages, but I always felt so incredibly clean and relaxed afterwards.