It's not easy getting virtuallly naked in front of a perfect stranger who doesn't speak the same language. Even if it is a professional massage therapist in a Moroccan hamman. Especiallly if you are with your girlfriend who also doesn't speak the language and there's two massage therapists. If one of them says anything to the other you are just sure it's going to be like "I hope my skin isn't this wrinkled when I'm her age." Or "Hmmmm.....she could lose a few kilos, heh."
But I love massages. I love saunas. So when I read about the Morrocan version of a Turkish bath, I couldn't wait to try it. The fanciest resort in town, Xaluca Hotel, offers the 'tourist' version for guests in a spa not unlike those in the resorts in my home town of Tucson. The moment you enter the spa, you feel its humid heat. It smells of rose water, the favorite scent of a region that grows roses for a living. My massage therapist gave me a quick tour of the spa then showed me to our dressing room.
In the dressing room, we stripped down to our undies and wrapped bath towells (that felt all too small) around us as one of the therapists came in to direct us further into the spa to a very warm room that reminded me of a sauna. We were invited to drop the towell and lay faceup on what looked like yoga mats on a vinyl-covered bed. My therapist deftly began smearing some kind of goo on my legs and tummy after which I was instructed to "Over". The goo-smearing continued on my bare back and legs.
After this short ritual we were instructed by the therapist that spoke the best English to "Rest. We be back." Adrienne and I 'rested' getting hotter and hotter in the steamy little room. We talked of our families and mutual friends while the heat of the room and our bodies warmed the goo into a liquid that our bodies began absorbing. It felt really warm and really good. I think if one were alone, one might be tempted to nap.
In about thirty minutes our therapists came back. Each had a big bucket and a black mitt. I had heard of the 'scrubbing' part of a hammam visit and was used to 'polishing' my skin with a loofa every once in awhile but had never experienced anything quite so rough. I began to feel sorry for the rough wood tables that undergo sandpapering in order to be made into a fine table. Under the scratchy pad, gobs of dead grey skin peeled from my body, the therapist constantly dipping her hand into her hot bucket to rinse her mitt. I concentrated on how beautiful the wood looks after all that buffing.
Adrienne, thank goodness, knew what to expect having been there before. She had warned me to bring dry panties because we would be 'getting wet'. But I still didn't anticipate the large bucket of hot water splashed over my mostly naked and prone body. "Over." Came the command. Hot water crashed down my back, spreading out over my exposed back and legs. Actually, it felt really good. I was being 'washed' and was enjoying being washed instead of washing myself.
"Sit." Hmmmm, wonder what's going to happen. Splash came the hot water, soaking my head. My therapist reached for some wonderfully smelling shampoo and proceeded to wash my hair and scalp. Splash, again the hot water. I felt like my dog must have felt when I washed her funny face. I also felt very, very clean.
After helping me with my towell, my therapist crooked her finger at me. I wasn't exactly sure that meant 'stay' or 'follow me' but in instant fear of being left in a very small towell half-naked, I followed her on her heals. She led me to a room not unlike the room of my massage therapist at home. Low lighting, good smells, soft music. This tme the music was a bit Morrocan-exotic. That was a nice change.
The rest of the massage was not much different from a Swedish massage in the States. There wasn't a head rest but I rolled my towell up in a 'U' and placed my face on it. It worked just fine. The massage therapist worked confidently over my body, draping my 'bits' with a fresh towell as needed. I relaxed, smelling the scent of rose water and feeling the tension I didn't even know I had flowing out of my body and into her capable hands.
When my therapist had finished, she told me to 'relax' and I took the opportunity to lay still for just a few more minutes before sitting up and finding a new barely big enough towell to cover my now oily body and underpants, still wet from the bath. My therapist must have been right outside because the minute she heard noises, she politely came in to the room, crooked her finger, and commanded me 'Come'.
Back to the dressing room where my friend Adrienne was waiting. Remember the dry underwear? At this point of the hammam experience, it was time to blot off the excess oil with more fresh towells, dress in dry, comfortable clothes and retire to the Xaluca Hotel terrace, high above the city, to enjoy the wonderful view of Boumalne Dades and have that refreshing glass of Morrocan rose'.
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