One of the things to do while in Morocco is to visit a hammam (or Turkish bath). For 80D (US$10) your body is scrubbed brutally clean. And both Christi and I are in dire need of a deep clean after our adventures in Mauritania. We have sand…well, everywhere. And I mean everywhere! Typically hammams set aside separate times for male and female bathing, but such is the power of tourism, couples’ hammams have begun to spring up in Morocco so Christi and I can be scrubbed clean together. The staff at the Dar Mounia hotel recommend an establishment off the beaten track, which takes us an age to find. The place must be fairly authentic because no one speaks English. Consequently, there is some confusion as to what – if any – clothes we will be wearing and who will be scrubbing us. We’re taken to an ante-room to change. We strip to our underwear to retain a modicum of decency and are then escorted to a tiled, heated room reminiscent of a sauna. The floors are heated, there is condensation on the walls and ceiling, and the floor is also wet. We are encouraged to lie down on our backs and I for one feel rather exposed with only my briefs to spare my blushes. As I lie there all manner of…interesting thoughts occur to me. I’m not that comfortable with strangers of either sex touching me, but the prospect of being bathed by a drop-dead gorgeous woman has me sweating a bit…
A reassuringly plump, middle-aged woman enters our bathroom and I sigh with relief. Christi rolls her eyes. Apparently she is comfortable with anyone touching her naked body. The middle-aged lady fills a bucket with hot water from a sink in the corner of the room and douses Christi. She follows this up with lathering Christi in black Argan oil exfoliating soap. Every inch of Christi’s exposed flesh, including her breasts are soaped. I watch with amused interest. Then it’s my turn. I’m doused and soaped in the same way. The woman speaks to us in Arabic and we nod, although we have no clue what she said. She then leaves the room and we’re both left to stew for 30 minutes.
On her return she brings some scouring pads and immediately goes to work on Christi’s tender body. The dead skin and dirt that rolls off my beloved is quite disconcerting, although mine is even worse. It is mildly painful, but by the time the woman has finished scrubbing and scouring we have soft squeaky-clean bodies. We look cleaner and cuter than a Gerber baby!
We soon ruin all that good work, however, by walking along the beach. The wind in this town is definitely bracing and it whips up the sand, covering us in dirt again. It’s a very pleasant, if windy, walk with bikini-clad tourists lying next to Moroccan woman covered from head to toe. I can’t imagine it’s a very pleasant beach experience for the Moroccan ladies. Later we return to the fish market, where we had lunch on our first day, and from there to the docks where the catches are brought ashore and the fishing boats are maintained. We watch in fascination as nets are fixed, boats undergo repairs, and the fish are gutted. We satisfied our craving for clean skin earlier today, now it’s time to satisfy our stomachs.
Blog post by Roderick Phillips, author of Weary Heart – a gut-wrenching tale of love and test tubes.
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