Trip to the Hamam

One of my most memorable experiences in Morocco was the trip I took to a Moroccan hamam. In Marrakech, Cristina, two of my dear friends and fellow evacuees, and I set out to experience a hamam, which at the time none of us knew much about: something like a spa, Moroccan style.

So there we were, four silly American girls walking into what looks like… well, I don’t know what to compare it to. The entrance door was small, then there were lots of tiled walls, and then someone somehow knew which of the two doors was for women.

We entered what I guess I would call a Moroccan locker room, where an older woman was sitting at a desk surrounded by bags of clothing, and two larger Moroccan women were changing into their clothes. One of my friends took the lead and conveyed to the women that we were interested in entering the hamam.

What followed were lots of hand gestures, pointing, awkward stares, grunts, and the exchange of money. I don’t think any of us really knew what was going on, but before long we were sitting on the plastic benches, with little more than towels to cover us.

Our very generous host (I mean generous physically and as a character trait) ushered us into a large room with white tiled walls, and gestured for us to stay put. No problem. The four of us stood awkwardly holding on to our towels, watching women who were not wearing their towels, come in and out of other, similar looking rooms.

A few minutes later our friend came back and began making more gestures that none of us really understood, until she tugged one of my friends’ towels off. The three of us who still had towels on our bodies looked horrified for a second, and then followed suit. We remained standing awkwardly, only now we had no towels, and could not stop giggling. I can only imagine what the other women in the hamam were thinking.

Next, we were escorted into another room that looked pretty similar to the first, only a little smaller and warmer because there was more steam. Faucets around us were filling buckets with hot water that women were taking and moving from room to room.

We continued sitting awkwardly and laughing hysterically, watching everyone else go about their business, until again we were called on, this time individually. One of my friends went first, and the rest of us watched as the generous Moroccan woman scrubbed her down. We were each instructed first to lie flat on our backs, and then when our friend was finished, lay on our stomachs on the hot tile floor. I don’t know how else to describe it, but this friendly Moroccan woman just took what feels pretty close to sandpaper and scrubbed each one of us down until all of our skin was bright pink and clean.  

If you are ever in Morocco I highly, highly recommend the hamam experience. It was certainly awkward at first but a lot of fun and by the end I think all of us had thoroughly enjoyed ourselves, and entertained all the Moroccan women there.