This is my last day in Morocco and I am the cleanest person on earth.
This morning I went to a Hammam, sort of a cross between getting the scrubbing of your life and a massage.
|Waiting/changing room outside the hammam|
I couldn't take a picture of the inside of the hammam. Picture a small room with mosaic tiles floor to ceiling and free-standing in the middle of the room is a counter-high marble table. It is warm—better make that hot, just short of too hot to lie on.
Once inside the room, I stretched out and then the woman attendant drenched me from head to toe, front and back in a faintly scented oil, olive I suspect. After a few minutes she sluiced me off with just short of too hot water. Then the scrubbing. With a very rough loofa mitt. Every inch of me. Repeated several times. There isn't one cell of old skin on me.
Next was more sluicing with hot water, more oil, shampooing and washing, nice creamy goop in my hair, a final rinse with hot water, a wonderful massage with lots more oil and a final rinse with icy cold water on face and arms. This was all done while sitting up, lying down, turning from side to side and being very careful not to slide off the slippery marble table.
The attendant didn't speak English or French and I speak no Arabic, so the whole hour was conducted with sign language. It's amazing how well people can communicate without words.
The only concern I now have is whether I have lost the protection provided by all that dirt that's been scrubbed off.
Now, off for some last minute shopping.