m. alain and the hammam

On Friday Steph (a cool girl from Quebec who we met in our dorm) wanted to go out and get prices for various excursions and so we decided to go with her. The first place was near our hotel and easy to find but the other place was, according to the lonely planet map, on some unnamed street somewhere in the deeps of the medina. We set out in the general direction and asked directions of many people along the way...as we got closer we would hear "oh yes, it's just around the corner, just take the first left and then the second left and it's there" and so on. We walked around and around, away from the main streets with the shops into the more residential parts, which are narrow crooked unmarked alley-like streets lined with blank white walls and small doors. The only noise seems to come from a faraway radio playing arabic pop music. A boy who is eating at a bakery kindly helps us to find our destination and once we've found it takes off again without asking for any money. However one of the boys that he asked for directions things we should pay him, as do the group of smaller children who are all playing around the corner from M. Alain's door. Unfortunately M. Alain is not home, nobody knows when he will be home, they have no brochures...why don't we call later? Okay...and while we're at it why don't we leave before the children tear us apart? They are getting a little intense.

After that it was time for a hammam. We decided to go for the luxury tourist option at the Marrakech Hilton (ooooh...swanky!) so Steph called them up and got the prices...wow! 70 dirhams for a massage (about $10)! With everything else included (the bath and the scrub)...sounds too good to be true!
It kind of was. The phone call had been a little misleading as we discovered when we got there. And it was a looong ass cab ride out there too. The Hilton is nowhere near Jemaa el Fna (the main square in the old part of town).
So we walk in to the women's side (after I very nearly walk straight in to the men's side, which could have been a serious problem) and discover that it is actually 200 dh for everything, plus we have to pay extra for soap and scrubber and massage oil, and towels (we kind of didn't think to bring anything. duh).
Steph argues with the woman at the desk a little and the we sit to confer about whether we are willing to spend this much money. In the meantime a large group of French women come in and pay the full price and buy all the extras...this must have made the girl at the desk happy because she then offered us a deal - we each get the full set of services for 160 dh and then we can share the soap and oil and scrubber between the three of us. It's unorthodox but it works, we decide that today is princess day.
We're really not sure what to do...did we need to bring bathing suits? Can we just wear underwear? All I have is underwear and a tank top and no towel so I put that on and walk out...the ladies start talking to me in arabic...take my glasses off my face and point at my top disapprovingly...I don't understand a word anyone is saying and now I'm blind, in my underwear. All three of us are sort of standing around confused and Tara is as blind as I am...poor Steph must now be our translator and our eyes! We walk through a large wooden door into steam...the women at the door stop me and point at my top again...what? Finally they decide to take matters into their own hands and just take my shirt off for me. Oh. Okay.
They lead us to stools in front of large marble basins that are filling with water, sit us down and show us that we are to use the plastic bowl to scoop water out of the basin to throw over ourselves. A lady takes a handful of the black soap (a very soft dark soap) and rubs it on our backs for us and then indicates that we should soap the rest of our bodies ourselves and then leave the soap on. Yes, I think we are capable of that...once we've done that we are led to the sauna where we sit with the french women for 10 minutes and I somehow manage to get soap in my eyes.

Then we come out of the sauna and hang out and prepare to be scrubbed. There's a lot of hanging out, tossing a little water on yourself, relaxing...I kind of feel like an elephant. Finally we are led into the scrubbing room. I lay down on a big marble slab and a woman takes a rough cloth and scours the hell out of ALL of my skin. I watch in horror and fascination as huge clumps of dead white skin start to appear...it is so gross! It looks like cottage cheese. The women who work here are remarkably happy for having one of the world's more revolting jobs (yes I know it could be worse but scouring dead skin off of tourists? come on.)...the one who is scrubbing me laughs at the look of disgust on my face and I laugh back as I try to convey "sorry I am so unexfoliated and disgusting!" to her. It feels really great by the way.
Finally she's done and tells me to go take a shower and wait for the massage. So it's back to the basin to chill out some more, toss more water over my head, until massage time.
Once again I lay down on a big slab only it's slick with oil and I'm afraid I'm going to fall off. The masseuse has to pull me back from the edge a couple of times as I do get dangerously close to slipping over. It's a kickass massage, first with oil and then with soap(!) and then she too sends me to the showers. And it's all over.
We walk out and the staff return our clothes and things to us and we sit in the relaxing dry changing room with a bunch of French women and watch them be rude to the staff. So this is why people hate the French. It's excruciating to watch - this withered old naked white lady bitching out the staff because they haven't brought her her frigging glasses straight awaym while the others laugh. They are all old enough to know better. And everyone who works there is so nice.
All in all we were there for about three hours...for the equivalent of $30 that is a pretty great deal.