As explained in a previous post, there is two kinds of Hammams, public and private ones. For the public, more daunting experience, read here first (DON’T MISS: Al-hammam – the Arab bath house).
It is the private, more luxurious and spoiling SPA version that sounded quite tempting after a week of decent waves and endless paddling at the coast down in Agadir. It shall be reviewed here:
Forgetting my budget traveler identity I decided to join Alex and Veronika to the Targante Imourane, offering hammam and massage an hour each for a total of 400 DHs (~40€).
Targante Imourane
The difference from the outside is quite humble. Same kind of sketchy street, a hole in the wall but then a billboard informing tourists that Targante Imourane offers more than the usual sweating, scrubbing and sitting on the floor bucket shower.
A step inside and the 4000% price increase is beginning to justify. A lobby, sofas and the beauty products, which are about to be used, on display for sale.
“All together?” The lady of about 45, apparently the owner, is eying our female companion.
“Yeah, we are one group.” Still not sure if rigid moral customs are gonna be dropped for three tourists arriving in shorts and flipflops.
She nods and raises her shoulders. Apparently a yes.
Change into board shorts. Our lady into her bikini, kindly declining the rental panties that would leave the top uncovered. No need to appear promiscuous on the first time. Its touristy, but still no San Francisco street festival.
We are then lead into the steam room.
3 by 3 by 3 meters, lovely tiles, a pipe for hot water, a shower and a bench around three corners.
“Assayez-vous.” French again. I translate. We sit down.
Shower. The two ladies in the red apron take care of us one at the time. Friendly and joking. Not the looks of the Andalusian beauty but charming none the less.
The other two of us watch the third one being taken care of. Laughing. The water is a bit too hot and its origin switches back and forth from the shower head to the cooper bowls filled in the big bucket. Then we take turns.
It follows the soap. “Savon noir.” is precised upon my inquiry. Black soap. It looks like blueberry jam. Didn’t try but it smells good.
After soaping us up, the ladies shower us again.
“Stand up.”
“Turn.”
“Sit down.”
“Change place.”
“Huh?” Translate.
Next step: Almonds. Almonds? Almonds. A sticky white paste. Must be good for the skin. Our lady friend enjoys it. I find it itches terribly on the back.
Waiting. Taking turns. More almonds. Somebody scratch my back. Ah yes, shower!
“Stand up.”
“Turn.”
“Sit down.”
“Change place.”
Barely getting rid of the white sticky paste, we are cover in a brown, earthy clay mixture. Must be good for the skin, too.
Now here is where it gets funny. Simultaneously to the clay cover, the ladies but some green slimy substances on our faces. As a guy this is first timer. Judging on my buddy’s (green) face, for him too. Our lady seems more accustomed to looking like dirty avocado. With the first “Incredible Hulk” joke the room burst in laughter. Must be good for the skin though.
As the clay is washed off, our lady loses her initial precautionary shyness and drops her top. Not that it would be a huge step out of the comfort zone, the Nordic Saunas usually see naked bodies of mixed gender on white towels, however, as the older lady immediately takes advantage of this development by thoroughly washing the exposed parts, they are covered again quickly before the last bit of clay is washed off.
What about the green face stuff? It runs in the eyes and burns. After my helpless attempt to water my hands and clean my eyes I’m helped. No more burning, but the green stuff stays.
Another round of clay (must be good for the skin).
Finally, all the stuff is showered off. Hair wash included. Head massage. Yes! Feel like a cat. My favorite part so far.
“Stand up.”
“Turn.”
“Sit down.”
“Change place.”
Repeat.
It seems to be the last step as we are showered very carefully over and over again. Also it seems like it has been a while in the steamy cubicle. Its getting hot! The ladies hand us the shower and unmistakable signs us to wash the “board short area” once they are outside. Fair enough.
Knocking. “Come in.” Again knocking. “Yes, come in!”
They bring towels. A lot and big ones to wrap us up. I look at my buddy. Again we lose it. Check out the cover pic.
Cleaned and scrubbed over and over again, we follow the ladies into the massage room where we are signed to lie on the massage beds.
My buddy takes place on the bed next to me. Our lady disappeared. Shortly, we are covered with towels from head to toes.
“Hard, medium, or relaxing?”
“Hard.” Surfing has left a lot of muscles under high tension. Might ease them a bit.
My buddy chooses medium. Wait, can I change to medium, too? I want my muscles to relax, not die of pain during the process.
Medium was a good choice. After a little wait, the pushing and pressing starts. Toes up to the head. Could have been 5 minutes, could have been two hours. Asian meditation music is playing, mixed with some Arab sounding elements. I start dreaming.
At one point the lady climbs on the bed and massages my shoulder while standing up there. Whatever. I just realized that I don’t know who it is. I’ve been lying face down ever since we got in.
“Alex you are ok?”
Affirmative grunt.
At one point I’m advised to turn around. It must be half time.
Pure bliss! The head massage is the best.
Decades later, the massaging stops. I don’t care. I must have nodded off a couple of times. The lady then comes back, pinching my toe.
“C’est finit.”
That must be it. We change back into our clothes and stumble back into the lobby. Our girl is waiting already.
Its 7:30. Hmm… we missed half an hour. Whatever, I’m happy.
Lets go have some food!
Bon Hammam!
PS: Oh yeah, and you can’t pay by card (as pretty much everywhere in Morocco) but if you show up without cash you get a free ride home with a stop in between at the next ATM.
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