A hammam somewhere
Hammams have come a long way from their humble beginnings as Islamic bath houses in the 9th century. Opulent, tiled temples across the Middle East are opening their doors to tired tourists, in need of a sweat-and-scrub.
It is 9am on Anzac Day, 1999, and we’re wandering the back streets of Canakkale in search of a scrub.
The dawn service at nearby Gallipoli was deeply moving, but hubby and I feel distinctly dirty after the 20-hour bus ride to this iconic destination in western Turkey.
The backpacker’s bible, Lonely Planet, recommends bathing at a traditional hammam – a centuries-old domed and tiled steam room where one sweats buckets of water before being expertly scrubbed, washed and massaged.
Sounds like heaven.
I spot a small, arched doorway leaking vapours of steam into the narrow laneway. This must be the place.
Our first surprise is that this hammam is mixed gender.
We’re given tatty bathrobes and led to an octagonal slab of marble, heated from below by burning embers.
Surprise turns to shock when our bathrobes are whisked away, leaving us face-down, stark naked, in a room with two male tellaks (Turkish masseuses).
Adopting the ‘when in Rome’ philosophy, we let go of our anglo-saxon pretensions and allow the tellaks to scrub us to within an inch of our lives. I have never felt so clean.
After leaving a substantial tip, my tellak reveals photos of his satisfied clients, who opted for ‘extra services’. It turns out the original Turkish tellaks were sex workers.
I diplomatically say no.
Morocco
Ten years later, I experience my next hammam – at Club Med La Palmeraie in Marrakech.
Moroccan hammams are famed for their use of the black soap, or savon noir.
Extracted from the olive nut, it is renowned for its exfoliating properties.
The Cinq Mondes Spa is a world away from the back streets of Turkey, oozing style and serenity.
Featuring Moorish architecture and traditional zellige tiles, it is designed around a central lagoon where you can lounge, sipping herbal tea, before your spa ritual.
Blessedly, the Moroccan hammams don’t require nudity, so I slip into the steam room wearing a modest bikini.
Following the lead of the other, mainly French, clientele, I wander between steam room and shower until I’ve lost several litres of water and – I’m convinced - at least two kilos.
A sturdy woman soon shepherds me into the scrub room, which resembles a morgue; must be all that marble.
I climb onto the slab, where buckets of water are thrown over my still-sweaty body.
The masseuse dons a mitt scraper, and smears foamy, black soap over my back and legs, scrubbing with an intensity usually reserved for grimy stovetops.
I watch as raisin-sized balls of dead skin fall from my body.
Who knew a person could get so dirty?
Despite doing a six month French course before arriving, I fail to understand any of the instructions, but I’m sure I can make out one word: viande. And that’s how I feel – like a piece of meat, on a slab, being prepared for the Sunday roast.
Butchery allusions aside, I feel clean and refreshed. It’s quite cathartic losing a layer of skin and, with it, all your earthly troubles.
I decide to have a Crème de Rasul body wrap, in which I’m enveloped in the aromas of the famed spice souks of this exotic land.
My take-home pack includes my very own body mitt and a sample of the black soap, should I choose to repeat the experience at home (after doing the same to the stove…).
Abu Dhabi
On our way back to Australia, we stop in Abu Dhabi for a night of complete luxury.
The Shangri-La hotel, near the airport, is home to one of the best spas in the Middle East, Chi.
This hotel chain is named after the mythical town in James Hilton’s Lost Horizon, and it lives up to the oft-quoted line, “But here, at Shangri-La, all was in deep calm”.
I am first assessed to determine which of the five element signs I display, which turns out to be earth: nurturing, peace and harmony. (I store that in the memory banks for the next time I have a fight with hubby!)
Dressed in my thick, fluffy robe, I am led to the hammam – a domed oasis of dark blue tiles and a divine plunge pool.
It is a place of profound tranquility.
Remembering the Moroccan example, I ping-pong between the pool and the ‘Experience Shower’, which is like a rainshower on steroids.
Tiny droplets of water tickle you from head to toe, with jets shooting from every angle.
I feel like I’m in the middle of a rainforest, in one of the driest cities on earth.
Abu Dhabi is re-branding itself as a top spa destination, as the oil wells slowly run dry.
Sadly, I run out of time to try a Middle Eastern body scrub, or one of the many exotic body wraps.
Whether it’s a down ‘n’ dirty Turkish bath, a wholesome hammam in Morocco, or the deep calm of the Shangri-La, the infinite treasures of the Middle East far exceed your typical rub-a-dub-dub.
FACT BOX
Getting there
Etihad flies regularly from Sydney to Casablanca, via Abu Dhabi. Transfers from Casablanca to the Club Med La Palmeraie, Marrakech, can be arranged by Carol Prior, from Morocco by Prior arrangement.
www.moroccobypriorarrangement.net
Where to spa
Turkey
It’s best to visit the official Turkey Tourism website to find authentic hammams.
Morocco:
Club Med La Palmeraie
http://www.clubmed.com.au/cgi-bin/clubmed55/SP/villagesHeading.do?PAYS=14&LANG=AE&CODLSC=MPAC
Abu Dhabi:
Shangri-La hotel
