Special Treat: Hammam Guest Blog

Here's a guest blog post from my brother Mike, describing his fascinating experience at a traditional hammam (bathhouse). Unfortunately, we've got no photos to display, but his words paint a great picture. Enjoy!

I had the opportunity of visiting Annie in Casablanca, the North African exotic escape. On the Easy Jet flight from London I dreamed of snake charmers, Arabian carpets and belly dancers. To my great delight, the Hammam experience beat even my best fantasies.

As I inquired with some Morocco-hands into any possibilities available to experience the local Berber flavor, Chris suggested that I go to a Hammam, a Turkish bath, just a block from Annie’s apartment.

So Annie sent me off with minimal instructions: wear boxers (unfortunately I only had briefs but I was right at home with the tighty-whitey French clientele), buy an exfoliating glove at the front desk, “and get the works”.

So I got the works, paid 300 D’s ($35) and went up a flight of stairs to the right, where there was a sign for Hommes, French for “Guys”, I guessed. I entered into a locker-room and was handed a loin-cloth, and was told to disrobe. After I received my locker key and handed over all clothing, I followed the man who was later to massage me (a 6 foot, muscularly endowed black guy) down into the basement.

He handed me a glob of a black tar-like substance which I assumed was soap, and pointed to a shower. After showering I was directed into a steam room where there were a few Frenchmen soaking up the warmth. As I chillaxed, I began to wonder if I had wasted money, I could enjoy a steam bath and shower at the local 24-hour fitness in Austin for a fraction of the cost…

Eventually, another shorter, yet still muscular black guy motioned for me to follow him. In the steam-filled, exfoliating room there were six marble slabs, four of which where occupied by French guys. “The times must be good in Casa”, I thought, “to be able to Hammam at 1pm on a Thursday”. I laid on the marble slab and the exfoliater began to use the glove on me in a rigorous and aggressive pressure. No doubt it was painful but I was willing to pay any price for beauty. “Trust the process”, I prayed. As he scrubbed me raw, a substantial layer of dirt and dead skin began to accumulate. “Wow, I sure am dirty”. This process lasted about 20 minutes, and yes, I did shed a tear or two.

Afterward, I was led into a room with a number of massage tables. I laid on one and the masseuse delicately applied a layer of lotion to my skin that had just recently been scrubbed bare. It was more intimate than I would have liked, but it was a learning experience for me. I observed that I had a completely plutonic reaction to this close-contact, full body sport. This place is strictly business. I was impressed by the professionalism and skill of all who worked there. Then the masseuse shifted gears. He began to exert more strength, until it escalated into a sort of boxing match on my back. After 30 minutes of professional, dignified and skilled massage-pounding I walked out feeling “like I had been a one-legged man in a butt kicking contest”.

At this point, I was no longer concerned about my 300 D payment and I reminded myself to thank Chris later for this stellar recommendation.

But it was not over. I was brought over to another marble slab with a white plastic, saran wrap-like covering. The man reached for bucket and began to apply this greenish, grayish substance to my skin. I knew what it was. I have had enough coastal encounters to know and identify fish when I smell it. The man had applied an elixir of fish guts and seaweed to my skin. I was then covered in plastic and baked in this potion for 10 minutes or so. After uncovering, it seems that another layer of dirt had detoxified and surfaced on my skin from this mixture.

Finally, I was given another glob of soap. I knew what to do from here: into the shower, through the locker room and back to Annie’s apartment… I walked away with a smile on my face, clean as a whistle, so happy to visit my sister Annie in Morocco…

Whizzy, Carubbish, and Naked Rugby

** WARNING: Some may find the contents of this post inappropriate or offensive. Some may think it's fabulous. **

I love advertisements in London. Brits use awesome words like "whizzy". I'm not totally sure what it means, but I think I'd like to be whizzy - it sounds wonderful.

This one was supposed to say "Paper, Glass and Cans Aren't Rubbish". I love the word "rubbish", but more than that, I think I love the moving of the ad to produce the word "carubbish". Not to mention the offensive word (to some maybe) that was also created.

This one's my fave. While on the wonderful Big Bus Tour, we passed this ad for Powerade.

Did you know that drinking Powerade is a free license to play rugby naked? Dudes - this is how you get your girlfriend to start watching sports. Find whatever channel this game is on.

Groceries in Paris

While spending time looking for toilet paper in a grocery store in Paris (btw, we didn't find any - what kind of grocery store doesn't have toilet paper?), I came across a Kodak moment. I quickly pulled out my camera and got this shot.

Emily and Kris were a bit horrified that I was snapping pics in the grocery store, but I finally got one that wasn't blurry. I would like to know when men started having a monthly cycle - does that mean that they can also go through childbirth?
I am so glad that they have both "Improved Fixation" and "Odour Control". Nothing but the finest for men!

Dream Tourist Destination

For almost ten years, I have wanted to do one thing in Paris - the Paris Sewer Tour. When Pairry and I travelled in the summer of '99, we didn't get a chance to go before leaving Paris and I've since dreamed of going back. My dream was finally realized on my Paris/London February break trip. Thanks to Em and Kris for humoring me.

The Paris Sewer Tour starts off with a gallery of diagrams and photos describing Paris' sewer system. As you roam through the tunneled area, you get to see displays of adorable sewer rats, among other highlights.

Once you pass the first tunnel or two, the delightful stench of sewage begins to overwhelm your senses. Needless to say, this is not the environment for a pregnant lady - Emily's pregnancy prevented us all from really taking it all in. Here's a pic of us standing right over the sewage - the majority of the tour was walking around these grates that protected us from falling in. Yum!

Once we got to this delightful section, I had only a moment to snap a photograph of the labeled displays before rushing towards the exit.

No trip to the Paris Sewer Tour is complete without a stop at the gift shop to pick up souvenir sewer mice for the kiddo back home. Spectacular!

Mike the Driver

I have absolutely no desire to drive in Casablanca - ever! The traffic is nuts and the horns honk incessantly. The roundabouts are a chaotic mess and people don't stick to their lanes. Although I have no problem being a passenger in the disaster that is driving in Casa, I will not own a car. I can get by just fine on petit taxis, the train system and my own two feet. However, some trips are best done in a vehicle. That's why I'm eternally grateful to my awesome brother, Mike the Driver. He picked up our rental car for our Azrou trip here in Casa.

We packed up our stunning Kia Picanto with road trip snacks and enough clothes to layer in the freezing temperatures of northern Morocco. Not the most spacious vehicle out there, but we managed to travel in comfort on our weekend adventure.

On our way through Meknes to get to Volubilis, we got a little lost. While being lost in a car is a stressful event for me, Mike the Driver was able to calmly ask for directions and have this dude lead us to the turnoff to Volubilis.

Mike the Driver got us to Volubilis, Meknes, Azrou, and back to Casa with no issues (if you don't count being pulled over twice and playing stupid tourist to get out of any sort of penalty an issue). In addition, he was able to entertain us along the way to such a degree that we gave him a 4. In a standards based grading system (for those of you who aren't nerdy teachers), this means he exceeded expectations. Well done, Mike the Driver! You are on your way to becoming the next Pi Oh!

Have I mentioned that he is also an amazing leopard spotter?

Indescribable Feelings

Indescribable Feeling

It was literally freezing the night we stayed in Azrou. There was snow on the ground and our water bottles were frozen in the morning. Our hotel cost a whopping 100 dirhams ($12) per double room. The price included friendly service, communal bathrooms, sink in each room and 3-4 blankets per bed. There was a single propane heater, kept outside our rooms in this Berber decorated hallway.

A wondrous place for you and me...and one more!

We all went to bed with as many clothes on as possible and Julie & I lucked out by having the added comfort of body heat in our double bed. Around 6am, after hours of shaking and shivering, Mike came to join us. The three of us spent another couple of hours cramped in this bed with 8 blankets to save ourselves from frostbite. In the morning, we were wearing everything we brought with us and carried our toiletries and extra blankets out to the car. I love adventures!

Road Trip Video

I finally figured out how to embed the video on the blog, so here it is for more viewing enjoyment!

Road Trip!

Here's the video from my latest road trip. My awesome brother Mike came down and we rented a car to get off the beaten track. I love a good trip - check out the dazzling scenery.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wnCaT5V3TYk

English Wrapping Paper

It's always exciting when you find English writing here in Morocco - the country has French and Arabic everywhere, so English is not common. I loved this wrapping paper that wrapped one of Krista's teacher Christmas gifts. "Conjugal bliss" isn't what I would pick out to wrap a teacher gift, but with limited availability, I guess it works. :) The metallic foil really added to its beauty.

Modernizing London

When I think of Trafalgar Square, I think of statues of famous dudes, the National Gallery, pigeons and lions. A side note about pigeons - also called "sky rats". Trafalgar Square used to be home to tons of them. People sold feed to give them and pigeons swarmed the area. After getting sick of pigeons pooping on unsuspecting visitors, feeding the pigeons was finally outlawed. A trained falcon was also brought in, not to hunt the pigeons, but to make its presence known so that they would stay away. They keep the falcon well fed, so that pigeon corpses don't drop in place of their feces. :)

Trafalgar Square is famous for this monument with 4 surrounding lions at its center.The square also has famous dudes on horses in 3 of the 4 corners.

In the fourth corner, there is this masterpiece.

Nothing against modern art, but REALLY?!? It just feels so totally out of place. I would probably love this piece if I was walking through the storage/shelving section of IKEA, but I was not a fan of its presence in Trafalgar Square. I wonder what happened to the fourth dude on a horse? Maybe it's at the Tate Modern...