Sweater? What's that?
Trip Start
Jul 11, 2007
1
9
10
Trip End
Aug 05, 2007
Essaouira, Morocco
Friday, August 3, 2007
But I must say it is because I feel my interactions with people - and most noteworthy, women - have been so much more genuine here, that I love Essaouira
Early morning in Essaouira
. We had two really quintessentially Moroccan experiences here - albeit with a bit of an upmarket twist. On our first evening, Steve arranged for four of us to have henna done on our feet by a local Berber woman. We went to the guest house her husband runs, while she brought her lovely 7 year old daughter and 3 month old son along. It took over 3 hours for her to lace 8 ankles with intricate patterns, but all the while we enjoyed relaxing, taking turns holding her son, watching her daughter play with her baby brother, and sipping mint tea her husband had made for us. It was, perhaps, one of the most relaxing experiences I have had in Morocco. As for the second quintessential experience? Well, the jury is out on whether one could call it relaxing or not. I think we are divided. But it certainly was an experience.We - all of the women in the group - decided to go to a traditional Hammam, or bathhouse. Steve arranged for us to go to the Lalla Mira bathhouse, which is slightly more upmarket than the "local" ones, but given that most of us were recovering from various ailments, we felt that a bit of pampering would go a long way. In our absense, the four remaining men decided that they would make it an all-out Moroccan experience by going out to drink. Truth be told, we joked, Moroccan men would not go out to drink while their wives went to the bathhouse; rather they would sit in street side cafes, drinking mint tea and making cat calls at western tourists as they walked by
Essaouira
. "Hey bebe, I love you so much. Come here. I give you private Berber lesson." Alas, I guess where we cheated by going upmarket, they could cheat by having beers and refraining from drooling over other women (so I hope, anyway).So, the bathhouse...we hoped a bit of pampering would go a long way. The first bonus were the lockers they gave us. In the locker room we were told to strip down to underwear or bikini bottoms only, and follow them into a dimly lit, moist room. Giving us a mat to sit on on the floor, several women, also in only their underwear, covered us in argan oil. Now argan oil is an interesting thing in and of itself. Related to the olive tree, argan trees produce an oil known for its beauty and health properties, but to be processed, it must first be consumed by a goat and then extracted from the goat's feces. Go figure, the argan oil industry is completely run by women. So, in its purified form, it was applied uniformly to our skin and we lay there in the steam for a short while - so far, so good. Then out came the women with huge scouring spunges and with all of the ceremony of a butcher tenderizing a big slab of meat, they pushed us to lie down as they began to literally peel back a layer of skin from every inch of our bodies. They did not miss a spot, and by not missing a spot, I mean they missed NOTHING. I was certain I would be only a skeleton walking around Essaouira, should I emerge alive. Steve says at some places, they actually show you the ball of skin, which is usually the size of an orange, and tell you that this is what came off your body. Thankfully, this upmarket place maybe considered some such things to be unnecessary. Anyway, after removing a layer of my epidermis - or at least what felt like it - they covered us with a black soapy-paste which I am told is made of olives or argan, cloves, cinnamon and some other stuff
The port in Essaouira
. At first, it was all about the novelty of being covered in black muck that smells like Christmas baking. Then Chris asked "is anyone else burning up?" which brought me great relief because I was starting to fear that I was having an allergic reaction - this stuff completely heats you up! I guess I would liken the heat and scent, as far-stretched as it is, to crushing up those cinnamon hearts you see at Valentine's day and covering your whole body in their flesh. It got hot!No sooner had we decided that it felt good to be covered in hot cloves, than a massive blast of warm water was - without warning - dumped over our heads. Scrubbing my hair as a groomer would scrub a dog who had just been sprayed by a skunk, this woman massaged the black paste into my scalp and then, I suspect, realized I had a hell of a lot more hair than she had reckoned, as it took another 8 pails of water for her to roughly scourge that stuff off my head.
The final part was a "massage". I put that in quotations because one would expect a massage to be relaxing, and I do believe that for those who had the young woman, it was. But I had Moroccan version of Big Bertha, and oh my god did it hurt. My shins have never had shin spints from being massaged - usually you massage them to treat shin splints
Shopping in Essaouira
. Nope, she grabbed my foot and started going at my ankle with my toes digging into her large, droopping breast and as she worked her way along my shins, I literally had to bite my hand to keep from yelping. They massage virtually everything except the parts covered by the bikini bottoms - and thank god for that - but even the neck massage was a source of great agony for me. What a relief when, lying on my stomach, I felt a big pail of hot water dropped over my back, and Bertha pulling me by my shoulder to my feet and escorting me out, where several of us, wrapped in spa towels, sat in a daze, trying to figure out exactly why we had enjoyed that experience. We did enjoy it, but I remain perplexed as to what was so wonderful. We certainly felt clean, and much to my delight, I realized that several spots that I assumed were sun damage on my neck and had been there for years, were now gone. Bonus!The third great experience of Essaouira was the food. On our first night, we ate at a swanky French restaurant called Passage 24. I had an incredible appetiser of roasted cherry tomatoes and goat cheese in filo pastry. Dinner was tagliatelle with grilled zucchini and roma tomatoes, but the best was dessert: chocolate soup. Yes, a hot soup of chocolate and grand marnier. I ate it all and didn't even regret the heart burn that awakened me that night. It was all worth it. On the second night we had our official goodbye dinner, where we presented Steve with a tip and our thanks. I finally had a chance to order pastilla and it was absolutely divine - big chuncks of apricot and dates baked with chicken and almonds in a pastry and topped with roasted almonds, sugar and cinnamon. The food through most of this trip had been disappointingly bland and mediocre - if that - but these places made up for it.
All in all, if I could choose only one city to return to in Morocco, it would be Essaouira. On our way back to Casablanca, we left the Mexicans in Marrakech and said goodbye. Tomorrow, most of us are homeward bound.
