Hamam

n. – sauna
There is a spa just across the street from our apartment that was offering a special for a hamam and gaummage (scrub) for 15 euros. So I thought I would treat myself.

I’ve been to a hamam in Morocco, which was the real deal. You sit in a room filled with hot steam often infused with eucalyptus. It’s so hot and the mentholated smell so strong, you feel as if your lungs are going to explode. Then a woman comes in and scrubs you within an inch of your life. I suppose some people sit in there nude, but I wore my bathing suit, which I thought she might rub right off me.

While it sounds unpleasant, which it was, once it’s finished, you feel cleansed inside and out and your skin is as soft as a newborn baby’s. So I figured what did I have to lose and suspected it would be a slightly more civilized experience in the 7th arrondissement of Paris.

When I arrived, I was shown to a little room with an odd looking machine that looked like something between a tanning bed and an MRI. I realized that was the hamam so it was already looking to be a much different experience. I was told to undress and given a little paper “string” same as in English without the “g.” Then I had to lie on my back in the machine while the technician started to exfoliate my skin. She told me I must not have any “probleme de poids” problems with weight and that my body was practically perfect. I liked her very much. So I happily flipped over and then back again with no sense of self-consciousness, although at one point I feared I may flip right out of the machine itself since it had become slippery with the scrub.

When it was time to start the hamam, there appeared to be choices with regards to what kind of setting, but since I didn’t really understand the differences, I allowed the technician to choose for me. She closed the lid on me just leaving my face out and explaining that I could always push the lid open with my hands if for some reason I felt uncomfortable.

Water started to pour in, which turned to steam and lights around the machine changed from blue to green to orange to pink and back to blue. The machine vibrated which was supposed to act as a mini massage. I was fine while the technician was there now exfoliating my face. We chatted about different regimes for one’s skin. She told me mine was good, but I had to be careful since it was starting to lose its elasticity. Of course there was a she assured me this shouldn’t be a problem since I didn’t have a weight problem because if I suddenly gained and lost a lot of weight, I could risk sagging.

We talked about her own regime to lose weight, which had nothing to do with diet or exercise, but rather sea algae scrubs in the hamam. A good friend of mine who is French once told me, a French woman is more likely to buy a cream she can rub on her body than get a membership to a gym. Apparently it seems to work for them though since for the most part, they’re all in pretty good shape.

It was time for my face mask and with that, the technician left me for the remaining 10 minutes of the treatment. It was the longest 10 minutes of my life. Suddenly being left alone with the lights changing colors, the machine making noise and startling me as it moved from steam to jets of water to vibrating, I started to panic. The blue light especially made me anxious since it reminded me of swimming in a pool at night. I used to be convinced that the pool bottom would open up and a giant sea creature would rise from the depths and eat me. I suppose I have Steven Spielberg to thank for this.

So I was thrilled when it was all over. To thank the technician, who was actually the spa owner, for her compliment about my perfect body (which I assure you is far from it), I bought some products. Don’t get me started on the tipping because since I was once told it wasn’t necessary to tip the owner, I didn’t. And so I made my way back home, slightly rattled, but feeling silkily smooth.