Couscous, Hammam, Jack Beach...

Aisha preparing the couscous...

The hammam....

the sweet woman who scraped off my skin...

me, minus the dead skin cells...

Fertility Goddess statue

one of the many beautiful doors I love

I had a very interesting day! I had hung out with my new friend and neighbor, Jess, last night and he told me that on Thursdays his cook comes to cook for the week for him and that I would be welcome to hang out in his house during the day (he has mooched off Trish and family's DSL with a 100 ft USB cord so I can get online there at night after Trish and her family have gone to bed!). He also invited me to dinner as Aisha was making couscous (traditionally eaten here on Fridays). I have plans for tonight already (more on that later-- such a busy social life here : ) but when I got up this morning and went over to meet Aisha, I asked her (or rather got Trish to ask her) if I could watch her make the dish. This is the real couscous, not the boil water and take if off the heat and stir it in and cover and fluff type we tend to eat in the States. She happily agreed and asked me to come over at 11am.

So after some yoga and finishing the excellent novel that kept me up til 2am last night (The Namesake), I went next door for my couscous making lesson. What transpired over the next hours was pretty amusing and very interesting. Aisha understands some English but doesn't speak it, but speaks French and Arabic. I, as previously discussed on this blog, have minimal French language ability and about 4 phrases in Arabic. I've continued today with my unquenchable passion to speak Spanish (the refrain, "Si...Oui" is becoming a constant flow throughout my days here). I think I may end up trying to travel in the North later in my trip, even though it is colder there, just so I can speak Spanish to folks and have them speak it back!

Anyway...we had fun trying to communicate with each other as she prepared the ingredients: onion, tomato, a spice mix of pepper and other things, tumeric, sea salt, carrots, zucchini, a hearty chunk of winter squash, olive oil and, since this was not a vegetarian version, some lamb. Later in the process a long, slim hot pepper gets thrown in too.
That mixtures simmers and steeps in it flavor in a special two-tiered pot with a fun name I have no idea how to write but includes the word couscous in it. I was thinking about trying to buy one to bring home, but then Amine, Trish's husband said that some may have lead in them so I'm reconsidering. While the meat and veggies are cooking, the couscous grain is spread on a platter and the cook mixes in a bit of water and kind of mixes/smooshes it together, adding water and swirling it around on the platter until it is the right consistency. The the couscous is put on the top tier of the pot, essentially a steamer, and cooked by the stem of the meat and veggie mixture for about an hour. During that time the couscous is gathered onto the platter once or twice and mixed with a traditional butter and put back on the steamer. It is then served with the couscous in a circle on the platter and the meat, veggies and sauce around it. Traditionally, Moroccans use their right hand to expertly roll the couscous into little balls to eat it. But Aisha confessed she uses a spoon and that is just fine. It was fun! I didn't get to see it all laid out as I wasn't home at dinner time, but hope to perhaps have a vegetarian version sometime, perhpas at Aurelia and Sadek's!

Due to a lack of a car issue, I wasn't able to take a little day trip today and was antsy to see somewhere beyond our little stretch of beach. I had already talked to Trish and Aurelia about wanting to visit a hammam, a traditional bathhouse and skin treatment that serves as the primary way many Moroccan's bathe. Sometime in the future I'm going to go to a fairly traditional, but open to foreigners, hammam in the city with a friend of Trish's, but Jess told me that there was a very nice (and a bit more expensive) hammam here in Dar Bouazza at the newly opened fancy hotel further down the coast. I decide to check it out and make a reservation for 3pm and come to find there is also a full thallassotherapy spa, beautiful indoor pool and many other amenities there--potential splurges for later in my visit.

The hotel is very interesting architecturally. (http://www.goldentuliphoteldesarts.com). The owner is an architect and artist and has fashioned the whole place to have an artistic and design-oriented flair. Unfortunately the service is not five-star quality in the hotel and restaurant and it seems that the business is struggling. But is is quite beautiful-- lovely gardens, mosaics on the buildings, sculptures large and small and bold color and textures abound.

With Trish's assistance, I find my way to the hammam and it is lovely! Beautiful tile and handiwork, very clean and inviting. I get a plush robe and slippers and get undressed except for underwear (luckily I had thought to ask what the convention was with this because no one spoke English!). Once in the hammam, which is all steamy and warm, you are guided to shower. You then sit and get this thick, brown, vegetable based soap slathered all over you. It is really emollient and moisturizing and feels great. I was left alone to sit in a sauna-like room with that on my skin for about 10 minutes which was lovely. Then you are taken back to the shower to rinse and then the real "treatment" begins. This is not for the faint of heart (or skin!). I had been told that the hammam involved some exfoliation as well as the bath, but I had no idea what was to come. I must say, despite it being a bit of a bourgeious setting, I was happy to have my first hammam in a quiet, private setting. Most are open rooms with numerous people (times for women and men are separate) getting their hammam treatment and bath at the same time. In fact, I found out that Trish has yet to go. She said she has little interest in public nudity and getting her skin scraped off : ).

Ok. So think about the most intense, deep exfoliation treatment you've ever had. And then multiply that by about 10. The woman doing my treatment, who was such a sweetie and very amused by my attempts to communicate, instructs me to lie face down on a marble slab. She then dons a glove that is essentially covered in what feels like sandpaper and starts removing years worth of dead skin cells. And I exfoliate regularly-- use a natural fiber brush daily, do salt and sugar rubs, cornmeal, etc. It is INTENSE, but feels great and invigorating-- kinda like the hurst so good type of feeling. I start my yoga breathing to stay relaxed and not tense up against her touch and she asks "Se va?", and I reply "Oui, se va"-- got that one down. Seriously, I feel clumps of skin falling off of me. And she is not shy either. Let's just say that I am smooth all over now. I turn over for the rest of the treatment and can feel myself shedding my skin.

Once she is done, I go in the shower to remove the dead skin and I swear, I think I've lost a pound of cells. My circulation is flowing like after a long run or hike and I feel relaxed, smooth-skinned and happy. I can't wait to do it again. I get dressed and walk back down to the hamman and ask to take some photos and am happily obliged. The steam makes it hard to see how lovely it is but may give you an idea.

I then somehow convey that I'm interested in seeing the rest of the spa facility and would like a list of the treatments and prices available. For some reason they don't have a flier, so they print me about 15 pages from their binder on the desk to take home. In French. It is quite a spa-- all beautiful, very specific and exotic water based treatments. A room for yoga -- I asked about the yoga classes but wasn't successful in finding out when they happen. The pool is gorgeous, though heavily chlorinated. I have another hour before Trish will be back to pick me up, so I walk about the grounds of the hotel, snapping photos, admiring the art, the garden and puzzling over how this place can sustain such a huge staff and services during the winter months. There is a huge, beautiful restaurant and bar and I wonder through-- up and down the stairs, in and out of the doors, up and down the walkways leading to the 12 "ethnic" rooms-- modeled after various styles and cultures worldwide-- a new york loft apartment, a traditional japanese bamboo room, etc. Staff look at me somewhat curiously, wondering what I'm doing there, but mostly just say "Bon jour" and keep about their business.

I wander toward the beach as Trish has told me that there is a lovely stretch of coast nearby-- Jack beach. I am amazed to see that directly across from this "five-star" hotel there is a hugs field of trash between the hotel grounds and the ocean. This is common here-- a mix of plastic and glass and other trash dropped on the ground after use, and the same refuse washed in from the ocean. On our beach by the cottage it is the same. The area down by the ocean is mostly clean and lovely, but towards the top of the beach, there is quite a bit of trash. I wander down what I thought was a road, but turns out to be a driveway. There are so many beautiful wrought iron gates and decorative doors, window, colors splashing together, textures colliding, bright blue sky. I realize I'm on a driveway that dead ends into homes and understand why a few of the men I passed were looking at me funny. I walked further along the road and come to a strange area of mounds of earth with grass and then an expanse of rocks to the ocean, right before the long open area of beach. It appears it is a conservation area of sorts. There is a path through the rocks, couples hanging out watching the sun begin to set, a moderate breeze. It is so lovely. I proceed to take about 40 photos of a funky abandoned house next door, cool plants, rocks, etc. The 5pm call to prayer rings out and I head back to meet Trish and the kids at the hotel. It was a great afternoon.

Once in the car I hear that Nayla (age 4) was kicked by a pony at horseback riding lessons that afternoon. Thankfully, she is okay, but Trish is understandably shaken up by it. I was wishing I hadn't left all my arnica at Aurelia's! Nayla and her sister, Zoe (age 7) seem fine now though and before heading home we drive a bit further south and I get to see a bit more of the seaside and hear about what it is like there in the summer. With each rotation of the tires I am again and again the furthest south I've even been in Morocco. We turn off the main road as Trish wants to show me the little cottages that families from the city own and rent for summer places. Like the houses on our stretch of oceanfront, they are rowhome of a sort, but quite tiny, often artistic, with little front gardens. It is easy to imagine little communities emerging each summer, moms, dads, children happy to be at the beach and away from the city. It is time to head back and see Kai (Trish's youngest at 15 months), and get ready for our evening out.