It's 1am in NY. By 9pm NY time I will be home. In my German train station its 7am. That gives me twenty hours of travel. This is a lot of time. I'm starting this post by saying I have a shit ton of time to kill. Perhaps ill write a bunch of short stories from the trip, like one of those "best of" shows. At this point I have no idea what that would entail but I have time to figure it out.
I know! Ill just tell y'all the hamam story, as well as update you about this extremely long travel day. It was our third day in Marrakech. The previous night Jeff began to feel sick. Surprisingly, not in a food disease kind of way but just a normal cold. That night Scott and I hung out with Patrick whom I've already told you about. During our very long conversation he suggested we go to a hamam. A hamam is a traditional Turkish bath. In Marrakech there are many, some of which are also spas. Throughout the trip Jeff had been saying how much he wanted a massage and Scott and I are intrigued by the hamam so we decide to do a spa day.
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Update: I'm fucked. My first train of the day was late. That alone would have made me miss my connecting train, thus fucking me. But instead I got off one station too late, fucking me further. The very direct German attendant explained the mistake and printed out a new route. This new route has 7 connections and gets me to the airport one and a half hours later than I should be there. Now I have to pray that with the snow the next 6 trains are on time and that I can make my connections, some of which only give me 2 minutes to transfer. On top of that I have to meet an unresponsive production company representative at the airport with a few thousand dollars worth of video equipment. Oh and if I miss my flight Scott will be left at the airport confused and without a ride. Now back to the show.
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We ask our hostel hosts for suggestions of a hamam places. It's Friday, a holy day, but he remembers an open one and begins taking us there. In typical Marrakech style we are quickly accosted by two men trying to take us to different spas. After leading us there they will of course hassle us for money but we follow them anyway. We arrive and are led up into a small building and into an inscent filled room. We see an older couple in robes, a few very pretty spa girls and the spa madame. After haggling about prices, the three of us settle on a hamam and hour long massage. She throws in a pedicure while we wait for the hamam to be open.
Now, I've never had a massage, let alone been to a spa. I am nervous. I decide straight off that I will pop a boner during the massage, theres no question about it. It starts off, we are led into a small room where we are given four things: a robe, sandals, a man thong and a single glove. With man thongs on the three of us look right out of Jungle Book. We hand over our clothes and the pedicures start.
It's kind of painful, she's picking away at the skin around my nails and trying to get at gunk from 5 weeks of travel. At one point she can't dig deep enough and motions to another girl to get her a hammer, luckily it never comes. She washed our feet and gives them a little massage. After traveling this long, a quick foot massage and I'm in bliss. I start making some funky noises but luckily she cant hear me over the chill spanish guitar. Just as I'm getting into its over and we're sent upstairs.
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Update Cluster Fuck 2013: I had made all but one connection. On what should have been my second to last train I hear an strange announcement in German. Shortly after, the train stopped and everyone got off. I follow everyone onto the platform and inquire about the clusterfuck. It appeared our train decided not to go where it was supposed to. Instead it felt like stopping one station before the connection. Now I must make an extra two connections. On top of that the new train we're all supposed to catch is 15 min late. The fucking is in full swing. Back to the story.
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We get led up to a patio on the roof and are told to wait. We immediately strip to our thongs and lay in the sun, it feels amazing. After five very comfortable minutes we are called over to the far corner of the patio. There we find a small, very steamy, tiled room. Inside that room was a very sweaty, sloppy Moroccan woman. Her hair is all kinked up from too many hours in the steam. Inside, our robes are removed and we're told to sit on tiny tiny stools (and by told I mean we were commanded in angry French). She turns her back to us. We wait in suspense as she mixes a bucket of very hot looking water. With one swift turn she throws the bucket of hot water at Jeff. Refill. And again she throws the water, this time at me. With a few powerful thrusts we're all soaked. She then calls for each of us to stand, one at a time. She takes out the glove.
The glove that was given to us is essentially a large sandpaper mitten. She dips the glove briefly in some black gunk and begins to scrape. She starts with our arms. dragging the glove over our skin. As our skin turns pink we can actually see layers come off. From our arms to our backs and chests to our legs and thighs. Every inch is scrapped and turning pink. She then take another bucket of hot water and throws it over our now very sensitive skin. It felt like she had poured boiling water on us. She then apply a black substance to our body's, rinses and then covers us in oil. Fully lathered we place out robes back on and are led back to the patio.
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Update: It appeared the same snow that delayed the German trains has also delayed my plane. When I get to the airport I have 35 min till boarding. Okay, I need to get the Royster bag of video equipment ASAP. I finally have Internet and am able to read where I am to meet him. "Walk to the bus stop and makes a left, you'll find some handicap parking where Ill be". Okay, I sprint! My thirty pound backpack makes it a very painful effort. I find the parking and wait, nothing. The meeting time has passed so I run back to the airport to use the wifi.
I get in contact with Royster who is in contact with the guy. Supposedly he's waiting there so I sprint back. Too much time has passed it's not looking like ill catch the plane. No one at the meeting spot. I run back. Royster tells me he is under the Panasonic sign, which is straight passed the busses and to the right! So I run in the other direction and stop under the sign, I wave my arms to try to make contact. Suddenly, a tall slender man in a black coat and hat emerges with a large black back. The man's hat keeps me from seeing his eyes. The street light illuminates my panting breath. "Royster?" "Yes". He lifts up the heavy bag in front of me without strain. My shoulder sinks from its weight. I look into the bag to confirm its mine. Before I could look up the man had turned and walked under the shadow of the flashing neon sign.
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I'm the last to leave the small tiled room. I walk outside to the patio and somehow find myself alone. I wander around the patio red, greased and confused. After five minutes, I hear a woman's voice. I follow it to a set of doors.
The room is dark and tranquil. The smell of incense is instantly relaxing. Slow guitar music lays like a blanket. Three massage beds are evenly spread across the room. A beautiful Moroccan girl takes our robes and points the beds. We lay down thong up as the girl pulls a towel over us one by one. Swelled with relaxation, we wait. The door creeks open and two more girls enter. It begins.
First the feet and up the thighs. The back and the neck, arms and fingers. She pours on more oil, I sink deeper into a warm relaxation. Any of the chaos that Morocco had presented us burned away with the incense. She asks me to turn over and the process begins again. I nearly reach a tipping point as she takes my hand in one of hers and with the other pulls my individual fingers through her oiled palm. The hour feels like a week and yet is over too quickly. The girls ask coyly "okay?" and walk out of the room, leaving us to enjoy the calm for another half hour.
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With Royster bag in hand I run back to the airport. I enter exactly as my plane's gate closes, I missed it. I go through the process of finding a new flight and book one for tomorrow morning. Exhausted, a part of me wants to give in and just stay in the airport. But I can't resist enjoying a bit more of Amsterdam before I leave. I head into town.
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A different Moroccan girl comes into the room to stir us from our massage coma. We very very slowly walk outside and down into the main room. We decide to shower off the oil. With the man thongs now a thing of the past we venture out to the street for the first time since this morning. The rest of the day felt like floating in a bubble. Even the insanity of the square couldn't puncture our relaxation.
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Back in Amsterdam, I head to my favorite falafel place and coffee shop. At the coffee shop I quickly meet a guy from Brooklyn, now living in Amsterdam named James. We talk for a long time. He tells me how he came to live there. How he decided not to return America. How he met his wife two months after moving. And how hash is made. The conversation is a final reminder of how life can change so drastically in such a short period of time, if you let it.
I ended up writing this post in three different countries. It began on the trains in Germany, the coffee shop in Amsterdam and finally here in my parents house in New York. The last couple days has been a reminder that there are a lot more journeys have and more stories to hear. Hope to hear some good ones once I'm back in LA.
"The glove that was given to us is essentially a large sandpaper mitten"
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