time travel - morocco day three

Sunday, 9 December 2012

after another really great nights sleep, we awoke to one windy and overcast saturday. we knew this day was coming, and had prepared for it with lots of books and plans on doing nothing. the only place that was warm inside the hotel was in our room, so we did plan on spending a lot of the day in there.


we headed down for breakfast around 9ish, and, unsatisfied and malnourished, headed back to the lounge. on the way we stopped by the spa to grab some information on the different services they offer. included in our hotel accommodation was one free hammam(amamammammmama) each - which we assumed was the traditional moroccan massage. we weren't too far off, as it transpired... while down in the spa, there was a lot of noise being made. mostly the noise was coming from a jack hammer. and was not very relaxing. so..we took the info from the receptionist, and headed back to our rooms to try and work out what they all were (they were in french...).

we called down to reception to book about an hour later, after working out that the hammam is basically just a sauna treatment they have you do before they massage you, and we booked in for 4pm. we assume the 'maintenance work' was going to be finished by then. so we then had... 5 hours to kill. 

we rugged up and headed outside for a wee walk up the road to check out the 'shopping centre'. to be fair, it was a thinly veiled disguise to buy a) snacks, b) more diet coke, and c) socks cos we was fweeeeezing! we got out to the 'mall' and found half of the shops shut! it was midday on a saturday, had it been in england, it would have been raaaaammed. but no. we navigated our way through the 'ladies' shops, finding nothing really familiar except a united colours of benetton, something akin to a poundland, and then a supermarket. thankfully, socks and snacks were easily located and paid for with no need to actually use any sort of speech (and we think english sales assistants are rude?), then we were off again.


laden with enough bags of chips and refreshments to feed a small army, we were bedroom bound once more. we moved between bedroom and a reading nook we found out in the hallway, that had a huge window over looking the pool andwas super warm as the sun was streaming in there and warming  it right nice. we could also access the wifi from there, so double winning. in those few hours i read a massive chunk of life of pi (read it if you haven't already), and wasted a lot of time on instagram... standard.


when the time came, we layered up for the short stroll to the spa. the jackhammering was finished, huzzah! we were lead to a womens change room, and - thanks to a very shocking language barrier, it was demonstrated to us to change into a robe and flip flops. we weren't sure what we were supposed to keep on and take off, so we kept our underwear on, and i kept on my leggings, because i didn't want to be blinding anyone, and we were lead to another room. silently. we were parked on some pool chairs by the heated indoor pool, while we waited for something to either happen, or someone to speak actual words to us. nope. we were then lead by a different women to what we assume was the hamamamammm. the woman then tried to undress me. THIS IS WHERE THE STORY ENDS. 

i wish. no, nobody needs to be undressing me. so i stopped her. she tried to de-robe me again. i asked for a towel, so i wouldn't just be sat in bra and leggings. no towel was offered. she then tried to do the same to rebekah. at this point, we were confused and a bit freaking out about the need to be a bit man handled in another language, and we decided to go back to reception to investigate. turns out, no towels are allowed in the hammam, and 'most people' wear a swim suit. well, here's something you need to know about me: i don't swim. i don't go on exotic holidays. i don't live near a beach. and top all that off, i don't have the need to own a swim suit.  and even if i did, i would never in my life wear it, because i am not bikini-body-ready or whatever that media propaganda term is for normal sized girls who feel bad about their bodies because they don't look like the women they want to look like, because they generally prefer eating, drinking, and not working out. ever. 

so. we opted for straight to massage, and skip the hamammam. the receptionist didn't seem to understand why, despite us trying to explain, but somehow we managed to get through... eventually. we were led to our massage rooms, and the next 30 minutes were a wonderful blur. once we were done, we had to get out of our robes and back into our gear - all oiled up and smudgey faced, and try to avoid eye contact with the elderly woman who had zero qualms in being naked around us. what fun! needless to say, this was not the relaxing experience i had in mind, and so on the way back to the room, we picked up a bottle of wine from the bar. surely that would do the trick.


the rest of the night was spent between our beds, the restaurant and the reading nook, where i managed to finish my book and also fit in the terrible movie that is alexander. what genius decided to cast a broody irishman as the king of macedonia? the wig was ridiculous. the accent was ridiculous. that film; ridiculous. so ridiculous, that i fell asleep to it.

marock and roll!


3 comments:

  1. Wow. Undressed by a stranger- I would have FREAKED! I couldn't have a massage either actually- the thought of a random person rubbing oil over me makes me shudder. I bet it's actually really nice.
    Your holiday stories are actually bloody entertaining...!

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    Replies
    1. am glad both you and my mum are here to boost my ego! thanks kimmy x

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  2. Why am I not skinny? Oh yeah. Rebekah Lucy 4 Crunchips 4EVA.

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