Houston’s First Moroccan Hammam Delivers Spa Experience with a Heavy Dash of Culture

posted on: Mar 17, 2020

SOURCE: HOUSTON CHRONICLE

BY: BRITTANY BRITTO

For a 14-year-old American girl who had never been outside of the country, moving to Casablanca with my family was a culture shock. It was also a gift: Thinking back to my time in Morocco, I’m grateful for the warmth and hospitality of the people, the cuisine, the music, and yes, the baths.

For two years, my family lived next door to a public hammam, which in Arabic, literally means bath.

During the weekends, people flocked to the bathhouse. Men and women lined up outside and then filtered into their opposite sides of the bathhouse, paying a modest fee — around 10 dirhams or $1 U.S. — to enter. The women removed their hijabs, clothes, slippers and shoes, stripping down to nothing before entering a large steam room, some stopping at faucets that lined the walls to fill their buckets with warm water and then plopping down on the floor. Some covered themselves with a pleasant-smelling brown, gooey concoction composed of black soap, traditionally made from the ash of African plants, henna or oils. They’d sit until the mixture got tingly or set in. Then came the scrubbing.

I’d never seen, let alone, experienced anything like a hammam before. I was shy about getting naked in front of women and children I didn’t know. I was shy about seeing them naked, and I was even more bashful about the concept of someone bathing me.

But I had to try it.

My helper encouraged my mother and me to bring extra dirhams for tipping. She directed us to women, also mostly naked, who sat in the room waiting for someone to wash after their pores had opened with the help of the hot clouds of steam. The women went to work on our skin with textured mitts or loofas. My mom and I watched — half-amazed, half-horrified as the spirited back-and-forth scrubbing revealed little rolls of grayish dead skin all over our bodies.

My initial hesitation was quickly replaced with astonishment. It was now less about being naked and more about getting clean.

I became enthralled in the heat and dimness of the hammam, with the moments of idleness in the steam, and the soothing feeling of pouring buckets of warm water over my head. I was intrigued by how time seemed to stop for those couple of hours in the hammam. There seemed to be no time limit. And after we dried off and dressed, stepping out of the bathhouse into the light and breathing in the cool air made us feel brand new. Even the lightest breeze flowing softly over our exposed baby-smooth skin and through our hair made us feel feel like our pores and scalps could breathe.

To date, I’ve never experienced anything quite like it. So when I moved to Houston and learned that it had its own hammam — the Hammam Spa — I was ready to relive one of my favorite memories of Casablanca.

But examining the business’ website, I realized I had only heard of higher-end hammams like this one from my well-to-do Moroccan friends. In these type of hammams, guests are given the privacy of their own rooms and more luxurious offerings than the public hammam I had visited. Similarly, the Hammam Spa touted the traditional scrubbing experience with native Argan oil, black soap and other Moroccan products, but with individual rooms and steam rooms for guests. They also offered spa services ranging from facials, sugar waxing, and v-steam sessions, a special steaming treatment for a lady’s nether regions.

I eyed the page for weeks before booking my fiance and me a two-hour Valentine’s Day couple session for $299 — complete with the traditional exfoliating session and a massage. I was excited to share a part of where I lived with him.

Upon arrival, we were seated in a waiting room filled with vibrant Moroccan decor that brought back memories. Spa staff offered us water, Moroccan mint tea, wine and snacks as they readied our own personal room. When it was time to strip down, we sported disposable swimsuits, and were escorted in bathrobes to a large room with faucets, a shower and a steam room.

Spa professionals sat on us on our respective mats, covered our bodies in a liquid black soap and left us in the steam room to sit for several minutes. They rinsed us clean, and just like old times, the scrubbing and exfoliating began. They started gently with our faces, then moved to our bodies, sporadically dousing us with water to wash away the patches of dead skin that surfaced. The women were careful to ask about the pressure, which was nice considering my fiance was a first-timer.

Only steps into the hammam process did I remember that I hadn’t really briefed my fiance on what this hammam experience would be like. I laughed as I watched him go through a range of emotions: caught off guard as the woman’s hands covered him in liquid, soothed by the steam, slightly jolted then comforted by splashes of warm water, amused by the dead skin, and once again, soothed by the scrubbing — just like I had been during my first time in a hammam.

After the women washed our hair — an added bonus — my fiance and I showered and finished the hammam experience with the perfect ending: Swedish massages.

Sure, it wasn’t an exact replica of what I had experienced in the public hammam in Casablanca. There was less nudity, less community, and a set time frame with a much bigger price tag. But it was a worthy trade-off for a luxury-version of a traditional Moroccan exfoliating experience.

We left that night, breathing in the cool Houston air, feeling light, renewed and on a high of relaxation.

brittany.britto@chron.com