Paris Turkish Baths

What do you get when you cross a Massage Envy with a mosque and 40 crazy naked french women.  If you guess a Hammam also known as a turkish bath, your right.  I wanted to go to the Grand Paris Mosque Hammam the last time I was here in September but ran out of time.  Ilee was game for an adventure, as usual.  So we went down at 10am to La Monge Metro stop to check the place out.  It was closed until 2 but the gentleman at the desk was nice and it looked ok from the outside.  So at 3pm we hopped the metro next to our apartment and headed southwest to Paris’ Muslim community. 

Services just let out and the area was crowded; many of the women wearing veils/burka’s, very little skin showing.  Ilee and I wearing sundresses with lots of skin in comparison.  Ok, let’s be real.  Two fair-skinned, blondes wandering through a muslin community stick out like a sore thumb.  I thought this could be a good opportunity to show Ilee about other cultures and that people are people.  We all are one.  No matter what you wear, smell like  (Ilee can be particular about smell), or look like.

We arrived to a large crowd at the restaurant outside the hammam, not know ing were to go we waited in line to talk to someone who pointed us to the hammam door.

The door was old, painted bright aqua blue with solid colored stain-glass creating a simple design.  We entered in to a strange ancient world.  Brightly colored as a kaleidoscope.  Mosaic tiles and moorish designs set aglow with colorful Moroccan lanterns.  It was just stunning and about 100 years old.  Built for the French North African soldiers returning after World War 1.  We went up to the raised desk, I said Bon jour, Parle vous anglaise”  the response was “No”  Ok, I tried to explain and pointed to the menu of spa options. 

The menu I had seen translated online so I kind of knew that I wanted, the full package, which was the steam baths and dip baths, body scrub, 30 minute massage and mint tea.  The full experience.  Ilee just got the steam and dip with the tea.  I pointed to this option and hand over my visa, no problem.

Knowing what to do next was a problem……huh???   We were handed waterproof slip-on sandals and two towels and rounded the corner.  Wow, loads of naked women, lounging around, getting massages by scary elder (usually burka-ed) women.  Many of the women wore tongs, underwear, or bathing suit bottom, many were totally naked and a few wore bathing suits.  Ilee opted for the full suit, I , being in a semi adventurous mood went for bottoms only.  “When in Rome…..translated to when in Paris do as the Parisians.”  The majority of women were topless as well, I fit right in.  Ilee was only embarrassed for a minute or two. 

I saw more boobs today than I have ever seen in my life put together.  All shapes and sizes, old and perky young.  Ilee was by far the youngest here, I hope this was an ok idea.  I will refer, in the future, of this as an educational, body image lesson.  All bodies (mostly) are beautiful and even the ugly ones have a certain “I can’t look away” attraction.  Beauty is art –subjective, tastes are different.  My sweet daughter, alway know you are lovely and loved.  You’re beautiful.

Anyway, we eventually found a wonderful girl who spoke perfect English and French to help us.  She had just returned from a study abroad in Morocco.  She taught us how to use the steam baths and the mysteries of a hammam.  First, you must go to the hottest room you can handle and then move to the coolest. Then scrub, ending with a massage and shower. OK, we can do this.

We choose a room with medium heat, sometimes darting into the high heat room for a dip in the very cold jacuzzi sized tub.  The high heat room was like turning on your oven to its highest temperature and opening the door in your face.  Intense, and for those of you that think I maybe wimpy, please know that I have a huge, somewhat tacky  infrared redwood sauna in my bedroom and practically live in it during our intense Chicago winters.  I turn it up to 150 degrees fahrenheit, and toast for an hour or so.  I know heat.  Ilee and I braved the oven twice only for a couple of minutes, we’re tough.  Tougher than most of our buck naked comrades.

We found a corner in this beautiful room and set up camp.  You basically sit on a towel, if you’re somewhat hygienic, not all are here.  You have a little cubby with an antique marble sink, cold and hot water and a bucket.  You sweat, yes really sweat.  Then clean yourself with black middle eastern gel soap.  The smell we decided was not very attractive, but not completely unattractive either.  Ilee and I scrubbed each others backs, which we noticed was the custom and rinsed and repeated.  Our helpful friend came over and offer us some hammam mud, called  Rhassoul.  It is powder and you add water to it and mix.  We spread it all over ourselves, hair and all and let it soak in for about 10 minutes maybe longer.  Then we rinsed at our sink and then showered. 

After the shower I got in line for the body scrub.  When I signed up for this I assumed it was a body cream that you apply yourself.  No, this is an old woman who puts you on a wet table and scrubs you down with the pads used by the previous 10 clients.  My Public Health background started kicking in……no block that thought.  It’s all ok, just don’t think too much, which for me is challenging.  It was another when in Rome moment. 

I survived, with one less layer of skin and no worse for the wear.  Next the massage.  I have had many massages in my day and I can attest none have been like this.  You are in a room with 40 naked women lounging on large padded raised beds, watching as 4 elderly women in underwear massage all over you.  Breasts & ass included.  She took my bathing suit bottoms and tucked them between my checks for the ass rub.  This old woman was coming on a little too fresh for my tastes and I’m pretty easy-going.  What did I get myself into, Ilee sat on the side with a smug look that said “I told you not to get the massage.”  If you saw this lady on the street in full burka you would never guess that she douses strangers in gallons of oil, (not exaggerating) and rubs boobs.  These crazy arab women. 

As they rub you down they argue and chat among themselves and drink fermented milk.  Can anyone tell me what fermented milk is…possibly kefir??? As far a massages go this was pretty pointless other than it was something I will never forget.  I went home and showered again and I still smell strange.  I hope this scent wears off soon, everyone will be able to smell me from a mile away. 

I learned about another culture today and isn’t that what traveling is all about.  Experiencing something different, like trying on someone elses skin if only for short while.  In the end Ilee and I both thought it was cool. Yes, “different”…Ilee will tell you this in a dramatic, high-pitched voice, but still cool.  Everyone was nice and I know beyond a shallow of a doubt that it would never, ever pass US health inspection standards (That Public Heath degree again) but who cares.  We had fun, that’s what counts. 

http://www.la-mosquee.com/