Wake up to awesome rooftop breakfast of fresh watermelon and prepare for our first traditional hamam treatment in our riad. Go downstairs to the impeccably restored 17th century marble and mosaic hamam, stripped down to nothing, and were laid down naked on warm wooden benches. Covered from head to toe in black Argan oil paste by bath woman who did not speak – English or anything else. Every inch of us scrubbed vigorously by hand with the roughest, most exfoliating mitt I’ve ever felt. Swore I lost a pound of skin. Rinsed off with beautiful copper bowlfulls of warm water poured ovr our heads from massive wooden buckets. Hair caked with desert clay and ENTIRE bodies coated with thick layer of Arabian herbs or “Les herbes de l’Arabe.” Left lying there for a few minutes before being placed in a fabulous marble shower where non-speaking scrubber rinsed our bodies until they were clean and unbelievably shiny. In an effort to capture the complete decadence of the moment, Cristina starts snapping photos of me in the marble shower. Scrubber is horrified but tries best to appear nonchalant. Not only do Muslims not believe in taking photos, but here is a crazed woman shooting a centerfold before her eyes. No doubt the topic of riad gossip for the next week.
Decided to have respite from Medina and at Chris’ recommendation headed to luxurious “beach club” and playground for the privileged in the Palmerie Oasis on the edge of the desert. Spot camels en route. Screech and ask driver to stop so we can take photos. End up taking camel rides through the palms with our fab poolside gear while we convinced our driver to play fashion photographer.
Once ensconced inside club we decide we look cool in our bathing suits after three days of desert air and mediterranean diet. Initiate all-day photo shoot. Sip Moroccan orange juice drinks all day listening to fabulous classic Sinatra mix by stunning pool. Head home by taxi at sundown.
After a brief stop at an internet cafe (three ramshakle desks with computers in someone’s lobby) we decide on small dive-y square-side restaurant in Djemma el Fna. Have amazing omelette, soup, tagine, olives, salad, and drink for $8. Three twelve year old boys from France are sitting next to us. They remind us of our kids. Apparently they’re on some sort of group holiday and the rest of their group and counselors are sitting a few tables away. They’re getting into all sorts of trouble – shooting spitballs and airplanes at customers in the next cafe. We crack up and they start talking to us in broken English and asking for our napkins for more airplanes. I lean over and snicker to Cristina these are the youngest men we’ve picked up to date. She jokingly threatens to show them my hamam picture. We crack up, finish tea and head back to the souls for some last-minute Marrakech shopping.
Haggling is a sport in Morocco and by now we’re killing ‘em – paying 30% of asking on average for everything. Find a ton of ceramics we love. After some hard negotiating Cristina settles on a price for her lot. I’m not satisfied yet and decide I’m leaving Marrakech while I’m on haggling fire. The seller’s not budging and I decide to call his bluff and walk away. When I’m about 20 feet from his stall he calls me back. ”Ok, ok!!! You tough lady but yes deal. You have the face of America but the pocket of Zimbabwe!” I relish my victory, reward myself with more spiced ice cream and we head home.
Get back to hotel and ask front desk guy for a some tea and a snack. He says the kitchen staff is gone but he will dig something up. He goes the to kitchen and returns with a full meal he prepared for us himself!!! Brings us a picture of a gazelle he printed off Google and tells us this is what we remind him of. Go to bed with full tummies and happy hearts.
