Recently I was fortunate enough to be bobbing in this lovely hot tub at the Alasalla Spa, surrounded by glazed tiles glimmering in shades of plum and topaz. The picture above is brightly lit, but in reality, soft blue lighting, delicate filigree woodwork and velvety music make one feel as though one is floating in a genie's lamp.
That day, my friend and I had enjoyed facials and were trying out the "wet area," consisting of the hot tub, icy scented showers and sauna. The showers were hilarious: two little cylinder-shaped areas, tiled from top to bottom, with water-jets studding the walls, and three mysterious buttons labeled "Tropic," "Fun," and "Something I Forget." As far as I could tell, the scenting-feature wasn't working that day, but the jets were. Upon pressing a button, several disco lights would begin flashing and then you'd be blasted with cold water in alternating patterns. "Tropic" turned out to be very similar to "Fun" insofar as several tender bits of myself were assaulted by needle-sharp sprays of chilly water, causing me to howl and gyrate around the cylinder, trying to shield all those bits at once. Given the effect the jets caused, the disco lights were very appropriate. After trying the showers after the hot tub, we realized that we weren't hot enough to appreciate their icy delights, so we baked ourselves in the sauna until we were beets. This did the trick, and suddenly crazy-cold became refreshing.
At one point during our waterlogged adventures, we noticed a very sturdy woman with Middle Eastern features wandering in and out of a treatment room off the main area. She was wearing a strange black spandex outfit - longish bicycle shorts and a lycra tee-shirt-top - and she looked like she meant business. She stopped to talk to us, and revealed what was happening in the little room: the Royal Hammam.
The spa's website notes that the Royal Hammam invites one to "experience a deep cleansing body treatment performed on a warm marble slab under an infusion of eucalyptus scented steam using Moroccan black soap followed by a deep and vigourous exfoliation with a traditional kassa. A purifying and revitalizing clay mixture is then applied to stimulate the circulatory system and assist with the removal of impurities."
Apart from my copywriter's heart crying out at the use of the word "slab" to describe something you'd willingly lie down on, this sounds blissful to me. Basically, as the woman explained to us, you take off all your clothes and are scrubbed like a baby. Then you are rinsed, scrubbed again, rinsed, slathered in moisturizer, bundled, warmed, rinsed a final time and released back into the world, gleaming, less three or four layers of skin. (Later, the receptionist revealed that the dead skin comes off one's body "like snakes," which certainly sounds intriguing).
Then this venerable matron of skin removal uttered the fateful words that one hears over and over again in this part of the world: "Insh'Allah, you will have this treatment."
Insh'Allah means "Allah-willing." People use it in both profound and mundane circumstances:
"Insh'Allah, you will recover from this terrible illness"
"Insh'Allah, your drycleaning will be ready Tuesday."
When it comes to major life issues, I certainly respect that people of faith want to invoke the power of God and remind themselves that events are in His hands. But when it comes to, say, whether I will have my skin exfoliated or not, I can't help but raise an eyebrow. If Allah is really concerned about my unsightly epidermis, I wish I could donate that fraction of His attention to something else, you know, like smiting corporate thieves or housing the homeless.
Then again, if Allah does involve Himself in improving the flaky elbow'd and the sand-box knee'd, then I can reasonably expect to enjoy the Royal Hammam very soon. I'll keep you posted.
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