A trip to the Hammam!

Every now and then there comes a time for you to spend a few hours primping yourself. Here in the Middle East, such occasions call for a trip to the local Hammam. The Hammam is more than an Arabic (or Turkish) bath house, it's a place where the community comes to wash away the trials of the day, gossip, broker deals, and hang out with friends. 

I've gone to a Hammam in Turkey, but I was interested to try an Arabic Hammam. Thankfully, there was one around the corner from my brother's house, so off I went. As soon as I entered the Hammam I was struck by the humidity in the room. Had I suddenly been transported back to a Washington DC summer? I was greeted at the entrance by a female worker, as the Hammam is segregated by gender. She spoke no English, and I spoke no Arabic but we got by with an extensive use of miming through out my entire experience:

Given the fact that I was in a bathhouse, my first order of business was to strip down. The Hammam had women of all shapes and sizes, and modesty didn't seem to be an issue. I was given a towel and wooden slippers, and since my glasses were removed, led into the main chamber. Some Arabic/Turkish bathhouses have multiple rooms, but in this Hammam everything goes down in one room. 

If the first room was hot, the main chamber was boiling. Along the walls were water spouts and basins, but the main feature of the room was a salt-and-pepper- marble bench. I was told to sit on the bench as steam entered the room. One the main principles of the Hammam is to steam the body first so that you essentially sweat out your impurities or toxins. Gwyneth Paltrow would have been proud.

After getting my sweat on for 20 minutes, I was led to one of the water basins and told to lie down. Hot water was splashed on my body to get rid of the sweat. Then the Hammam-worker used a coarse mitt to exfoliate my arms, legs, and torso. Often the word exfoliate has a positive connotation, but this was a rough experience. One that I liken to someone vigorously scrubbing you with a Brillo® Steel Wool sponge. I was a snake, shedding a layer of skin.

Next came my favorite part: the soap! I didn't just get washed down with a bar of dove, I was covered in olive oil soap. Warm, creamy, and Jasmine-scented, this soap felt amazing on my skin. Not only did I smell good, but my skin wasn't dried out. Similar olive-oil based products were used on my hair. Four hours later and my skin and hair are still smooth and silky.

After rinsing off the soap, I got a massage. More olive-oil products were used as a tiny Arabic woman pounded my back, arms, and legs. I wasn't able to convey to her the pain I was feeling, so instead I endured the knuckle grinding and thumb pressing. Maybe I'm a wimp compared to Arab women (and European tourists), or maybe she was working out her own frustrations on my upper torso. 

Once that was done I put on my a robe and relaxed in the first room for a while. After I got dressed, tea and lunch  (Ful Medammes) were served in a spacious courtyard. The entire Hammam experience lasted about an hour and a half, and I felt renewed and refreshed afterwards. It cost a flat price of 1100 SYP, which works out to be about $24 US dollars for a shower-scrub-massage-tea-lunch combo. 

ما من ساعة مذهلة!

(what an amazing hour!)

There's No Place Like Home?

One of the best things about travelling is being exposed to new places, customs, and people. Even in a cosmopolitan city like Beirut popular chains put a local spin on their menu or offerings. An H&M might choose to display more jeans and less shorts, while a McDonalds might sell burgers with feta cheese or lamb patties.


One of the exceptions to this rule seems to be Starbucks. 

My family and I went in to a Beirut Starbucks so my mom could get her caffeine fix, and I was immediately struck by how familiar the store felt. The walls were a sand-tinted beige, the tables and chairs dark brown, and large couches were placed in the corner.  You could order a  tall caramel macchiato, grande cinnamon dolce crème frappuccino, or a venti iced pumpkin spice latte. Plus the store was playing some light jazz, with a mandatory heavy emphasis on saxophone rifts. Displays tempted you to buy a "Christmas Blend" bag of coffee beans or an over sized plastic coffee mug that was plastered with  art-deco images of New York.

My own gateway to America, smack dab in the middle of the Arabian peninsula. 

Wake Up In The Morning...

Recently I've been staying with my brother who lives in the Middle East.  Last night he was at a work function so to pass the time I decided to watch some tv.

As soon I picked up the remote imagine my surprise when Ke$ha appears on his screen, dancing around and urging everyone to "Take it Off" as she's pelted with color power. I'm not a Ke$ha fan at all, especially her predilection for dancing on toilets in her music videos and her lack of artistic ability. I find her songs grating, and it annoyed me to no end that her first single Tik Tok followed me everywhere during my last year of college.

When it comes to media the Middle East can be strange. Yes I have access to GMail and pirated movies, but certain western artists are frowned upon and most social networking sites (Facebook, Twitter, etc) are blocked.

It seems, however, I never should have doubted the power of Ke$ha and her ability to follow me everywhere.  Here's to brushing your teeth with a bottle of Jack!