Critical Wording

Sensual, Erotic, and weird as all hell – 10/10

I asked the cab driver that picked me up in Malaga,Spain, “whats one thing I can do in your city, that I will never forget?” and he said, “Hammam Al Andalus”.  Of course, I thought It was a restaurant. I wrote down Hammam in my iPhone notes and figured I would check it out in the next couple of days. 

The next morning I decided to take a walk around the Old Town and see if I could find decaf coffee and alternative milk. First-world struggle (every city I’ve been to in Spain has an old town). It’s like an old walled city within the new city.  It’s usually filled with local artisan shops and cafe’s where people sit in the sun, facing the street, drinking their coffee in the mornings and wine/beer/cava/ vermouth from noon on. One day, I stumbled upon three groups of mostly men and one woman playing a very aggressive game of chess – six people per public marble bench in the center of the square (they brought their own camp chairs), three on each side, rotate until the final winner (they took their chairs with them). 

 Side note : In Seville (Spain) the old town is different – it’s across the bridge from the new town. If you stand in the middle of the bridge at night you can see the shine of glass on the left and the muted tone of ancient things on the right – both are equally celebrated and I find that inspirational. 

The old towns are usually my favorite part. I’m partial to the Moorish, Arabic, Spanish, Medieval, Roman, cobblestone beneath my feet flanked by off-white and pink concrete block buildings from the 700’s – 1300’s adorned with faded black Juliette balconies and roofs made of baked clay and sunlight that hold so many conversations in so many languages they’re basically bursting at the seams – I like to think the cracks in the white walls are indicative of trying to hold all those secrets in. The streets of the old town all intersect at weird angles and the street names are engraved on the corners of the buildings- you just never know which corner – they never match my digital map. I’m blissfully lost most of the time. 

There’s something so exciting about letting yourself be swept up in a labyrinth of marble and stone and brick and  wrought iron that feels like yesterday and romance and possibilities and gelato, and a weird giddy freedom that only makes sense to the wanderer. 

I always find myself pondering what it was like when it was first built, what were the people like that created such intricate beauty. I would love to have one hour of every year in the past to just see how it all came to be (how much trouble could I get into in one hour per year?).  I am sure I would have been friends with the people who created the Cathedral in Seville.

 In the old town of Seville there is a Cathedral with 78 gargoyles – they all have the same face except for one – the odd one is in the middle of the wall and its the shape of a gargoyle without a face  looking backwards over its own bare butt cheeks. I asked the guide why that gargoyle was baring his ass and he told me to look where the two little pillows were facing – as I turned around I could see the flags of Parliament flying across the street.  

When the cathedral was built the king decided the church should pay a tax for every gargoyle because he hated them so much. It was quite the battle. Eventually the church paid the tax for 77 gargoyles. The final one was faceless, mooning the palace, and free. That’s my kind of humor. I think I would have loved these people. Most people would just think about doing something that bold and that … permanent. They flippin’ did it. Here I am, hundreds of years later, laughing as if it just happened. (If you can’t tell Seville was my favorite Spanish city).

Anyway, here we are lost in the old city of Malaga and I see a wood sign with three arrows tucked in the corner of a trio of cafe’s. 

One arrow says, “Cathedral de Malaga”, one says, “Museo Picasso”, and one says, “Hammam Al Andalus”.  Guess which way we went?  

I followed the narrow winding street deep into the heart of old town until it narrows so much that only one person could get down it at a time. Then suddenly it opens into a sun-filled square with a late night pizza locals hang, and a huge double wooden door with the sign, “Hammam, Andalus, Turkish Bathhouse”. Ok, Im in.  

I slipped inside the huge double wood doors to almost total darkness, the sound of water everywhere and I’m greeted by a woman dressed all in white. She asks if I have a reservation and I ask if I can look around.  She says, “No hay entrada sin reserva” – I made a reservation for that night at 8pm and spent the rest of the day exploring the city. 

At 7:30,  I packed my leather backpack, that I picked up in Madrid, with my swimsuit and stood there trying to think of what else I would need – I ended up with a brush and ponytail holder. Lightest bag I’ve ever packed. 

Off we went. I love the not knowing, like a true adventurer, I just embrace the adventure, lean in and let it be. I took an Uber back to the old city and he dropped me close to the Hammam and told me how to get there since I just happened upon it the first time. Then he winked and said “Disfruta de tu baño, belleza”.  

Entering the big wooden doors again I could barely contain my excitement and a little trepidation. Im always aware of my limitations (I have MS and sometimes heat is a whole thing. I also tore my ACL, MCL, and Meniscus a couple years ago and while it healed on its own, it only takes a small slip to re-injure it) so I enter every scenario aware of the risk and try to be careful – especially in wet, potentially slippery environments. That didn’t stop me from booking the MIDRA including the whole water journey accompanied by a full ritual massage with purification on a hot stone bed. ALL IN IT, y’all – whats the point of half an experience. 

The entryway is somehow cozy and ancient and quiet. The interior features stunning Nasrid-style decor, including intricate geometric tiles, ginormous archways, vaulted ceilings with star-shaped skylights, and candle-lit walkways. The atmosphere is designed to be otherworldly. 

The hostess gave me an “timeless” bracelet and told me to proceed down the dark stone stairs lit by lanterns.  I was met by traditional Andalusian music playing in the background and real warmth. There is a touch of humidity and a man dressed in Roman clothing presented me towels and a cotton robe.  He quietly pointed me to the changing room and explained the lockers. He told me to change into my clothing of choice (or absence of) put on the robe and wait in the tea room for a friend. The locker rooms are dark and there are showers, hair dryers, plastic bags for wet suits, and every toiletry you could possibly need. Everything is still lit by candlelight. I change in a private room and move through a curtain at the back of the room to enter the tea room, I chose to go barefoot over wearing the slippers. (It’s a choice) 

The tea room walls are dark red. There are heated stone couches and chairs with blankets on the backs.  In the corner there’s an ornate table with several kinds of tea. The tea cups are metal without handles and the tea temperature is perfect. It’s immediately drinkable. At the time I wasn’t really thinking about why I was in a tea room but later I understood that Hammam recommends you drink herbal tea or water to hydrate before the baths. There were tea rooms interspersed in different areas of the Hammam so that at any time you could stop and hydrate. The tea was amazing and later I learned that I could buy any of the tea I had enjoyed. (Not bad marketing) As I drank my tea I noticed there were people of all ages coming and going and a lot of couples. They were all secretively whispering as they tucked beyond the curtain to the Hammam.

My “friend” introduced herself as Cata’n and she escorted me beyond the series of curtains and into the massive dome. The ceilings rose three floors and in this room there was a large pool in the center and three pools around it with a water fall. It was cloaked in steam but oddly still not too humid. She explained the order of soaking as a ritual designed to increase circulation, cleanse, detoxify, and relax the body through alternating temperatures and high humidity. It moves from warm preparation to intense heat, into the cool down, and freeze- in a specific sequence for optimal health. You can also just sit in the hot tubs – which is more my speed. I hate cold water more than…nah, that’s the thing I hate most. Then Cata’n escorted me up a flight of stairs and let me know that my massage would be beyond the HUGE metal doors on the second floor and I would need to choose a scent from the wall in front of us. 

Each scent had a description of where it came from, what its greater meaning for my health, and why you would choose that particular scent. You could open a little window in the wall and smell the scent. I was at that wall for a long time reading and choosing but eventually I gave in and chose Red Amber because it fit. Recovery, strength, determination, and rest.  Aight then. 

• Red Amber: A warm, and enveloping scent.
• Lavender: Known for its calming and relaxing properties.
• Rose: A classic, floral, and romantic aroma.
• Jasmine: Frequently used in body oils.
• Orange Blossom: Often used in the Andalusian style baths

Cata’n told me when it came time for the massage she would come find me and escort me in – how she would find me in this mammoth space, I had no idea.  She said, once past the metal doors, I should leave my swimsuit on the hook inside, it will be pitch dark with lanterns lighting your path, just wear the robe –  but it was my choice. Well…when in Spain. She pointed me to the shower room so I could rinse off before soaking in the pools. 

I went into the shower rooms and noticed it was co-ed. A nice older gentlemen explained that the shower spray is activated by placing your hand on the solar panel, it will last for 2 minutes or you can place your hand back on it to stop the flow.  It felt amazing. I went back downstairs and sat in the hot tub for quite some time and watched other people getting in and out of the multiple cold pools and had some more tea. Then I went and checked out out the “living room” filled with hot stones to lay on. Then Cata’n came for me and told me it was time for my massage. 

I was not prepared. Cata’n and I slipped past the metal doors and I could barely see anything – it’s super wet, humid and steamy. The floor is slick which makes me nervous. I can just make out the vague movement of white clothing and lanterns. The whole room is a big circle and in the middle of the circle is a raised island, like a rounded rock coming up out of the sea and I am trying to figure out what the heck is this huge black wall, shrouded in steam – later I found out that the very top of the Hammam dome sticks through the second story floor creating a privacy wall all the way around the room. 

I drop my suit at the door and follow Cata’n to a sectioned off space – with much relief, she took my arm and made sure I didn’t slip through the tiny corridor around the room and she held up my robe as I lay down on the warm stone and then draped the robe over me as she whispers “have an enlightened experience”. I am already enlightened – for sure.  

This was so far from a typical massage I am not sure where to start. I am face up when Ana introduces herself as a whisper in my ear and pours warm water and then warm oil from my forehead over my hair. She begins to massage my head until I am almost ready to sleep and i can feel her braiding my hair. It felt so maternal that I had tears in my eyes when she began pouring warm water down my robe not caring that it was getting wet – she softly used to robe to apply black mud to my whole body and then rinse it off – then as I turned on the table she used a sponge to squeeze bubbles onto my back. This Is a whole other level of sensation as thousands of bubbles pop. Who knew. It was a little erotic but also super calming. More hot water and the actual massage started. It was hands down the quietest my nervous system has been in years. Fast circulatory friction followed by long relaxing strokes. Lastly, warm towels wrap you in a cocoon of tranquility and a small metal cup of tea, and a new robe is left for you. I took my time getting up and suddenly Cata’n was there to walk me safely back to dryer ground, through the lanterns and the steam and the whispers and whoosh of white clothing, around the big concrete rock sticking up out of the floor, to the tall metal door and my already dry swimsuit.  

I can recommend the MITRA at Hammam Andalusia with all my heart. I can’t wait to return.