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Oh dear, I've resorted to sensationalist and deliberately provocative headlines reminiscent of "The Sun". I've obviously been living in London too long! It's not a lie though; my trip to Imlil and Aremd did involve naked ladies. In fact I was one of them.
But that comes later.
Anyone travelling to Morocco to escape the winter blues of London had better steer clear of the High Atlas mountains in March. It was very cold. If the sun was out during the day it was really nice. But at night it was FREEZING. Just over the mountain from where we were staying in Aremd was a ski resort. I hadn't ever linked the words Morocco and skiing in my head, but I guess it's no different to people being surprised that you can ski in Australia.
We bussed it from Marrakech to Imlil which, although a seemingly very small village, is the main point at which many hikers base themselves for treks in the mountains. We had a quick stop there, drank some more mint tea and hiked up the hill to the even smaller village of Aremd where we were to stay for two nights.
The landscape
was beautiful and different to anything I've seen before. In one view there was blue sky, snow covered mountains, rocky hills, earth coloured tiered villages on the mountainsides, green valleys, perfectly clear streams and scattered orchards. My camera had no hope of capturing the contrasts of the area. We hiked in single file up the hillside, occasionally stopping to either take photos or to let mules carrying anything from toilet paper to fruit to small children past us on the way to the village.
We stayed in a cosy family run hostel, or alberge, in the town populated with Berber people. It was lovely to be simple - no TV, heavy and hearty vegetable meals, endless mint tea, good conversation and deep, exercise induced sleep. In the daytime we spent the time hiking in the mountains. At night we amused ourselves with daggy group singalongs when our leaders John and Mike revealed themselves as musical wonders with the guitar. We also had a performance of traditional music from the women of the family we were staying with which I think they enjoyed as much, if not more, than us. I slept huddled up in the cosiness of my quality
sleeping bag, praying that I wouldn't have to get up for the loo as the night was freezing, the sky pitch black and the stairs steep.
One of the more unusual experiences of the trip was had in Aremd which was to bathe in the local hammam. Hammams are found in all the towns and in a way are a central point of life there. Women and men bathe in separate sessions and going there is an opportunity to catch up on the gossip and news of the week. We were invited to go to the hammam with two of the women from the family who owned the alberge.
In bigger towns in Morocco I understand that the hammams are a bit more user friendly for the western tourists who go there so the experience ends up closer to the spas and pampering that I am used to in Australia or England. This was most definitely not one of these. The seven ladies of our trip all decided to partake in the hammam but we were all a bit unsure of what to do, what to wear or what to expect.
The building was one that was
no different to the others in Aremd from the outside. We walked in past a basic reception table and into the first room. The floor was tiled, a low tiled seating step was around the perimeter of the room, hooks like those found in a butchers hung from the wall waiting for our clothes. It was freezing. It was almost unbearable to stand on the tiled floor in bare feet. We cautiously started taking our clothes off, not entirely sure what was appropriate. We settled on a motley mix of bikinis, undies, bras and t-shirts.
We entered the second room which resembled the first minus step, hooks and freezing air... but nobody was there so we entered the lovely warmth of Room 3 - the bathing room.
Sorry if you've been hanging around for salacious details - the secrets of the hammam sisterhood go to the grave. What I will tell you is this - Australian women are not brought up to be comfortable with public nudity. While the boys flicked towels at each other in the communal showers after footy (or so the movies tell me), the girls huddled in cubicles and hid under towels so nobody
caught a glimpse of anything. All this was challenged in the hammam where two naked ladies urged us to lose (nearly) all our coverings and proceded to scrub us with no inhibition or judgement and with the simple aim of ridding us of the filth accumulated on our hikes in the area. Ultimately we got over our issues and we laughed at our silliness... but maintained rigid eye contact at all times!
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