If Dubai is for shoppers, its malls opening up a fabulous world where acquisition is king, it is as well a centre for wellness and relaxation. These are guaranteed at the city’s One & Only Royal Mirage, a resort that instills calm and quiet in its very surroundings. The hotel with its arches and domes is a tribute to Arabian architecture, a sculpture of horses and camels offering an adventurous welcome, and occupies a kilometre of private coastline nestled in 65 acres of landscaped gardens. This is escape indeed from Dubai’s multifarious high-rises, sprawling arcades and the city’s constant construction work. And that too just 30 minutes from the international airport and 20 minutes from the surrounding desert.

I am here to experience the city’s only Oriental Hammam which nestles like a gaudy jewel in the area labelled Residence and Spa. The traditional hammam has long played a part in the social life and well-being of eastern cultures. The ancient Greeks realised the benefits of daily bathing early on and made it a social event with therapeutic and psychological benefits. This was taken up by the Romans who built fabulous bath houses with running hot and cold water and gymnasia attached. The tradition of bathing is also an important aspect of Islamic culture which lays great emphasis on hygiene.

Having gotten over the initial hiccup of not bringing along any swimwear, a problem solved with the help of some disposable underwear, I shower quickly and encase myself in a traditional robe or pestemal and slip my feet into rubber slippers. I am now led to the hammam by a young changing room attendant. It is warm and steamy in the large round room with the stunning dome, the large marble slab in the centre and the basins of water set in the walls which are covered in an intricate and ornate mosaic. Huge arches all around transport me to the time of the sultans. The sound of running water, the rising steam and the permeating heat lull me into a state of quiet meditation until I discover standing before me a large lady. The attendant who speaks no English, looks like she could crush me in her grip but turns out to be gentle with her ministrations. She is the one designated to bathe me and pamper me for the next hour. She gently takes the pestemal from my shoulders and hangs it on the wall. I feel exposed like a child as she leads me to one of the alcoves where the water flows abundantly and I sit down on a slab of marble as she pours huge jugs of warm water all over me. Here I am, in the prime of life, and being bathed like a child.

In the days of the sultans, brides-to-be would be pampered for hours in the various chambers of the hammam dedicated totally to the pursuit of personal beauty. Skin treatments, body wraps and other exotic rituals were based on ancient family secrets and recipes. The bride-to-be often spent this time in the company of close friends, away from the pressures of getting married which were left to older family members. Socialising in the hammam was as important as the treatments.

I now discover a heavy hot hand rubbing me down with a soft slippery mound of soap that slithers gel-like all over my skin. This is the traditional black soap that is meant to be so good for the skin. In fact my skin is also beginning to feel like a baby’s. Having been bathed and rubbed down vigorously, I am now put into a room that is hot with vapours and steam, to open up those scrubbed pores. I sit in a state of semi-drowsiness as the warmth caresses me into pleasant daydreams. A feeling of contentment passes slowly over my harried mind and body as I discover inexplicable knots opening up in muscles I did not know I had.

In bygone days, no one was ever in a hurry to leave the hammam. Hours would be spent in quiet contemplation or in playing games in the steamy interiors. The cares of the world were left outside its doors. Despite the rough granules that are now being rubbed all over me in gentle strokes that seem to slough away my skin in quiet layers. And yet again the warm water being thrown all over, even as two young girls in bikinis enter, all giggly, to indulge in the treatment. They watch me in amusement, eager to get into the ritual themselves.

As I now lie down on the heated marble slab in the centre of the room, I feel the warmth permeate every bit of my body even as the probing hands of my masseuse known as tayels or tellaks, scour every muscle in a massage fit for the kings, rejuvenating and invigorating. I am being wrapped up in something large and comfy, that holds the warmth in. Next, a brisk exfoliation that leaves my skin feeling like new from throat to toe and everywhere else besides. A gentle face massage and a pummelling of the head makes sure that I have been pampered all the way. The massueurs, are experts from Morocco, Tunisia or Turkey and are masters of their craft.

I had entered the hammam with trepidation but now here I am, relaxed and comfortable, warm as a kitten at its mother’s breast. There is something so basic here, that it enters the consciousness gently and all worldly cares seem to be washed away. Back now in my pestemal and slippers, I lie in a comfortable bed in another room, with clear hot Turkish tea and sweets. Soft music is playing and I may have slept there all day long except that a shower beckons. And after, I take my wet head to the Zouari Hair Salon located very conveniently right next door. A blow dry has me feeling better than new in no time at all.

To wind up a perfect evening at the Royal Mirage, I now treat myself to a Moroccan meal and experience at the Tagine restaurant, which helps me maintain my restful oriental mood. I meander past an open garden and sheeshas into the restaurant to the strains of Moroccan musicians playing soulfully. Everything in this restaurant, I am informed, is the real thing, from hand embroidered tablecloths and cushions on the low tables laden with Moroccan bread and harisa chilly paste and plump olives. I indulge in bastilla d’jay, pie of filo pastry filled with chicken, almond mixture and scrambled egg, covered with cinnamon and icing sugar and tagine soussi, stew cooked in a clay pot. To finish, kenaffa, pastry layers filled with vanilla cream, crushed almond, icing sugar and cinnamon.

In Dubai, then, do as the Moroccans do! Just for a change....

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