Why I Never Visit Morocco Without Going to a Hammam First

Taiba Hammam Turc in Mhamid, Marrakech

I've spent a lot of time in Morocco over the past seven or eight years, and on every single visit, a hammam visit is a must. It's just what I do.

For Moroccans, the hammam isn't an occasional treat, it's part of the weekly rhythm of life. Families go regularly, often on the same day every week, the way you might go to the gym or do the weekly shop. It's where women catch up, where mothers bring daughters, where news travels long before anyone's checked their phone. The public hammam has been part of Moroccan towns and cities for centuries, tied to traditions of cleanliness and rest, and it's grown into something far more social than that too. It's one of the few places where generations still gather together, unhurried, the way they always have.

It's not a tourist thing for me anymore, if it ever was. I land in Morocco, I settle in, and within the first day or two I'm booking a hammam. Not because I need one, although, fair, after a flight and weeks or months of not having one, I usually do, but because it's become one of my favourite parts of being here.

Most of the time I go with my sister-in-law. Sometimes it's my mother-in-law. Often my nieces come too, and every so often we all go together. We make an afternoon of it. We scrub, we relax, we drink tea afterwards, and we leave feeling like slightly better versions of ourselves. There's a reason I keep going back, and it's not really about the skin.

The Different Kinds of Hammam You'll Find in Morocco

Something I didn't understand the first time I went is that "hammam" isn't one experience. It's a whole spectrum, and where you land on it changes everything: the price, the crowd, the intensity of the scrub, even the conversation.

The Local Neighbourhood Hammam

This is where it all started for me. A local hammam is usually just a couple of tiled steam rooms, some buckets of warm water, and a handful of women who go there the way you'd go to your local gym: weekly, without much ceremony. You bring your own kit, or you don't, and you either scrub yourself, scrub each other, or pay one of the ladies working there a small amount to do it for you.

There's no menu. There's no reception desk with a lit-up sign. It's just women getting on with the business of getting properly clean, catching up on the week, and moving on with their day. It's inexpensive, we're talking a handful of dirhams, and it's the version of the hammam that Moroccan families have been doing for generations, long before anyone thought to put "wellness" on a spa brochure.

Turkish-Style Hammams

The treatment menu at Taiba Hammam Turc.

Then there's the version I visited today: Taiba Hammam Turc in Mhamid, Marrakech. These still feel rooted in the local tradition, you're not being handed a robe and led past an infinity pool, but they come with a proper treatment menu, a bit more polish, and staff who've clearly done this thousands of times. You get more choice: different levels of scrub, different massage lengths, a bit more structure to the whole thing. It sits somewhere between the neighbourhood hammam and the five-star spa, and for me, that middle ground is often the sweet spot.

Spa & Hammam menu, translated:

Luxury Hotel Hammams

And then there are the hotel hammams, beautiful, calm, expensive, exactly what you'd picture if someone said "Moroccan spa day" to you. I've done plenty of these too, and I'm not going to pretend they're not lovely, because they are. But here's my honest experience, for what it's worth: they've never scrubbed me as thoroughly as the local ladies do. I don't say that as a criticism. The therapists are lovely, the surroundings are stunning, and if you want a gentle, relaxing spa afternoon, they deliver exactly that. It's just a different intensity of experience. If you want to feel like every last cell of dead skin has been removed from your body, the local and Turkish-style hammams tend to win.

My Visit to Taiba Hammam Turc, Mhamid

Argan oil blended with orange blossom used during my massage.

Today I chose the Hammam Oriental (120 dirhams, around €11) with a 30-minute strong massage (250 dirhams, around €23) added on: 370 dirhams altogether, roughly €34, which by Irish spa-day standards is almost embarrassingly good value. I've had the Hammam Royal here before too, which steps things up with an eucalyptus black soap scrub, a nourishing shampoo, and a seven-plant wrap, worth it if you have a bit more time and want the fuller experience. But today wasn't a leisurely afternoon; it was a proper reset, and the Oriental plus massage combination does exactly that without eating your whole day.

The strong massage, by the way, uses a blend of argan oil and orange blossom, the kind of detail that sounds small until you're lying there at the end of the whole process and it's the thing that finishes the job properly. More on that below.

My Personal Hammam Routine

I keep the start of the ritual simple. Into the steam room first, a wash, and then the henna my sister-in-law always brings along. Henna has been used in Morocco for centuries, and it's not just about the reddish stain it leaves. It has a naturally cooling effect on the skin, and Moroccan women have long used it to soothe irritation and calm inflammation, as well as to condition hair and scalp. It's a small, gentle way to start the ritual, and it always signals to me that the real relaxing has begun.

After that comes the black soap, or savon beldi as it's known here. It's made from cured black olives and olive oil, worked into a soft, dark paste rather than a bar, and it's completely different to anything you'd find in a regular shower. I cover myself in it and sit in the steam for around ten minutes. The olive oil is rich in vitamin E and antioxidants, so rather than stripping the skin the way a conventional soap would, it deeply softens it, and the heat helps it work into every pore. It's essentially the prep work. Without it, even the best scrub only gets the surface.

Then comes the part I both dread and love in equal measure. I lie down on a heated marble slab, and the therapist gets to work with a kessa glove, a rough, exfoliating mitt that feels a bit like a scouring pad against your skin. She works in firm, methodical strokes, arm by arm, leg by leg, and within minutes you can actually see the dead skin rolling off in soft grey rolls, years of it, it feels like. It sounds like it should be uncomfortable, and there is a rawness to it, a real scratch of friction against warm skin, but somehow it never tips into painful. It's oddly satisfying watching it happen. By the time she rinses it all away, my skin feels tighter and smoother, completely different to how it felt twenty minutes earlier.

Then she lays me back down for my favourite part of the entire experience: a full-body scrub with freshly ground coffee mixed into shower gel, head to toe, finishing with a proper scalp massage. The smell alone is worth the visit, warm, rich, slightly bitter coffee grounds worked into every inch of skin, and by the time she gets to my scalp I'm properly, genuinely relaxed. I have this exact treatment on every single hammam visit, wherever I am in Morocco. It's non-negotiable at this point.

A shower, a wash with shampoo and conditioner, and then the final piece: a full 30-minute massage using that argan oil and orange blossom blend, worked into my entire body from shoulders to feet. There's something about a proper oil massage straight after a deep scrub. Your skin has nothing left to block it, so the oil just sinks straight in. Argan oil is rich in vitamin E and fatty acids, so it leaves skin genuinely nourished rather than just glossy, and the orange blossom brings a soft, floral warmth to the whole thing that lingers on your skin for hours afterwards. By the end of it I'm properly relaxed, in the best possible way.

A warm cup of verbena tea to finish the experience.

And then, the final ritual: a warm cup of verbena tea. It's called louiza here, and it's the tea Moroccans reach for specifically to unwind. It's naturally caffeine-free, lightly lemony, and traditionally used to settle the stomach and ease you gently into rest, which makes it the perfect finish after exactly this kind of treatment. I sit with it on one of those beautifully worn brass tables you find in Moroccan spas and let everything settle. I left feeling completely different to how I'd walked in, lighter, calmer, and, frankly, a bit smug about how soft my skin was for the rest of the week.

My Honest Recommendation

Fresh out of the hammam and feeling completely relaxed.

If you're heading to Morocco and you've never tried a hammam, my honest advice is: don't overthink which type to go for. Start with whichever one is nearest to you and see how you feel. You'll probably end up chasing that coffee scrub for the rest of your life too.

Have you tried a Moroccan hammam before, local, Turkish-style, or the five-star version? I'd love to hear which one you'd choose.