When my friend said she was coming over for a visit from England recently I wanted to line up something special. "I know!" I said to myself one afternoon at work as I ignored our policy on internet usage. "We can go to the Hammam at la Mosquée de Paris for a few hours of pampering and relaxing."
Sometimes I wonder if I know myself at all. I tense up when my own Mother hugs me, massages really aren't my thing.
My first thought when we walked into the Hammam (once we'd actually found the entrance door which is cleverly hidden behind a sweet counter) was that I'd clearly had no idea of what a Hammam actually was. I was expecting hot baths to lounge lazily about in, but no, it's actually the setting of a teenage boy's wet dream.
