The Hammam

There's nothing better on a cold winter morning than visiting the Arab baths in the centre of Granada. Los baños arabes are part of the "architectural heritage" and culture of Granada, despite the attempts of los Reyes Católicos (the Catholic Monarchs) to destroy them soon after they took control of the city in 1492.

One of the best ways to engage with this history is to visit El Bañuelo. Constructed in the 11th or 12th century, it's one of the "best-preserved public Arab baths" on the Iberian Peninsula. Although you can no longer bathe at El Bañuelo, you can visit one of the modern hammams in the city. So light a candle, pour yourself a cup of mint tea, and take a few minutes to experience the sensory pleasures of the baths with me.

The receptionist at the hammam confirms we prefer to speak Spanish before showing us to the waiting area, where a few other bathers are gathered. He gives us tiny shower caps to cover our shoes with – mine are beige; my husband's blue. The plastic crinkles and slides as I walk across the room to get us a cup of black mint tea.

The silver teapot sits on a metal stand. A lit tea light in the centre keeps the tea hot. As I pick up the teapot by the cheerful red and blue cozy cushioning the handle, I admire the floral motifs engraved into the metal. I slowly pour tea into tiny metal cups, inhaling the sweetness of the mint released by the steam. The first sip of tea is perfect: hot and rich and sweet.

We're sitting in an indoor patio surrounded by layers of dark wooden balconies under a huge skylight. Round lamps and wall sconces mimic the warm, multidirectional light of being in nature. A video of a woman in shadow picking up and smelling a rose projects onto the back wall.

The receptionist returns to hand us two towels – a thin, red-and-white cotton fabric to cover ourselves with in the baths, and a fluffy grey towel to use afterwards. We're directed to different changing rooms, and as I'm choosing my locker, an attendant enters and asks me if I have my swimsuit. When I say yes, she asks me for it. Confused, I start opening my backpack, and then realise that I've absconded with my husband's board shorts.

Despite this modest setback, he's waiting for me next to the tea station when I enter the baths in my cotton wrap. The stones are smooth, dry and warm under my bare feet. An older woman with an elegant updo gives us a tour and explains the suggested order of the baths: temperate, hot and cold followed by the sauna. She leaves us next to the showers. Someone's left one of them on full blast, and I enjoy the sensation of the hot water massaging my shoulders before we head for the first bath.

The lighting in the hammam is soft and warm – arches and candle-filled nooks adorn the walls. The smell of candle wax mixes with something sweet and floral. We walk down a few shallow steps into the waist-height bath, which is more like a gently-heated swimming pool. The far end features an archway covered with colourful mosaics – I recognise some of the tile patterns from the Alhambra.

I float on my back while my husband holds my ankles so I don't sink. I admire the ceiling, which is full of large cutouts of backlit stars. My husband pulls me around the pool, back and forth through a line of columns extending out of the water. I enjoy the gentle ride, letting my arms and hair stream behind me.

Next we head to the prettiest bath, a loose square with some of the corners out of sight of the entryway. The tall ceiling makes it feel cosy and private. There's also an alcove at one end, where you can sit or lie in shallow water. We lie back on our elbows in the 38-degree water with our legs stretched out, facing the door. It's peaceful until I change position, sloshing water into the gutter beside me, which sounds like a hearty fart. We giggle.

The baths don't feel crowded – most of the time there are only one or two other people in each bath we enter. We mostly see couples or women on their own. We don't talk much, both because of the constant hum of running water, but also to luxuriate in this curated sensory experience.

Then it's time for the cold bath, a smaller, square pool in the corner of a much larger room. There's a chess set on a small table on the other side, and someone's moved one white pawn two squares forward in an opening gambit. I make the next move, picking up a black pawn and moving it two squares forward on the other side of the board.

While you descend into the warmer baths via shallow stairs, the cold bath requires you to climb over the side of the bath's wall, as if to double check you really want to get into it. The bath's shallow, and as soon as my feet touch the water I'm ready to get out. I take a deep breath and lie down in the water for a moment, but then I jump out, have a small glass of fortifying mint tea, and we head to the sauna.

The sauna is warm, the air heavy with steam. I sit in the corner, my back against the wall and my legs stretched out along the tiled bench. I rest my head on my husband's shoulder, shut my eyes and enjoy the sensation of the steam gently heating my skin. With each exhale, I try to release tension and I can feel my shoulder blades start to drift down my back. The humid air loosens everything.

When we're relaxed and warm, we head back to the first bath, smelling of sweet, soft amber; ready to repeat the circuit.

Have you been to a hammam before? What did you enjoy the most about the experience?

Is there a tradition of going to the public baths or hot springs where you live? How does the experience differ?

Sketches from Granada celebrates every-day moments of connection with strangers, friends and ourselves. I know how easy it is not to be present in your own life, and I hope these sketches inspire you to seek out those moments that are worth savouring. 

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