As I tentatively climb the stairs to the women’s entrance I worry about what I am getting myself into. A public bath? All by myself? I don’t speak Turkish and I really know nothing about the culture. I’m nervous.
A bell tinkles as I open the door and enter into the quiet, inner alcove but no-one comes to greet me.
“Merhaba”, I call out towards the sounds of television coming from the next room.
A stout, older woman comes bustling out of the back room. Her mu-mu, sensible shoes, and hair curlers are no surprise to me; she is the epitome of what I am expecting in this neighbourhood gathering place.
“Galatasaray Hamami hoş geldiniz. Bugün nasılsın?”
“Uh-Oh”, I think as I understand nothing she says. “How are we going to manage this?”
She takes control before I have a chance to think any further about it, obviously having managed many an inexperienced bather in her days.
With a frank, get-down-to-business attitude that will dominate the whole experience she points to the menu board of services posted behind the desk. I am grateful to see that both the descriptions and prices are listed in Turkish and English.
- Bath Only (You Scrub and Bathe Yourself) 26 Euro
- Kese (Body Scrub) 35 Euros
- Foam Massage 38 Euro
- Kese and Foam 44 Euros
- Pasha (Oil Massage) 57 Euros
I want to ask questions and find out more but our language barrier gets in the way and she seems in no mood to entertain trying. She points repeatedly to the Kese and Foam option while telling me; I’m sure, how wonderful it will be. Kese and Foam I guess it will be then.
Handing me a thin cotton ‘Turkish towel’ and a pair of wooden clogs she points to one of the cubicles lining the long, narrow room…I am to get changed. Once inside I close the door and realize that the door is all glass…there will be no privacy.
I’ve read that it’s appropriate to ‘kit down’ in a hamam, especially in a non-tourist bath so, not wanting to seem all prissy by wearing a swim suit or leaving my undies on, I remove all my clothes and drape myself in the towel. The wooden clogs are another matter and I wonder how I am going to negotiate myself on the seemingly treacherous marble floors while wearing them. Game as ever though I don them and present myself back to the attendant.
She leads me through a door to a small, ‘cool’ room – all marble, lined with marble wash basins with brass fixtures – but we do not stop there. We continue on through the next door to the ‘warm’ room.
This is the room I imagined when reading about visiting a Turkish hamam; a circular room entirely of marble. A large round marble pedestal dominates the middle of room – large enough to hold 10 women, it is heated from within and warms the room to a steamy comfort. Ringing the room, attached to the marble walls, are large marble basins with brass fixtures. I look up to see a domed roof studded with small jewel coloured windows which take in the sunlight and reflect the colors throughout the room. It’s magical.
It appears I will not be alone during my bath. Three young girls are in the room already. Wrapped in towels, they are lounging, rinsing, chatting and giggling away. The attendant points to the platform and motions that I should lie on it. I make a move toward the center of the room.
“Madam, Madam’, she calls to me.
I look over to see her gesturing that I should hand her my towel. I look to the young girls am just thinking, “but the girls still have theirs on” when I feel the towel being hastily removed and there I stand…naked.
Trying to look as comfortable as possible, and trying not to slip on the wet marble floor in my wooden shoes, I make my way to the platform and lay down. The marble is hot…not uncomfortable, but hot. In no time at all I am hot, hot, hot and dripping in sweat.
I lie there for what seems like an eternity…turning over occasionally and even managing once to get up and casually stroll (naked, people!) to one of the basins to rinse off and cool down a bit.
Just when I think they might have forgotten about me, I sense someone standing nearby. I open my eyes and am met with an eyeful of belly and boobs as the attendant readies to scrub, rinse and massage me clad only in her knickers. Nice.
She starts with the loofah mitt; scrubbing away all the dead skin and most of the tan I’ve been working on so diligently. Both sides, up and down, head to toe. Then another death defying trip to the basin for a rinse. I negotiate the wooden clogs on the marble as best I can but fear that grace has left me.
It’s time for the washing part of the bath. Gathering soap in a giant soapy mitt she creates the largest foamy bubble I’ve ever seen and washes me until I must sparkle Piling on more and more suds, she massages me lightly with the softest hands imaginable. Walking to the basin all soaped up would not have been a good idea…so she brings the water to me, bucketful by bucketful.
At this point, thinking we’re done I sit up, hoping a towel will be produced. But no, we’re not finished yet.
“Madam, madam” she calls to get my attention again. I look over to see her sitting on a low stool with a bottle of shampoo in her hand, indicating that I should sit on the marble step between her legs. I really don’t want her to wash my hair but can’t for the life of me figure out how to get out of it. She squeezes shampoo onto my head and works it into lather with great efficiency as I watch shampoo fly everywhere. Another quick rinse and now we’re done…I am smooth and clean and ready to face the (clothed) world again.
I am left to relax some more on the marble platform and then, when I am ready, I poke my head out and finally receive the towel I have been wanting all along.
Since visiting fourteen countries on her RTW trip, Gillian dreams and schemes about how to travel more and more. She writes about travel and stepping out of her comfort zone at One-Giant-Step.com.