Hammam (That's Turkish for Bath)

Roasting in Turkey

I planned a trip to Istanbul hoping for the sophisticated elegance of Europe mixed with the random weirdness of the Middle East. When I told people I was going on vacation there, everyone who had already visited said I needed to get a Turkish bath. I asked what it was exactly, and they all pretty much said the same thing: a large-breasted Turkish woman in her 60’s scrubs your skin off while you lie on hot marble slabs. How could I resist?

Luckily, I found the Cemberlinas Hammam just a few minutes walk from my hostel. About half way through my ten-day vacation, I finally went for it. My two guidebooks suggested that I bring a swimsuit, my own personal scrubbing mitten, a bottle of water and some clean clothes to change into after my bathing experience. With a cellophane grocery bag filled with everything on that short list, I walked over to the hammam.

I slapped down my 55 Turkish Lira (about $40), and the lady handed me a brand new pair of panties, a large cotton dish cloth-looking towel to wrap up in, a brand new scrubbing mitten and a little token saying “Foam Massage.” She then pointed to the section for women only.

I walked through the door expecting to see a changing room, but instead I saw a fountain in the middle of a large room. Women wrapped up in terrycloth towels sat on sofas lining the walls. My guidebook said that people wore swimsuits, but as far as I could tell, birthday suits were the fashion. As the only dressed person in the room, I felt a little uncomfortable. An attendant saw my lost look and pointed me to the stairs leading up. I figured the changing rooms were at the top of those stairs, and sure enough, I was right. I slipped off my clothes, ripped the tags off my undies and body scrubber, and then headed downstairs wearing the new panties, some slippers that were in my locker and that dishcloth.

A giant wooden door seemed to get a lot of use. I followed people around me and walked through into a gray marble waiting room. A sign on the door said, “Oil Massage,” but I was too cheap to buy that package. I kept walking to the next door, which opened into the main room. Finally! An enormous, gray marble polygon monopolized the room. Some people laid on the rock, some shuffled into the room marked “Jacuzzi” and others got a scrub down from the employees. Along the edge of the room, small closet-type rooms held sinks with faucets constantly running. I stood on the perimeter watching how the whole thing worked. I felt like an extra on a soft-core porn show that you would find late at night on one of those premium cable channels.

The rock looked like a nice place to start, so I followed those around me and placed my towel on the center of the marble, then laid on top of it. It brought back childhood memories of lying on a towel placed on the warm concrete after a nice run through the sprinkler. My reminiscing came to an abrupt halt by a large breasted Turkish woman in her 60’s who called out to me, indicating that it was my turn to have my skin scrubbed off.

I stepped over and around other half-naked bodies until I made my way over to the edge of the slab where my lady waited. I placed my towel down, then angled myself so the next lady over didn’t have her toes in my hair, and I wasn’t putting my feet on the lady on the other side of me. The masseuse took my token and my scrubber, and then she got to work getting me ready for my big scrub down. A few bowls full of warm water did the trick, and I laid on my stomach while she went to town. She took her job seriously. She thought nothing of adjusting my underwear when it got in the way, but that made me a bit self-conscious. She scrubbed pretty hard, too. There was nothing gentle about this massage, but I loved it! Her English consisted of “lie,” “sit,” “shampoo” and “roll over,” but that’s all we really needed.

When I saw her handiwork, I felt absolutely disgusting! All these balls of dead, gray skin rested corpselike on my arms. She scrubbed down my front, then dumped water over me to wash off the dead Melanie parts. Next came the bubble-wrap! A small bucket of soapy water placed by my side held something that looked like a pillowcase. She took it out, opened it up, wrapped her fist around the opening, then with her other hand she smooshed out a million bubbles onto my back. I’ve never seen so many bubbles! When a blanket of bubbles covered me from head to toe, she rubbed me down yet again, but gentler this time. She rinsed me off and enthusiastically pointed to the faucet as she announced, “Shampoo!”

We went over to a tap, she pointed to the floor, and I sat there for the foamiest shampoo of my life. Any kid would have been in tears from soap in their eyes, but I puckered up my entire face and only breathed after she doused me with the warm water from the ever-running faucet. I thanked the little lady, and then returned to the middle of the hot stone.

That got a little boring after awhile, so I headed over to the Jacuzzi Room. I spent some time in the small hot tub and larger warm tub, and found a token for an oil massage that someone left behind. I left it where it was, thinking that maybe the owner might come claim it, but since no one did by the time I had to leave, it was mine! Wahoo! I wanted one of those. How lucky!

I laid on the hot stone again once more before finishing up with the unexpected massage, and the beautiful woman next to me started talking to me. We chatted about Istanbul, then about traveling in other countries, and moved on to more personal topics. It really was my lucky day because she was a French cardiac nurse who was here with her husband for a week on vacation. I felt all the sophisticated elegance of being in Europe that I hoped for right then and there!

She left, and I went to claim my oil massage. The waiting room replaced the elegant European sophistication with random Middle East weirdness. Something in the poorly ventilated sauna-type room assaulted my lungs and I began coughing. I glanced around to find an employee dying another employee’s hair. Other than the Middle East being full of inappropriate surprises, I found no other explanation for Nice ‘N’ Easy Burnt Auburn singeing the nose hairs of everyone in the room. I tried to ignore the strange situation and sat in the unofficial line for oil massages.

Employees came out of the massage room periodically and called people more or less in the order that they waited. As it approached my turn, one of the employees came out of the room clearly upset. She yelled and used wild hand motions, then pushed another employee and began yelling at her as the poor lady struggled to keep her balance. After taking three or four strides post-shove, the victim left the room as quickly as possible, getting out of the way of the angry woman. Then, to my horror, the violent lady pointed at me and yelled, “Come!” I guess you get what you pay for, and this massage didn’t cost me a cent.

I skeptically followed her into the dimly lit room, and then followed her signal to lie down on the massage table. I put my face in the donut-shaped cushion, and the lady left the room. After a minute or two, I started feeling a little confused. I wasn’t sure if she was in the next room beating up more people or what, but I soon sat up and asked another worker what was going on. No one knew, but the lady soon returned looking as angry as before.

Tip: never get a massage from an angry Turkish woman. As she smeared nearly half a liter of baby oil on me, she took out some of her obvious aggression. She kneaded my newly scrubbed skin without any hint of delicacy, and I soon looked tenderized and oily enough for even a non-cannibal to think about frying me up.

After she finished, I grabbed a towel and wiped off as much oil as possible. I climbed the stairs to my locker and changed back into my clothes. My fingers rubbed my arms, legs and torso, touching skin as soft as a rose petal. All the soreness that accompanies the role of a tourist disappeared, and my jello legs dragged me out of the fountain room and back to my hostel. For all those people who recommended a Turkish bath, thank you! I laugh to myself every time I think about it.