Advertisement
Published: October 23rd 2009
Edit Blog Post
Wednesday in Istanbul was bath day for me. I was to leave for the east on a train at ten to midnight, so I thought a nice wash and massage would gird me well for the 68 hour journey. The weather had been gorgeous - cloudless skies, warm air, no hint yet of the autumn or or cold winters that this part of Turkey has - until the previous night when a cold wind blew up the Bosphorus and brought with it rain from the Agean Sea. I had been luckier than I had at first realised with the late summer warmth. Now the wind and rain were reminding me that it was time to move out of Europe, toward drier southerly places, in time to cross the equator for the start of the Southern Hemisphere's late spring and summer. Already they would be playing cricket in Australia, and making plans to keep cool on a hot Christmas Day and the lazy holiday months around then.
One evening during my stay Darlene produced a bag of Runes, withdrew one and laid it on the table as a relfection on my journey. I was impressed and moved by the reading that
accompanied the particular rune:
... During times of transition, shifts in life course and accelerated lifechange, it is important not to collapse yourself into your emotions - the highs as well as the lows. New opportunites and challenges are typical ... and with them will come trespasses and unwanted influences.
... Remain mindful that timely action and correct conduct are the only true protection. If you find yourself feeling pain, observe the pain, stay with it. Don't try to pull the veil down and escape from life by denying what is happening. You will progress; knowing that is your protection. Time for a bath - I caught the local tram, using the magnetic sensor on the Akbil (a much more Turkish-sounding name than Oyster Card) and enjoyed the recorded anouncement in English, addressing us as 'Dear Passengers'. I searched for ages around where the touristy Hamman was supposed to be - near the entrance to the ancient Basilica Cystern - without joy. My original plan was to eschew the expensive, sanitised, just-for-foreigners baths, and find a more authentic, quieter version. However I was running short of time, and I felt a little anxious about the naked rituals
that the baths seemed to entail, and whether I would get it right. So the thought of English being spoken and staff who were used to having first-time thrill seekers was a little more comforting, even if an inauthentic experience.
I adopted the male habit of not asking for directions, but instead kept exploring in wider and wider circles, still not finding the five-star hamman. Down a little alley however, oddly just opposite the Sultanahmet tram stop where I alighted, I did find a smaller baths, possibly even frequented by locals. It had a careless air about its appearance, and cost about half what I was expecting to pay, and in I went.
I was given a fringed sarong and some platic sandals, and shown to a cubicle where I was told - in Turkish, but with key words in English, and plenty of international gestures - to undress and lock the cubicle behind me when I came out. I was led out of the entrance area, which was furnished with faded cushions, tatty rugs and a TV, through a low, marble-lined arched tunnel. Beyond this were the baths themselves. Before I had a chance to appreciate the minimalist marble and plaster, octagonal rooms and more arches, I was hit by the heat. How such cold-looking decor could produce such humid, warm air I wasn't sure; there were no coals to be seen, no radiators. When I was asked to lie on the marble floor, in one of the open rooms leading off the main octagon, I realised that of course there must be heat below, as the marble itself was very warm.
Lie, relax, wash, then relax I was told. Relax I did, helped by being the only one in the small complex of rooms, alone with my thoughts of old Istanbul and my journey ahead to Iran. As I lay I gazed at one of the domed ceilings, with its small holes glazed with bright colours, casting patterns on the peeling plaster.
I gingerly washed myself using the warm and cold water from the taps juggling the red and blue plastic bowls to carefully rinse myself - not wanting to create too much watery mess, as there didn't seem to be anywhere for the water to drain to. I also didn't want to get my sarong too wet. I lay down again on the warm floor, and awaited my next instructions. In no rush the middle-aged Turkish man who had shown me in re-appeared. This time he too was dressed only in a sarong. He asked, "Peel and massage?" and gestured for me to move into another alcove of the octagon, and to sit on a low marble ledge next to a basin, which itself was marble, of course.
Scourging mit in hand, he pushed my head forward and began to scrape my hard-earned sun tan from off my back, in long, firm rasps. Then he did each arm, held up by his free hand. Then my neck, chest and stomach. He gleefully held up the mit at one stage to show the brown skin he had successfully torn from my body. Then followed a torrent of warm water over my head and body, from a large bowl - soaking both of us andf making a mockery of my delicate self-sprinkling before. My sarong by this stage was sodden.
Then followed the massage. I was bidden to lie face-down on a thigh-high marble slab, again very warm. After covering me with soapy bubbles, my man commenced the massage. The pain began immediately. He wrangled first one calf then the other, digging deep with his thumbs and fingers. Neither were thighs nor feet spared. Then my back: downward compressions that I know would break ribs when performed as part of CPR. It didn't seem to last long, but made a strong impact. I managed to stop myself from crying out in pain, but a few laughs of desparation escaped my lips. "Observe the pain, stay with it."
He gestured that I roll over, and in doing so I slid halfway off the slab, in the soapy slime, and banged my ankle. The pain from that was actually a welcome diversion from the massage. More throttling ensued, including the memorable crossing of my arms around my neck, so that my elbows stuck directly up. He then pressed down on the elbows with force, separating them in directions they weren't supposed to go. That hurt too, but - but ... then he did it again. Hey - that hur ... and again!
Then it was back to the marble step by the basin, where he dexterously washed and rinsed my hair, which I wasn't expecting, and rinsed me several times with warm water from his bowl. No pain remained from the massage, and I was feeling both dazed and relaxed by this stage, and was grateful for the pause in proceedings. I began to move the hair from out of my eyes, when ***SPLANG!*** he surprised me from above with a deluge of startlingly cold water. This time I did let out a cry, and shook my head.
"Another one?" he said.
"Yes, please," I replied. Aaargh! Bracing stuff.
Next came the part I was really dreading, after hearing so many stories about what goes on in Turkish baths. He winked at me and said, "Man love?" I am sorry, dear Reader, I completely made that bit up.
I was thankful for the opportunity to lie on the original marble floor again for a rest, after he said, "Finished!" I nonetheless kept an eye half open for one last attack of pummelling or cold water, but thankfully none came. I returned to my cubicle, dried myself with a fresh towel, thanked my torturer, and staggered out into the cooler, dizzy streets. Relaxed and mangled, I felt suddenly very tired.
I needed to head off for my train by 8.30pm. Having packed and drunk in the view one last time, Darlene very generously took me out to dinner at a very cool Bebek restaurant. Later on the bus toward the tram toward the ferry toward the Trans Asyan Ekspresi I couldn't help smiling broadly. I had just spent a wonderful few days in an amazing city, with a great new friend. I was full of good food and wine - balanced with Turkish coffee, and was on my way to another adventure, in a mysterious and reputedly beautiful country - Iran.
Advertisement
Tot: 0.118s; Tpl: 0.011s; cc: 8; qc: 40; dbt: 0.079s; 1; m:domysql w:travelblog (10.17.0.13); sld: 1;
; mem: 1.1mb