One night in Istanbul Josh and I went out to a Turkish bath. I wasn’t exactly sure what to expect — I just knew that you first sit in a really hot steam room and then some dude scrubs you and rinses you off. A traditional Turkish bath is single sex (all women with female attendants or all men with male attendants), but I didn’t want to go by myself so we found a traditional-style bath that did couples and families.
This is my “where the heck are we going?” face. Note the warehouses in the background. We were back in the area the next day and it was crowded with shoppers and open businesses, but at that time of the evening everything had shut down and it looked pretty sketchy.
The back alley did have pretty view though . . .
This bath has been around for hundreds of years and was used by one of the sultans way back when. At least that’s what the sign on the wall said.
We relaxed and had tea while we waited for our turn. You can’t take any photos inside the bath. First, because all the water and steam would ruin your camera. Second, it’s not allowed because people are wandering around in wet pieces of flannel that aren’t exactly flattering and there is the potential for public exposure if you aren’t careful. Not exactly photo-worthy stuff unless you work for TMZ.
Inside there are two levels of changing rooms that surround a center lobby. When it’s your turn they give you a key to one of the rooms and you go in and change into almost nothing. Well, in a real Turkish bath it would be that way. In this one the women are given bikini tops and shorts made out of thin cotton fabric and the men are given a traditional pestemal, a piece of cloth that is wrapped around the waist.
They have a photo gallery on their website where you can see inside the bath and see the bath attire:
http://www.suleymaniyehamami.com.tr/photogallery.htm
Then they give you these wooden clog-like sandals and you clop-clop across the marble floor and into the steam room. I was sure I was going to eat it in those shoes. I guess it’s for “safety” because the wet marble is slippery, but 2 inch thick wooden sandals that don’t fit aren’t exactly what I would choose as a safer alternative to bare feet. But I guess it’s traditional.
Inside the bath there is a large marble island that 4 or 5 people can lie on at one time. The marble is heated somehow and it feels like stretching out on a warm rock on a sunny day. Everything is made of marble and stone. The floors are marble, the basins of water are marble, the walls are marble and stone, the slabs where they wash you are marble. It sort of felt like a really nice frat house where everyone was lounging around in wet “t-shirts” and splashing water on each other.
For the next 45 minutes we stretched out, relaxed, chatted, and enjoyed the heat. The marble basins and taps on the side walls of the room were filled with water of varying temperatures so you could scoop out water and pour it over yourself to cool off if you wanted. I wanted to (and did), Josh thought that defeated the purpose of the “sweat room.”
Meanwhile in three corners of the large room were three different washing rooms with open arched doorways. We caught glimpses of the attendants scrubbing away as we waited for it to be our turn. The actual “bath” takes place in there. There are two marble slabs and two attendants in each of the three rooms.
When bath time came we each sat against the wall and the attendant (dressed only in a pestemal) poured cold water over us to rinse us off. I was really glad I had rinsed off a few times while waiting because the water felt shockingly cold compared to the heat of the room. Then they put on a loofah mit and scrubbed all the surfaces of our bodies. The interesting thing is how it was like a choreographed routine. The attendants moved in unison, each performing the same task (scrub one leg, scrub the other leg, move to the back) at the same time, even when they couldn’t see each other.
Once the scrubbing was finished, more rinsing (brr!), then we stretched out on marble slabs for the sudsing. This was my favorite part. They took thin pillowcases, dunked them in soapy water and filled them with air so they looked like balloons. Then they ran their hands down the length of the pillowcases creating a waterfall of bubbles that spilled down over us. It was like lying on a cloud. That part could have lasted for an hour and I would have been happy. But it was over too soon — more rinsing (the attendants pour water over themselves at the same time. They must get really hot), then a short massage which was wonderful because the attendant was not gentle with the knots in my shoulders. Then more rinsing, hair washing and then it was over.
At that time we left the steam room (dripping wet), shuffling along through the soapy water in the wooden clogs, hoping I didn’t trip on the drainage moat that has been built into the floor . . . in the next room another attendant handed us each a dry pestemal and we went into a changing room to change out of our wet ones and wrapped the dry ones around us. Then the attendant finished wrapping us in thin towels to dry us off and invited us to sit in the lounge and relax.
It was a really fun and unique evening. I loved it, but wish it had lasted longer, especially the sudsing part. It’s the kind of bath that your grandma might have given you on a Saturday night at the end of a long day of playing outside. Serious deep cleaning and all business, no time for playing. (although my kids’ grandmas always make time for the kids to play in the tub . . . maybe that’s a generational thing.)
Josh went back with his parents and the three boys the next day and they had a fun time too. I was a little nervous that the attendants might be just as rough on the boys as they were on us, but the boys all said it didn’t hurt at all. They loved it so much we intended to visit another bath together in Cappadocia, but we ran out of time. I really wish I had pictures of them all wrapped up in their pestemals . . . now when Caleb gets out of the shower he wraps his towel around his waist like they do at the bath. A Turkish tradition lives on.
