A Visit to a Hamam to Open the New Decade

While 2010 might or might not technically be a ‘new’ decade depending on how one decides to count, Ashley and I both had the luxury of starting the year Twenty Ten off right – with day trips to hamams, or Turkish baths. Ebru’s wedding didn’t comply with all of the Turkish traditions, but the family did stick with tradition with the bath. Ashley will regal with you the doubtlessly better-researched background about the female delegation, but here’s a little insight in the world of a male hamam adventure through the eyes of a certain simple ol’ boy from Georgia.

Much too early on New Year’s Day, Ashley and I made our way through the very loud and very bright Istanbul metro system to arrive at the the bride’s home. Like most times during the weekend, it was a fascinating vignette to watch a busy and cluttered household go about the business of planning an opulent Turkish wedding. Eventually, the male hamam away-team was assembled. This included the groom, Hur, his father, his uncle, the bride’s brother Atalay, his American friend Anthony, and myself. The six of us piled into a small (well, for Europe, quite nice-sized actually) car and began driving north, away from Istanbul. In time, we hit the Bosporus and continued north towards the Black Sea. Eventually, we came to a tiny fishing village, the Turkish name of which I cannot recall. It stands for the yellow spot, roughly, however. Here, we tracked down the traditional and quiet hamam, currently closed for prayer times, and waited.

We worked our way over to a cafe on the docks and ordered Turkish tea and watched the village go by. The call to prayer was marked by the funeral of what appeared to be two young children, caskets draped with football jerseys. I pondered the geomorphology of the landslide on the Asian side (see above photo) for a time. To my surprise, men from Hur’s extended family continued to show up in ones and twos for the next few hours. Once we worked out who spoke English, I made friends with one of Hur’s uncles and chatted about politics, archaeology and international business for a time.

Finally, we headed towards the hamam. The first thing that I noticed was the presence of drying fish hanging from the tree that grows through the bathhouse:

Très cool.

In the past, Turkish baths were many things, and likely conformed to various notions and ideas one from the States might have of them. Today, they’re simply a wonderfully relaxing and cleansing afternoon. And the day before a wedding, a little ritual cleansing is always good. The tellak (or staff) was very friendly and joking. I suspect they were enjoying the sight of pale skinny white men from America in their place, but whatever. Upon entering, you notice the three floors of leaning and claustrophobic balconies above you, ringed with small changing rooms with glazed windows. The simple stove on the floor in the middle of the room radiates with warmth and a fragrant smell that permeates the heavy and suana-like air. The pipe from the stove winds its way up towards the sky, bisecting the sharp winter light from the first (technically second) floor window. Following everyone’s lead, we take our shoes off and place them under a bench while the tellak hands us slippers and a key to a changing room. Headed upstairs, we swing into stalls and don our picnic-table-cloth-bathtowels.

This hamam was older and functionalistic, without some of the embellishments of fancier baths of old. That said, to duck into the oppressively moist air and suddenly begin sweating in the solid marble cave that was the central room was very fulfilling. The only light came from two small holes in the vaulted marble ceiling, with basins and sitting areas arranged in four rooms around a central open marble slab that was occupied at the time by a particularly hairy and rotund Turkish bear with something towel-like attached to it. We settled near basins, Anthony and I sticking close and representing the non-Turkish contingent. We were each given a plastic bowl used to wash ourselves from the hot water we drew from the basin and waited. We chatted; we laughed; we exchanged pleasantries by way of facial expressions with Turks. Two gruff and stout Turkish men worked their way around, giving everyone a thorough scrubbing.

Eventually, it was my turn to have the stout Turk over me, bending my limbs various ways as he proceeded to remove what I’m convinced was a full 23 years of dirt and grim from pores of my skin that I did not know existed. Back and limbs clean, he proceeded to give my back three solid and reverberating thwacks. Thus I was declared done.

An hour or so later, we were all out in the lobby again, watching Hur have his neck cracked by another of the tellak. After this was completed, Hur continued to get the groom’s treatment while the rest of us laughed and jokingly forced each other to get our necks cracked as well. It was sudden, swift, and decidedly refreshing. Just as I never knew how dirty I really was, I also had a new appreciation for my neck feeling limber and loose.

Driving back towards Istanbul through national forestland, I revealed in the trip to the hamam as a truly unique experience that I was lucky to have had. I felt more refreshed than I could remember being in a long time – I definitely think that living too near to a hamam would simply result in my weekly attendance!