It was our last day in Istanbul and our flight was due in the afternoon. Having done all the sightseeing and eating we wanted to over the previous six days, we were left with the Hamam experience to tick off our Istanbul experience list. After brief research on the Internet, we decided to go big and chose the historical Cemberlitas Hamami; a building that goes back to the 16th Century.
We decided to visit the hamam very early and return for breakfast afterwards. At around 8:45 we took a taxi from Taksim Square to Cemberlitas Hamam. The driver obviously recognised foolish tourists when he saw them, drove us such a long way round the city, we were in danger of missing our flight altogether! However, we were busy discussing the required etiquette for hamam behaviour so we let him get on with enhancing his pension fund at our expense.
We arrived at Cemberlitas, paid our fees and walked into a world like no other. I was separated from my wife and three daughters to go to the men’s section while they went to the women’s.
There was no doubt about it; the building was absolutely beautiful and of an impressive scale. I thought it could work as an upmarket boutique hotel, or even a sophisticated eatery. If you had any imagination at all, you couldn’t help but transport yourself back in time to the glory days of the Ottoman Empire and imagine yourself to be one of the Sultan’s courtiers or even the Sultan himself! I took my clothes off in the changing room I was designated, wrapped the stripy thin towel (or was it a Turkish sarong?) around my waste and walked down one of two sets of stairs to the octagonal central hall. I was the only male customer that morning.
Surrounding the central hall were at least 12 smaller rooms where hot running water came through large and very old brass taps with sponges, loofas, buckets and such like. Understandably, the whole place was hot and steamy, not quite as hot as a sauna but hot enough. I was debating which of the empty rooms I should go for when a gentleman wearing a similar sarong to me approached me and said something in Turkish.
As he was carrying a bucket full to the rim with soapy water, I concluded he was my designated bath attendant. I was somewhat disappointed, I had fantasised about, but realistically did not expect, a young woman from a harem to be in attendance instead, I drew a man who at the very least was 80 years old. He made some gestures I did not understand so, he pulled me by the hand and invited me to lie on the biggest and most impressive piece of polished stone I have ever seen. It was a gigantic octagonal polished rock set in the centre of the room and it was warm to the touch. I sat nervously on the edge but he wasn’t happy with my arrangement so, he pushed me down face up and being somewhat surprised by the strength of the old man, I gave up the struggle and left my fate to this Istanbuli octogenarian.
For the next half hour, he washed my front vigorously, turned me over and scrubbed my back, legs and arms to within a millimetre of drawing blood. He then theatrically splashed me down with hot water. He draped towels over me and gave me a rough massage over the towels, which in other circumstances would amount to physical assault. I wondered how much pain this elderly gentleman was able to inflict on his customers 30 or 40 years ago when he was at the top of his game!
As a final flourish, my torturer brought out three fresh stripy towels and used the first one to swaddle the lower part of my body so tight, considering the heat of the environment and the candescent state of my skin, I thought my legs were in danger of permanently fusing together. He then wrapped the second towel round my torso but thankfully, he left my arms loose. The last towel was his finale; he wrapped this round my head very tightly and tucked the loose ends into the torso towel, leaving only the eyes, nose top of the cheeks and mouth visible. I looked like a package ready to be stamped and posted. Having satisfied himself I was well and truly wrapped, he tenderly took my face with his strong hands and planted two enthusiastic kisses on my cheeks, uttered something or another, picked his bucket and loofas and disappeared through a side door. I sat on the edge of the octagonal stone and wandered what the next step would be and who would take it.
After about 15 minutes, I decided I had enough and wanted to go investigate what happened to my family. My attempts at walking up to the stairs that led to the changing rooms were a complete failure. So, I began to un-package myself. I don’t know where he learnt the art of wrapping people up but I wondered if he used a form of adhesive to secure the edges of the towels.
I could not wait to reunite with my family and share with them my experience that morning. I never had a chance! As we emerged to the sunshine of Istanbul the four of them relived their many funny experiences, which were more interesting than mine.
The best anecdote came from the youngest sister who was shocked by the elderly topless female attendant she drew who came sporting boobs down to her knees. She said she didn’t mind that so much until the lady sat on the edge of the big stone, wedged my daughter between her legs and began to wash her so enthusiastically that her boobs were slapping my daughter on either side of her face in the process. I could not compete with such imagery!
