Hamman Baths: Bathed by a Stranger in Istanbul, Turkey

I don’t really remember the last time someone else bathed me.  I can only assume it was my mother, as I have proof of this on our old family videos, where I was plopped down in the bathtub, playing with toys in the water as my mother shampooed my little head.  At some time point in my distant memory, I graduated from being bathed to bathing myself, a tradition which has continued into my adulthood (that is to confirm, that yes, I take showers).

Well, apparently in Turkey, the tradition of being bathed by another person continues into adulthood, although this person is likely not your mother.  Upon my arrival in Istanbul, I heard scattered talk among the tourists about getting a Hamman, otherwise known as a Turkish bath.  I was intrigued, but skeptical.  Was this another expensive tourist trap?  To alleviate my suspicions, I also inquired among the locals to gather more intel, and confirmed that yes, this was a once or twice monthly ritual that everyone, including Turkish people, seemed to participate in.  They also affirmed that, “I would feel the cleanest I’ve ever felt,” and “it is good for the body to be thoroughly scrubbed every once and while,”  Overall, the experience seemed to illicit positive reviews.  I was sold!

To provide some background information, Hammans are not unique to Turkey.  Public baths are often historically associated with the Islamic world and they are a common practice in the Middle East, North Africa, and Central Asia, with evidence of bath houses in the Islamic tradition found as early as the 7^th and 8^th centuries.  Bathhouses originally provided the service of ablutions (the ritual washing before prayer) and, of course, maintaining general hygiene, a worthy goal if I do say so myself.

Upon my arrival, I was directed into a room where I was instructed to undress, which I did, awkwardly waiting around in a towel until I realized that no one was coming to fetch me.  After opening the door and signaling that I was ready and naked to the staff, I was directed into a steam room, where I sat, well, steaming, for about 20 minutes (Note: I only enjoy hot rooms, both sauna and steam rooms, for about 30 seconds.  After 30 seconds, I begin to feel as if I am cooking.  I don’t know if this is the result of my cold-loving European ancestors, or perhaps that I was raised in a state where it is raining, dark, and chilly for nine months out of the year). 

Lastly, I was accompanied into the bathing room.  It was a large, intricately-tiled circular room, with sinks built into walls at regular intervals.  In the middle was a large pillar and a circular stone slab, where the bathees (aka, me) were to lie flat in order to get washed by the bather (typically, the bather is of the same sex of the bathee).  The woman bathing me wore a scratchy glove, with which she exfoliated my entire body, after which she covered me in massive soap suds, washed me down, and then rinsed my body by chucking buckets of warm water all over me. 

Did I feel awkward, you might ask?  Well, a little, at first. To be fair, I’m not used to strangers seeing me without clothes, much less scrubbing me down.  However, the lady was clearly unfazed by the whole endeavor, and her demeanor, along with the fact that with age, I have fully embraced my body, including it’s asymmetries, stretch marks, and other elements that society has taught us to be embarrassed about, left me to relax and enjoy being bathed as if I were five years old.  After the experience, I can affirm that, yes, it was probably the cleanest I’ve ever felt.