The Hamam

After a full day of not buying anything at the Grand Bazaar, the Fool and his loyal assistant, Tontio, decided on going local at the, well, local hamam. The hamam, or Turkish bath, is a communal steam and bathhouse whose Greco-Roman origins predate Christianity. For millennia the baths have served as community centers for both men AND women (shock!). Though the two may share the same bathhouse, never at the same time. Most hamams have separate entrances, if not separate facilities.

The hamam was the social centerpiece of Ottoman life. Aside from the baths, the hamam was also a place of traditional entertainment and ceremonies. Even dancing and food were not unusual sights, particularly in the women's quarters. The earliest version of the 'spa-day out for the girls'.

The hamam is about ritual. The cleanse, complete with a thorough scrubbing by a large Saddam Hussein look-a-like, followed by massage, or pummeling as it is known, is the daily ritual for those fortunate enough to visit daily. It is a process broken down by the different rooms: cool, warm, and hot. While the exact order of the process remained a mystery to our intrepid interlopers, the effect was quite revitalizing.

The Fool and Tontio chose just the bath without the scrubbing or pummeling. The Fool preferring to avoid a pummeling, no matter the context. And with the look of the Pummeler, a wise decision it most certainly was for the Fool's flimsy vertebrae.

Despite the initial unease with the unfamiliar surroundings; the now seven Hussein look-a-likes and the water vessels that suggested 'toilet' to the Fool's Western eyes, the Fool quickly was overcome with a serenity and civility that lasted right up until he laid eyes on the hairiest arse one could only imagine in ones' worst nightmare. And then...Another one...And another. Suddenly, it became apparent to the Fool and Tontio that it was not their poor command of the Turkish tongue that set them so apart. Oh no, it was the slipped towel that exposed them for those of the hairless arse peoples (relatively speaking, of course). That dreaded race of non-smokers and fitness lunatics constantly whingeing about smoke and body odour.

Once our dear friends had completed the task of looking completely and utterly out-of-place, they were wrapped in towels, pink no less, and led to their private cubicles for further cooling and the ubiquitous Turkish tea. Delightful.

The inescapability of foreigner-pricing. The cashier, oblivious to the posted price list right above the register (a box of thatch-like material) which clearly stated a fee of 12 Turkish Lira (TL), insisted that the Fool and his compatriot pay TL 20 each. Heartened by the fact that they weren't assaulted (although Tontio was forced into a dance with a homoerotic bias by one of the larger Husseins, whilst the Fool slipped away), and mellowed by the soothing cooling cubicle and tea, the bill was settled and a quick dispatch was made to the streets of olde Istanbul.

[Tontio enjoying his cubicle]