Bubblicious: My First Turkish Hamam
Several friends told me not to miss the opportunity to go to a Turkish hamam or bath. Even Rick Steves told me to go! I researched several hamams, but never finalized an appointment. Now it was our second to last day in Istanbul, and we had no plans for the day. The hotel spa was offering an enticing 20% off for services between 10 and 2, so I called and booked massages for both of us. “Would you like hamam for two beforehand?” the young woman asked. “Sure,” I replied with great anticipation.
My husband immediately nixed the hamam for himself, but I wasn’t going to pass up a last minute chance to experience this delightful Turkish ritual.
I left my clothes in a locker and, wrapped in a thin towel, I entered a small room which was clad in polished black marble with a platform in the middle. The young female attendant asked me to lie down on the thin towel on the platform. The hard platform hurt my lower back, so she gave me a folded towel which eased my discomfort.
She turned on the faucet at the small sink on the wall and, after testing the temperature, filled a metal bowl with luscious warm water which she poured over my body. Over and over again, the water washed over me in waves, splashing on the floor. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the sensations of pure pleasure that engulfed me. Then, for the exfoliating part of the ritual, she scrubbed me, front and back, with a not too rough mitt, maybe like sandpaper with a double-0 grit. The most difficult thing I had to do was turn over on the hard marble.
On my back again, eyes closed, feeling more relaxed by the second, I heard the sound of sloshing. I peeked out to see the attendant vigorously agitating water in a large bowl. She was using traditional olive oil soap to create a dense mass of bubbles which she captured in a cloth bag. She then wrung the bag out over me, releasing a cascade of bubbles. Again and again, she added more bubbles until I was completely encased, from my fingertips to my toes. And I just lay there, in bubblicious heaven, enjoying the delicate feeling on my body. An image came to mind of a beekeeper covered in bees that I’d seen somewhere, only there was no fear of being stung! My mind was relaxed; I was content.
After a short while, the rush of warm water came again and the sensuous bubbles melted away. The attendant gently washed my hair and massaged my face. The hamam was finished. It was time for my massage.
Was it any less of an authentic hamam because it wasn’t at a traditional bath house laden with Ottoman history? I was glad I had been alone in the room with an attendant, without the presence of towel-wrapped strangers on adjacent tables. I may not have been given tea to savor in a cool room afterwards, but I was happy to shuffle off to my massage where I could think about the bubblicious experience I’d just had.
Laurie Vander Velde and her husband live in a retirement community close to downtown Santa Fe. They are always planning another trip to somewhere they haven't been yet.
