Hamam...Which translates into, lose all your modesty and enjoy the experience.

Image taken from:

http://images.travelpod.com/users/charlotte/alieninistanbul.1041429900.izmir_hamam.jpg

* this is actually the first room you enter at the hamam I visited today in Izmir

  Actually, a Hamam is a Turkish bath house.  Yes I braved the unknown and ventured into a completely Turkish experience today.  I must say I am so grateful I did.  I was not alone.  No way.  I had a sweet friend with me whose understanding of the language far exceeds mine and if you saw her on the street you would definitely assume she was a Turk.  That is until you looked at her feet and saw that she was wearing flip flops.  Dead give away, as they say.

Anyhow, we entered the bath house unsure of what to expect but definitely certain that we were in for some discomfort.  Here is a concise play by play of our couple of hours cleansing ourselves.  And not in the spiritual sense.

Collect a key for changing room.  Disrobe, leaving only bathing suit bottoms on, wrap special towel as tightly as I could around my body.  Feet in flip flops.  Walk hesitantly down windy stair case into steam room.  Really more like a pentagon shaped sauna with a rather high domed ceiling containing glass bottles that let the most beautiful natural light into the room.  The room is entirely marble.  And entirely hot.  There are small marble sinks lining the walls with faucets and bowls.  These are for cooling off while you are waiting your turn to climb up and be bathed.  Literally.  Several women were having their turn so my friend and I waited with the others and tried to ease our nervousness.  Eyes up.  Light conversation.  Lots of laughter.  Laughter helps.  Her turn first.  The woman calls her up, lays out her towel and begins.  I am left waiting.  Not sure what to do.  I bowed my head and prayed.  Oh, I also chuckled to myself at the overwhelming oddity of the situation.  Then came my turn.  Lay down.  Try and relax.  The first step is comparable to being scrubbed with sandpaper.  Quite effective though.  I am certain that 10 years of dead skin was left in that room, all belonging to me.  After that a cool rinse and then a soap bath.  Loads of bubbles covered my body, front and back.  Before I forget, that might have been the funniest part, when my masseuse was finished with one side, she gave me a loud pat on the bum to let me know it was time to roll.  Once the bubbles were lathered and she was confident that I was cleaned in between every wrinkle I was rinsed.  Again.  Cold buckets of water over my head.  Left to stand and wait for my dry towel, the exposed feeling I had upon entering had subsided and what remained was calmness.  Done.  Exit hot room and sit in front of the fountain.  Dry.  Compose yourself.

Through it all I couldn't stop myself from considering the fact that this was once the only way to bathe.  No bath tubs to yourself.  No showers pouring clean, hot water through their pipes.  This was community.  It was common practice.  Age old Turkish tradition.  Here I was the foreigner, learning and appreciating this element of their history.  My friend and I exited and both agreed we would do it all again if given the opportunity.  For 27 TL, including the cost of the "sandpaper", massage, scrub and time, we had an experience of a life time.  I left the hamam feeling rejuvenated.  My skin cleansed and my senses awakened.