When the Ottomans conquered Constantinople, they inherited many of the city's Roman customs. One was the public bath. When indoor plumbing was unavailable, people bathed very little--sometimes only once a year, other times for special events. The Romans turned bathing into a social occasion when men would meet and socialize, loiter, and gossip about the city's affairs. When their territories were conquered in the East, the public bath was preserved and enriched with elements from the culture of the new imperial overlords, leading to syncretic and distinctive forms that persist to this day. I therefore had to experience a Turkish bath because I wanted a sense of how the Romans bathed and how the conquering Turks added their own practices to the custom. It was a journey into the era when private showers and bathtubs did not exist, as well as a taste of a local custom that has persisted for thousands of years and that is basically foreign to anybody born and raised in North America (and most parts of Europe for that matter).
I had two options: go to the touristic public baths and pay a hefty price, or go to the one in the Fatih neighborhood, the Islamic/conservative part of town where prices for everything--including baths--are cheaper and where there are few, if any, tourists. I opted for the latter option, not only because of the huge difference in price (40 Turkish lira rather than 120 that one pays in the tourist area), but also because it would be much more adventurous and perhaps authentic.
When I entered the place, the first thing I noticed was that none of the staff spoke a word of English. They could only express the numbers that referred to the prices of the services--20 lira for the bath only, and 40 lira for a bath and a massage. I opted for the latter. Despite the language barrier, I could communicate with the staff using hand gestures and other non-verbal signs. First I was led me into a small private change room and instructed to completely undress and cover myself with a towel, to leave my belongings there, to lock the door, and take the key with me (all of this was expressed with non-verbal communication and clearly understood). The staff member then led me into the bathing and steam room, which is an area that is completely marble--the floors, the walls, the sinks, everything except the ceiling, which seemed to be built of another kind of stone with patterned holes that allowed the steam to exit the room. The first thing I noticed was that there were about 10-12 local Turks bathing and talking, and I thought: why are these men paying to bathe here when presumably they have indoor plumbing? Maybe they were there because of the social aspect of bathing, or maybe they lacked hot water at home, or maybe--although very unlikely--some of them lived in homes that still lacked private showers and bathrooms. In any event, I had no idea what to do, and so I just made friendly eye contact and copied the others, who were sitting down--some completely naked, others partly covered in towels--beside steaming and marble sinks with hot water and plastic bowls; they would fill the bowls with water and pour it all over themselves, lather their bodies with soap, and then rinse with the same hot water.
I did this for about ten minutes and then wondered when, and how, and by whom, I would get a massage. I was then approached by a fat, hairy, and middle-aged man who said something to me in Turkish that I did not understand. I said "massage"? And he nodded to express yes. He sat me down beside the sink, and proceeded to pour hot steaming water all over me. Then he put on a glove-like device and rubbed me all over with it (except the private parts), including my scalp. I later learned that this was meant to remove dead skin cells. He then took me to the middle of the room, where there was an elevated area where one could sit or lie down. He instructed me with his hands to lie on my back, and then he covered me with with soap and proceeded to give me a massage that was very rough and intense. Apart from his somewhat smelly armpits and the pain from his intense prodding, rubbing, and pocking of my thighs and upper body, it was an interesting experience. He then did a few things that anyone who has visited a chiropractor is familiar with: crossing your arms and twisting your torso while giving a hard pushes that cause snapping noises in your spine. At one point I heard a snapping noise in the right-side of my rib-cage, and since then I have had a slight pain in that area, making me wonder whether he broke a rib. Whenever he would press too hard, I would grunt and groan and make eye-contact with him, presumably with an expression on my face that showed some discomfort; he stared and smiled at me with silent amusement, knowing that I was a foreigner who had never experienced a Turkish bath.
After the soap-filled and rough massage over my entire body (except my private parts), I was instructed to rinse myself off (again, only with hand gestures but perfectly understandable) and subsequently led into the private room where I initially undressed. Here I was covered with towels by the staff who continued massaging my back and scalp. After that, I stayed there until I was completely dry, and then exited the room. When I approached the cashier to pay, there appeared the middle-aged hairy fat man who gave me the massage 15 minutes prior, motioning with his hands that he wanted a tip. I gave him one of five lira, even though I suspected that he might have cracked my rib.
After the Turkish bath I went to have a delicious chicken dona (or "shawarma"; the food here--as in all Mediterranean countries--is delightful), and then walked all the way to the Chora, a Bynzantine Church with amazingly preserved mosaics and frescoes. I also walked along the Theodosius wall, which protected the city for 1 thousand years until the Ottomans, with canon and superior numbers, managed to destroy parts of it, allowing them to conquer Constantinople in 1453, destroy the last vestiges of the Roman Empire, impose their own Sharia system of governance, and change the course of history. Observing that part of the wall, and reflecting on the epochal and momentous events that transpired there was awe-inspiring. I have read about that event many times, but being at the actual place allowed the imagination to run wild. I could almost hear the yelling, the pounding of the canons that destroyed the wall, and see the corpses that littered the battlefield. I could almost sense the humiliation of the Romans at losing their historic capital and the triumph of the Ottomans at taking it. It would be roughly equivalent to a Chinese army conquering Washington D.C., destroying the American constitutional and political order, subjugating the inhabitants of the US, taking its territorial possessions and wealth, and imposing a new world order based on the Chinese system of governance. Wow is an understatement.
Today--the day after--I feel the after-effects of the Turkish bath: minor and totally tolerable aches around my upper shoulder and the rib area where I suspect I may have a cracked rib. I also feel aches in my legs, but this is mostly because yesterday I walked for over 10 hours, although I think the rough treatment of my legs during the massage has something to do with it.
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| That is not me in the picture. But that closely approximates my own experience of a Turkish bath |
I had two options: go to the touristic public baths and pay a hefty price, or go to the one in the Fatih neighborhood, the Islamic/conservative part of town where prices for everything--including baths--are cheaper and where there are few, if any, tourists. I opted for the latter option, not only because of the huge difference in price (40 Turkish lira rather than 120 that one pays in the tourist area), but also because it would be much more adventurous and perhaps authentic.
When I entered the place, the first thing I noticed was that none of the staff spoke a word of English. They could only express the numbers that referred to the prices of the services--20 lira for the bath only, and 40 lira for a bath and a massage. I opted for the latter. Despite the language barrier, I could communicate with the staff using hand gestures and other non-verbal signs. First I was led me into a small private change room and instructed to completely undress and cover myself with a towel, to leave my belongings there, to lock the door, and take the key with me (all of this was expressed with non-verbal communication and clearly understood). The staff member then led me into the bathing and steam room, which is an area that is completely marble--the floors, the walls, the sinks, everything except the ceiling, which seemed to be built of another kind of stone with patterned holes that allowed the steam to exit the room. The first thing I noticed was that there were about 10-12 local Turks bathing and talking, and I thought: why are these men paying to bathe here when presumably they have indoor plumbing? Maybe they were there because of the social aspect of bathing, or maybe they lacked hot water at home, or maybe--although very unlikely--some of them lived in homes that still lacked private showers and bathrooms. In any event, I had no idea what to do, and so I just made friendly eye contact and copied the others, who were sitting down--some completely naked, others partly covered in towels--beside steaming and marble sinks with hot water and plastic bowls; they would fill the bowls with water and pour it all over themselves, lather their bodies with soap, and then rinse with the same hot water.
I did this for about ten minutes and then wondered when, and how, and by whom, I would get a massage. I was then approached by a fat, hairy, and middle-aged man who said something to me in Turkish that I did not understand. I said "massage"? And he nodded to express yes. He sat me down beside the sink, and proceeded to pour hot steaming water all over me. Then he put on a glove-like device and rubbed me all over with it (except the private parts), including my scalp. I later learned that this was meant to remove dead skin cells. He then took me to the middle of the room, where there was an elevated area where one could sit or lie down. He instructed me with his hands to lie on my back, and then he covered me with with soap and proceeded to give me a massage that was very rough and intense. Apart from his somewhat smelly armpits and the pain from his intense prodding, rubbing, and pocking of my thighs and upper body, it was an interesting experience. He then did a few things that anyone who has visited a chiropractor is familiar with: crossing your arms and twisting your torso while giving a hard pushes that cause snapping noises in your spine. At one point I heard a snapping noise in the right-side of my rib-cage, and since then I have had a slight pain in that area, making me wonder whether he broke a rib. Whenever he would press too hard, I would grunt and groan and make eye-contact with him, presumably with an expression on my face that showed some discomfort; he stared and smiled at me with silent amusement, knowing that I was a foreigner who had never experienced a Turkish bath.
After the soap-filled and rough massage over my entire body (except my private parts), I was instructed to rinse myself off (again, only with hand gestures but perfectly understandable) and subsequently led into the private room where I initially undressed. Here I was covered with towels by the staff who continued massaging my back and scalp. After that, I stayed there until I was completely dry, and then exited the room. When I approached the cashier to pay, there appeared the middle-aged hairy fat man who gave me the massage 15 minutes prior, motioning with his hands that he wanted a tip. I gave him one of five lira, even though I suspected that he might have cracked my rib.
After the Turkish bath I went to have a delicious chicken dona (or "shawarma"; the food here--as in all Mediterranean countries--is delightful), and then walked all the way to the Chora, a Bynzantine Church with amazingly preserved mosaics and frescoes. I also walked along the Theodosius wall, which protected the city for 1 thousand years until the Ottomans, with canon and superior numbers, managed to destroy parts of it, allowing them to conquer Constantinople in 1453, destroy the last vestiges of the Roman Empire, impose their own Sharia system of governance, and change the course of history. Observing that part of the wall, and reflecting on the epochal and momentous events that transpired there was awe-inspiring. I have read about that event many times, but being at the actual place allowed the imagination to run wild. I could almost hear the yelling, the pounding of the canons that destroyed the wall, and see the corpses that littered the battlefield. I could almost sense the humiliation of the Romans at losing their historic capital and the triumph of the Ottomans at taking it. It would be roughly equivalent to a Chinese army conquering Washington D.C., destroying the American constitutional and political order, subjugating the inhabitants of the US, taking its territorial possessions and wealth, and imposing a new world order based on the Chinese system of governance. Wow is an understatement.
Today--the day after--I feel the after-effects of the Turkish bath: minor and totally tolerable aches around my upper shoulder and the rib area where I suspect I may have a cracked rib. I also feel aches in my legs, but this is mostly because yesterday I walked for over 10 hours, although I think the rough treatment of my legs during the massage has something to do with it.
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