The Hamam: Soul Cleansing the Turkish Way
It always seems more rewarding to indulge in a relaxing massage and spa treatment when on holiday. Is it a special treat, or is it because we have more time to linger longer, allowing the healing benefits soak through to the core of our weary souls? Maybe it’s a little of both. I know I love being pampered. There’s nothing more sublime, and I’ll take any opportunity to absorb the benefits.
Prior to spending a few months in Turkey, I had assumed (incorrectly) that Turkish Baths were big steamy pools where only men gathered. So, I had no interest in exploring them any further. But during my daily walks, I saw hamam signs outside elaborately decorated and ornate building doorways, with both men and women entering. My interest peaked, and I had to discover more.
Dating back to 600AD, a hamam is the Turkish version of a Roman steam bathhouse (hence Turkish Bath). Before private plumbing, it provided general hygiene and a daily social meeting place for men and women. A prominent feature of Islamic religion and civic culture, hamams are not exclusively found in Turkey. Morocco and other Arabic countries also have their variations.
Throughout Turkey, you’ll find hamams in centuries-old Ottoman architectural buildings. The grand interior arches, high vaulted ceilings, marble fittings and intricate carvings are works of art that will have you oohing and aahing way before the pampering begins.
The entrance to the Kılıç Ali Paşa Hamam.
And be prepared for pampering and cleansing like no other. A hamam by any other name does not feel the same. In Turkey, it’s spelt hamam. The romanticised version is spelt ‘hammam’ – perhaps because the pampering is so, hmm! One can only wonder.
Just like the spelling, not every hamam is the same, either. I suggest doing your research before making your booking. (Booking requests must be made online at least 24 hours before your preferred time. They will notify you of your exact time shortly after). There are separate rooms for male and female treatments and rooms where you can both mix (clothed).
Female attendants (natir) look after the women, while male attendants (tellak) tend to the men. Some hamams also have different times for men and women (which I chose). Women from 8am to 4pm and men from 4.30pm to 11.30pm.
The impressive architecture inside the hamam.
You’ll find a hamam in every Turkish town, and there are many choices in Istanbul. Mine was Kılıç Ali Paşa Hamam. It forms part of the Kılıç Ali Paşa mosque complex in Karakoy district, Istanbul, not far from Galata bridge. From my first steps inside the enormous wooden doorway, I knew this experience would be exceptional. Even if I didn’t move another inch, the building’s architecture was jaw-droppingly gorgeous. Built in 1580, it has the largest hamam dome in Istanbul (17 metres high and 14 metres wide) over the lounge area (camegah).
While sipping a traditional homemade şerbet welcome drink, a staff member explained the details and rituals of my service. Being surrounded by so much grandeur, I must admit it wasn’t easy to concentrate on what was being said.
After being guided to the dressing rooms, I stripped to my undies and donned the peştamal (a cotton hamam wrap) I’d been handed. I was now ready to meet my special attendant outside the hot room.
A welcome drink of homemade quince sherbet.
Also dressed in a peştamal, but with a bikini top, she was demure and gentle. Her presence spread a calming aura around the room as she led me to a marble bench and indicated that I sit before pouring lukewarm water over me. It was soothing and relaxing. Then she asked me to lie on the heated hexagon marble slab in the middle of the room (Göbektaşı) underneath another enormous domed ceiling. Here, the warmth almost lulled me to sleep before she returned 10 to 15 minutes later. Did I really have to move? Yes. This time towards a marble water basin (Kurna), where she began washing me.
At first, I felt slightly uncomfortable, as I’m not accustomed to someone washing me. I quickly pushed these thoughts to the back of my mind and focussed on the tingling sensations that were taking over my body as my attendants experienced hands, and exfoliating mittens (kese) rid my skin of all that built-up daily city grime and old flaky cells. Her fingers were getting into places I couldn’t or hadn’t even thought of reaching in years. I felt squeaky clean as she rinsed me off. But this wasn’t the end.
She proceeded to drown a cotton cloth in a special bubble soap (köpük) which was then pulled over me, excreting massive bubbles in its wake. We were covered in beautifully fragrant foaming white bubbles from head to toe. Reminiscent of a childhood party, I almost burst out laughing, except my attendant wasn’t smiling. This was her job, and she took it very seriously. I had to admit she was good at it too as her nibble hands moved all over my body, even between my fingers and toes, slowly rubbing the olive oil soap bubbles into my freshly exfoliated skin. I felt like I was in heaven. It was magical.
Another view of the lounge area of my hamam.
As my attendant massaged my head while spreading the shampoo and, finally, conditioner through each strand of my hair, I knew these good times were coming to an end. A final rinse with warm water spooned with a silver bowl from the marble basin, and she took my hand – I’m sure it was more so I wouldn’t slip on the tiled floor. She instructed me to remove all my clothes in a nearby room before wrapping me in large fluffy towels—one for my head and the other around my body. I was cocooned in softness.
After thanks and parting goodbyes, I was ushered towards the foyer. Here I could relax for as long as I wished. And I did. Ordering herbal tea, I curled up on the cosy over-sized cushioned couch and let the historic surroundings envelope my soothed soul.
Next time I’m booking an add-on oil massage – anything to extend that mystical, magical ambient feeling. Although, I did purchase a peştamal and kese from their little boutique store next to the entrance to remind me of the experience and my attendant’s handiwork.
Header image: © Levant Konuk.. All other images: © Nannette Holliday.
