Turkish Bate

I'm going to tell you about the best idea we've ever had.

We took a bath in Turkey.  Not just any bath.  A Turkish bath...or Bate, apparently.

We were directed to a "very good hamami, no tourist, very good" in our hostel's neighborhood and were promised that this particular hamami (bath) would even "pick us up and drop us off" at our hostel.  So we told our host to reserve us a Bate, by all means!

This is where the adventure began.

We're sitting there in the lobby waiting for the car or van or whatever to come and pick us up when a nice, sprightly, old man in a knitted hat bustled in and confidently led us away to go to the "very good hamami. no touristy. come. hamami."

We walked about three blocks before we realized that no, there was no wheeled vehicle picking us up--this nice old man was our "ride" and he was literally walking us from one door to the other. Felt a little sheepish about that, because I already knew exactly where this bath was anyway.   But, he was so eagerly helpful about picking us up that I just went with it.

This is how we made conversation along the way:

Me:  Merhaba! (Hello)
Him: Merhaba!  Turkish? Spanish?
Me:  Spanish, sí!
Him:  Spanish? Turkish?
Me:  Sí!  Hablo español.  Habla usted español?
Him:  Turkish?  Spanish?  Good Hamimi.
Me:  Oh...ok?
Him:  Hamami. Turkish. Spanish.
Me:  Yes...?
Him:  ::silence::  ::walking very fast::

It only took a short five minute walk to find the Tarihi Şifa Hamami, and he energetically ushered us down a long hallway from the street deep into an old, old building (1777 AD old, actually).

We found ourselves in a dim room, surrounded by two stories of changing rooms, being smiled at very widely by what appeared to be a happy extended family of Turkish bath owners.  A larger woman brusquely shooed us into a larger, two-person room and literally threw a couple pairs of rubber sandals and cotton wraps in behind us as she shut the door.

Then, Paul and I sort of looked at each other and went, "Here we go!"

We de-clothed, as it were, wrapped ourselves up in our cotton wraps, slipped on those (surprisingly comfortable) rubber sandals, and shuffled out into the dim room again--nodding to grandpa, uncle, aunt, and cousins along the way.  We were, again, confidently directed (one could even say "curtly", except I don't think it was meant to be rude, just efficient) to THE BAAAAAATE.

Let me describe this to you.  Imagine a smallish living room.  Now it's completely paneled with marble--floor, walls, ceiling.  Also, there's a dome for a roof and the dome has small star-shaped holes in it for venting.  All along the walls are ledges of marble next to spigots of water that fill small marble basins.  And in the middle of the room is a giant marble slab, about two feet tall and seven feet wide and deep.

We were hustled on top of this giant marble slab--a very, very warm nigh unto hot marble slab-where we were instructed to lay down.  Aaaaaand, that's pretty much the last instruction we got for a while.  So we laid there on that marble slab, looking up at that star-pierced dome, in that steamy warm room.

It was marvelous.

After a bit, I decided that I was going to hop off that marble slab and go dump some water over my head--like one does.  I did this for a while, sitting along the wall, filling up a marble basin with hot water and dumping it over my head  like I totally knew what I was doing (but I didn't...I was just copying the dude on the other side of the room).

Kiiiiinda looked like this one

Eventually, the larger woman of changing room mention appeared in the bath, pointed at me, and said, "LADY. GO!"

Yes, ma'am.

I knew this point was were the adventure would really begin.  Because the thing about Turkish Baths--they aren't just water and soap.  They are intense.  You're going to get a Tae Kwon Do massage.  You're going to get completely covered in a mountain of soap bubbles.  You're going to have an entire layer of skin removed with a loofa sponge.  You're going to be seriously, seriously clean.

I go with "Lady! Go!" to the "Ladies Only" room.*  And there I am.  Just me, Lady Go, and a whole bunch of wet, pink feather boas wrapped around 18th century marble columns and I'm clutching at my wet cotton wrap thinking, "Soooo...how are we going to play this, Lady Go Lady."

Turns out, I didn't have to worry about any ambiguity.  She just walked right on up to me with a friendly, helpful smile and whipped that there cotton wrap right off.

Nekked.

Nekked 'cept for those neon pink rubber sandals.  And when you're nekked with a smiling stranger, there's only one thing to do--just shrug your shoulders and go, "Well then.  Let's DO this thing."

Lady Go was actually really considerate because after pointing to the marble slab and saying "LADY!  LAY DOWN!" she also de-clothed.  It made me feel less exposed for some reason.  I guess because we were all just equals in that room.  Nekked Lady Equals.

Lady Go.  I don't even know what Lady Go really did.  All I know is that she eventually said, "LADY!  LOOK!" and pointed to my stomach where I saw, I kid you not, literally handfuls of dead skin layers that she had scrubbed off.

It was gross.


It was beautiful.

Then, I got a nice massage.  Then I got encased in a mountain of bubbles.  Then I got a bunch of water dumped over my head.  Then I got my wet cotton wrap back.

When I went back into the main area of the Bate, the first thing I saw was a three foot high mound of bubbles on the main marble slab with Paul's head sticking out at one end.  A few minutes later, a new-skinned Paul joined me in a side room for a post-bath water-on-head dumping.  He was literally giggling with joy about the whole thing.  Giggling.

The rest of the story is only mildly interesting.  We left the bath, got dry wraps, and someone from somewhere wrapped our wet heads in these awesome turban things.  We sat in the first dim room for a bit, drinking water, hanging with the family, chatting with some dude named Daniel from Singapore.  Then we changed back into our "real world" clothes.  We assured our guide that we could find our way home by ourselves and left the friendly Bate family.  I shared a smiley farewell with Lady Go as we headed out into the cold night.


* Apparently this bath was a little strange in that it didn't separate women and men the entire time.  So I just got ushered out of the main area for the nekked parts.  When I went back in and saw Paul in the mound of bubbles, he wasn't nekked completely--the wrap was always strategically placed.  Guess they figured it was easier for dudes to keep things strategically placed than it would have been for ladies.