Turkish Delights (Part 1)
Remember me? I’m back! In my defense, the pandemic brought travel to a standstill. Plus, I’ve been busy during lockdown (and since) finishing my novel, a twist-filled murder mystery. I’m thrilled to report it’s done, dusted, and I hope (publishing gods willing) available soon. Stay tuned…
Ahhh, exotic Turkey (or, I should say, the Republic of Türkiye, thanks to an official name change in 2021), a country with one toe in Europe and the rest of its foot in Asia! We arrived to the soulful call to prayer echoing (almost eerily) through the chaotic streets of Istanbul. Sights, sounds, and smells like no other rushed at us in a sensory assault.
After that first magical shock, I was struck by Turkey’s diversity. Past empires –including Romans, Greeks, Byzantines, and Ottomans—have left their mark on this legendary stopover on the Silk Road. It is one of the world's oldest and greatest melting pots and a uniquely beautiful brew that blends both Eastern and Western Civilizations. I’ve never experienced anything quite like it.
Istanbul, spread across two continents and between two seas, is crammed with mosques, palaces, churches, and museums, and we had only a few days to absorb all that history. Sultanahmet Square, the lively heart of Istanbul; Hagia Sophia and its bulging main dome; the iconic Blue Mosque with its six elegantly carved minarets; the atmospheric (and watery) caverns of Basilica Cistern; the medieval Galata Tower, we did it all and more.
In the Grand Bazaar, a sprawling labyrinth of 4,000 stalls on sixty-one city blocks, we admired the sales tactics of merchants who did their best to sell us their “genuine fake” wares, “Hey, beautiful! Let me sell you something you don’t need!” We floated down the European and back up the Asian side of the Bosporus Strait. Afterward, we sipped cocktails at sunset on one of Istanbul’s iconic rooftop bars.
We savored the rich, bold (and seasonally fresh) flavors of Turkey. Roasted meat kebabs, crispy wood-fired flatbreads, meatballs, and yet more kebabs, Turks love their meat—and sweets! I still dream about Katmer, a flaky phyllo concoction dripping with honey and filled with pistachios and clotted cream. Small dishes of Meze (like tapas) invariably appeared on our table, even at breakfast. It’s a country where meals are events to be celebrated and fine (but, viciously expensive) wine flows.
Behind the unimpressive stone walls of Topkapi Palace, we found a staggering collection of 300+ sumptuous rooms, courtyards, imperial baths, a jewel-filled treasury, and an impressive armory. It was like stepping into an Aladdin-inspired fairy tale with its lascivious sultans, beautiful concubines, and scheming eunuchs, viziers, and courtiers--all jockeying for power.
Sultans could have as many wives (and concubines) as they wanted, and they were all housed in the harem. The only men allowed inside were the eunuchs (castrated slaves with no sexual urges). The sultan would tell the eunuch which woman he had chosen for the night. She would then bathe and prepare herself, ready for the sultan to come to her chamber. The date and time were recorded in case she fell pregnant, and if this did happen, she gained status. Historians figure royal fratricide, i.e., intense competition between male heirs (yes, brothers and half-brothers assasinating each other), ultimately led to the downfall of the Ottoman Empire, a force so powerful that it ruled nearly half the earth from the 1300s until 1922.
But by far, my most memorable experience in Istanbul was a centuries-old ritual: the Turkish bath, or hammam!
First things first, the word “bath” is a bit of a misnomer. It’s not a bath, and it’s certainly not a spa treatment. I was warned! “Go for a hammam,” my girlfriend said. “You won’t need to shave your legs for the rest of your trip!” She was right, and for the record, if being naked in a locker room makes you cringe, or you’re horrified by the notion of being scrubbed by a stranger, a hammam will probably scar you for life. And, if you’ve had a spray tan in anticipation of your vacay, you can kiss that baby goodbye!
Its origins date back to ancient Rome, and of course, I wanted to experience it in an authentic (as in, not Four Seasons) setting. I chose the stunningly beautiful Hürrem Sultan Hammam, located between the Blue Mosque and Hagia Sophia and built at the request of the sultan’s wife in 1555. Can’t get much more exotic than that! I invited my hubby to join me, even though we wouldn’t bathe together--the facilities for men and women are entirely segregated. But he was having no part in this little adventure.
At the door of the women’s section, I slipped on the mandatory shoe covers and, with a touch of trepidation, stepped inside. I found myself in a large room with a high domed ceiling. Even with all that space, it felt somehow intimate. A large fountain stood in the center of the room, with flickering candles encircling its marble base. The lighting cast a soft glow over everything, and although I later learned this was considered the “cold room,” the temperature was perfect. Women wrapped in towels and robes sat serenely on the low couches, sipping Turkish tea. One gal, hair turbaned in a towel, attempted to nibble a jiggly square of Turkish Delight through her drying mud mask.
Berfu, a robust Turkish woman, also in a towel, was assigned to be my personal bath attendant. She took my hand and led me up a set of wooden stairs to my own little change room on the second floor. There, she handed me a cotton robe, a pair of plastic sandals, and a disposable thong (yes, teeny-tiny underwear).
It didn’t take me long to realize Berfu’s only English was instructional: “Take off! Put on! Come.” But with limited common language and her exceedingly effective gestures, I understood I was to strip naked, don the thong, robe, and sandals, and leave my street clothes, personal belongings, and cell phone locked in the changing room. She’d be waiting for me outside.
When I emerged, Berfu grabbed my hand, and we were off…back downstairs, through a horseshoe arch and into the bathing or “hot room,” a spacious round area infused with a gentle, inviting light. The first thing that registered was the heat and thick humidity. The soft, warm air wrapped around me in a delightful embrace, and I felt myself relax.
Everything—the walls, floors, and high domed ceiling—was made of lustrous white marble. Even the small built-in basins lining the walls and the elevated octagonal platform in the heart of the room were the same milky stone and warm to the touch. Women with their respective attendants, all naked (except for the ridiculous thong), were in various stages of cleansing.
Berfu removed my robe, sat me next to one of the marble basins, and opened the spout full blast. The warm water gushed into the basin and she scooped it up in a gold metal pan while I looked on curiously. Without warning, she poured it over my head. Sputtering and gasping, she hit me with another, this time a full frontal assault. My Zen state dissolved.
Several pan-fulls later, she indicated I should continue drenching myself in a like manner, and disappeared, leaving me sitting nearly naked on the warm stone. This stage of the ritual (about ten minutes), apparently warms and softens the skin, preparing it for the scrub.
When she reappeared, she hauled me to my feet and pulled on something I took to be an exfoliating mitt. She then proceeded to sand down every--and I mean, every--inch of me. “Turn! Lift arms! Close eyes! Do face!” She was enthusiastic and excelled at her job. By the time she was done, my entire body felt tingly and raw, and the scratchy mitt was covered with my skin. I know that because she showed me the fruits of her labor with great pride.
Then, she led me to the elevated slab in the center of the room and gestured for me to lie face down on the Turkish towel she’d laid out. I did as I was told--albeit tentatively. I had no clue what else she had in store for me.
Lying prone on the wonderfully warm marble, my face buried in the towel, a light warmth of scented airiness blanketed my body. What the hell? I twisted my head to check it out. I was covered in a soft, soapy cloud of tiny bubbles that seemed to waft from the cloth Berfu was swinging. I wasn’t clear on how she was making all that feather-like froth but back at the hotel, post-bath, I resorted to Google.
Here’s the scoop! In a traditional Turkish hammam, bubbles are created using a special cloth bag or pouch that is dipped in a hot, soapy water mixture and waved in the air. The agitation (dipping and waving) creates a thick whipped foam, which is then piled on the body by the attendant. The soap, containing olive oil, smells heavenly and cleanses dead cells and dirt from your skin while moisturizing and softening it.
For the next thirty minutes, I braved an onslaught of scrub-rinse-repeat, interrupted only by clouds of more bubbles. Berfu even washed my hair. Afterward, she led me upstairs so my body could be kneaded, folded, twisted, and pounded in the hot oil massage I’d booked as an add-on service.
When she finally delivered me back to the cold room, I lingered with my Turkish tea, then floated to the changing cubicle, where I oh-so-slowly made myself (somewhat) presentable for the real world. I was so relaxed I could barely manage to retrieve my credit card from my handbag to pay. And although we’d had a complicated love/hate relationship, I gave Berfu a respectable tip. She’d managed to remove my top layer of skin, and my level of cleanliness rivaled the freshness of a newborn. In fact, “Feel my skin!” became my catchphrase for the rest of the day.
Would I repeat this odyssey of cleansing, foamy indulgence? Probably…beyond being squeaky clean, I was transported by a magic carpet of soapsuds to an exotic place from the past, one filled with ancient rituals and a delicious cleansing warmth. Plus, I’ve never fully outgrown my fascination for those fragile tiny orbs of shimmering soap. Life is undeniably better with bubbles, don’t you think?
Merry Christmas & Happy Holidays! Stay tuned for Turkish Delights (Part 2) about our adventures in captivating Cappadocia.
It’s coming your way soon…
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Be curious! Be brave! Be away, eh!
