Hot, Sweaty, and Naked

The 500 year old ceiling was domed and punctuated with small stained glass windows. Sounds of dripping water echoed in the connected marble chambers. I took advantage of the silence and closed my eyes, trying to relax. As awkward as the solitude was, I was glad for it. Soaked in a mixture of spring water and sweat, and lying on a hot marble slab in nothing but my undies was best as a personal experience, I decided. I wondered if Rob, in the men's section, had been allowed to wear his underwear, and grinned as I recalled his resolute stance to abandon the idea of a Turkish bath if there were free roaming penises during his session.

The allocated 15 minutes of sweating in the heated room elapsed and a woman entered. She was singing a local song and smiled at me, then slipped off her robe to join me in my semi-nudity. She instructed me to lie on my stomach and started rubbing every inch of exposed skin firmly with a textured mitt. Flip over, sit up... I was as passive as a child being bathed, or perhaps an idiot incompetent of bathing herself. It seemed the idiot was more fitting as I watched decades of dead skin rolling off like pencil eraser grit. After a douse of warm water, it was time for the lather and massage. I stifled a smile at the ridiculousness of being scrubbed down by a topless stranger, blinded by suds, and acquiescing to her will. The slippery soap was rinsed off my new baby-smooth skin with tub after tub of water. I spluttered, expecting another dumping of water over my head, but the session was over. Kadirga Hamami was certainly no day spa or Thai massage, but exactly what we had sought: a traditional style hamam. We were finally done in Turkey.