M-whY

I was trying to decide which hamam to visit - there are probably hundreds just in Istanbul itself - when I learned the guesthouse had something arranged for that evening. Nisaci Hamam is less touristy than many of the more famous ones, they told me, and the experience might be more genuine. Transportation was included in the 25 Turkish lira price, and at 8:00pm, two cabs arrived at the front door. The nine of us were separated by gender when we got there; Six girls went to the women's section, and a German, Spaniard, and me to the men's. Each of us were given our own cubicles to change in.

The cursory research I did before coming was enough that I knew I was supposed to strip naked and wrap the provided 'tablecloth' around my waist. Securing the pestamalrequired a couple takes, but I managed to do it. "I hope this doesn't fall off," said the German as he emerged not so well wrapped. A moustached Turkish attendant came around and lent a hand.

Our lower bodies satisfactorily concealed, we were led into the hararet, or main bath chamber. Cameras weren't allwed, but it looked just like the pictures in their brochure. The gobek tasi, a large octagonal platform dressed in marble, was situated in the middle of the '+' shaped room. Basins and faucets protruded from the walls of the main and two semi private chambers. Two turkish clients, the only other people there, glanced at us when we walked in, but didn't pay us any more attention after that.

"So... what are we supposed to be doing?"

"I guess we use the sauna first?"

Twenty minutes later, sweat dripping off my face as if someone had dumped a bucket of water over me, I asked, "Does anyone know how long we're supposed to stay in here?"

"Not sure, but I think I've had enough," said the German. We returned to the hararet, filled the basins with lukewarm water to douse ourselves with, and sat on the gobek tasi wondering what came next.

Presently, the same stocky attendant, now also wearing nothing but a tablecloth, entered with a coarse mitt in hand. He went to a corner and motioned for me to come over. My turn first, I surmised, and ventured over. His grin as I took a seat on the marble ledge communicated what his broken english couldn't.

You have no idea what's going on, do you? it said.

You're right, I don't.

Taking my hand, he began scrubbing deadskin and dirt off my arms. An embarrassing amount of it. Stuff I probably accumulated years ago in a pre-school sandbox. At regular intervals, he sluiced water to wash away all the unsightly rolls of grime, but not before (good-naturedly) pointing out how filthy I had been. Hooting all the while, he proceeded to clean my back, chest, and legs in the same manner.

"Okay!" he announced when finished, and saw me off with an ego devastating whack to the rear. The other two received the exact same treatment, right down to the send off, and then it was time for the massage. Now I would've liked a masseuse (woman) instead of a masseur (man), and almost anyone would've been preferable to the same heavyset man. The choice wasn't mine to make though, and when he came over to the marble platform and indicated I should lie down on my back... Keep an open mind, I told myself and assumed the prostrate position. "HRREAH! YOOOO! RRRAAAAH!" continued the hollering as he lathered me up and kneaded my muscles. In the society I was brought up in, getting rubbed down by another man would be considered strange to say the least, but evidently that's the way Turkish baths work.

This wasn't your typical touchy-feely type massage either; Here the goal seemed to be 'apply as much pressure as possible without bruising your subject'. It didn't hurt or anything - it just felt different from any other massage I've had. Halfway through, I was told to flip over. My position wasn't to his liking, so he simply grabbed me by the pestamal and slid me across the slick surface. I soon came to dread the moments I couldn't feel both palms on me; More than once, they came down in an indignifying thump on my rump. Each time it happened, I could hear the German and Spaniard cracking up. And of course, all this did was encourage him. A homophobe might've found it a nightmare, but nothing improper happened. Like I said, in keeping an open mind, we all found it amusing.

I took my turn on the sideline, watching the other two get manhandled as well. When they were through, I thought we were done, and was surprised to learn that a shampoo was included in the deal. I emerged cleaner than I've probably been in the last twenty years; I bet in the right light, I would've sparkled. We rewrapped in dry pestamals, were draped in towels, and brought back to the cubes to lie down for a bit. All in all, a very agreeable experience.

We compared notes with the girls when they were finished. Apparently, their facilities weren't as nice, and half of the original six had taken one look and decided to go elsewhere. The three that stayed said it was pleasant enough, and reported having a female masseuse, indicative of a less touristed establishments. They obviously didn't enjoy it as much as the guys did. Conclusion? Your mileage may vary, but it'd be a shame to visit Turkey and not give it a try!

Thanks to everyone for their support and comments! Knowing people are reading keeps me motivated to continue the updates!