A writer who is modest and bashful takes a conservative stance in a traditional Turkish hammam.
As I lifted my arms and let the old Turkish woman tug at the corner of my large bath towel, I breathed a sigh of relief.
Apparently, as the half-dozen naked women strolled around me, that wasn't how it was done in Trkiye.
I hadn't tried to abandon my American prudishness before. There were a lot of opportunities to do so. I paid for admission to a hot spring in Colorado where the cover of darkness wasn't enough to abandon my swimsuit. I told myself I could be brave when I was required to scrub down fully naked in a locker room lined with shower heads, but then I caved and went into the private stall. I wouldn't skinny dip in private pools and swimming holes in Australia.
I was not comfortable with nudity. Being too modest could be an issue, but I have never thought it was an issue.
This hammam has been in this location. I was going to miss out on a beautiful cultural experience because of my fear of exposing myself to perfect strangers. When Turks migrated from Asia, they built many baths of their own, first in palaces for the rich and royal, then for the general public.
The Turkish hammam was first introduced in the 14th century. Satayman and Fragkidis are right and left, respectively.
They are still used as cultural institutions. Hamams have become more of a place to celebrate births, engagements, marriages in large cities. Tumer says it's to treat yourself. She sees a lot of tourists inside the walls.
As I was freed from my carefully constructed sheath, I pushed a long, meditative breath through my lips and forced myself not to cross my arms to cover my chest. I was going to have to get over my shyness about public nudity if this was what a Turkish bath would look like. At this point, it was exposure therapy.
The essence of travel may not be standing naked and afraid in a spa in a foreign country, but it is experiencing the very heart of a culture in a way you can’t ignore.
As the last of that towel swept across my skin, leaving me on display in nothing more than rubber sandals and a paper thong, I forced out a small laugh. I sat with my back against the marble.
They smiled and began to talk. I breathed it in, feeling my shoulders sink away from my earlobes, because their comfort in their own skin, their willingness to carry on a conversation completely naked with complete strangers, and their nonchalance,wafted over on the steamy airwaves of the bright white room and I felt
According to research from Dr. Magda Sibley, a reader in architectural history and theory, the traditional architecture you see in hammams today evolved from ancient Roman and Greek bathhouses, featuring a sequence of rooms that endures today: an undressing room, a cold room, a warm room and a hot room. Top: Smuldur; Middle: Alla Laitus; Bottom: Alla Laitus
My attendant, known as a natir, smiled at me and led me from room to room so I wouldn't slip on the marble, slick and shining under a glaze of bath water. I was doused with warm water from a metal bowl that was filled with warm water from the wall-mounted basins that lined each room, then told to sit and be doused again.
I stood up, was spun around, and told to spread my legs and arms. I didn't think I was doing this. The person is naked. Nobody who knew me would believe it.
My guide broke out a kese and began to peel my skin. The flimsy underwear didn't stop her from having sex.
As I watched dead skin peel off before my eyes, I was amazed at my own boldness. I wouldn't have backed down from this after all this time.
It was the most amazing step in my transformation. I was led into a central room where a round platform already held aloft a bunch of other women lay out and covered in a mountain of bubbles. The child in me was overjoyed at the thought of hiding under three feet of soapy foam. I could not stop myself from laughing when I was doused, rubbed down, and piled with bubbles.
The essence of travel may not be standing naked and afraid in a spa in a foreign country, but it is experiencing the very heart of a culture in a way you can't ignore. The photo is from Bay_Dragon.
I lay on warm marble under a mountain of suds in a room with at least a dozen other women and wasn't having a panic attack. I promised that I would remember the movements, the thoughts, the moment, but instead I was laser focused on every moment of the experience. Travel is so useful.
Isn't this the reason we travel to far flung destinations? Is it possible to experience a way of living that we hadn't considered before? The essence of travel isn't standing naked and afraid in a spa in a foreign country, but it is experiencing the very heart of a culture in a way you can't ignore and that has the power to change you
If I ever find myself in a women's locker room or sauna, I might not be so bashful to drop my towel.
That's it.
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She is a journalist and a photographer. As a child, she loved travel and outdoor adventures, but as she got older, she became more focused on sustainable living. Her work has appeared in Backpacker, Popular Science, Hemispheres, American Way, Austin Monthly, CultureMap, Eater, The New Zealand Herald and more.
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