After packing up, paying my bill, and breakfasting, I set off for the Cagaloglu Hammam, which isn't far away, just a few streets past the Basilica Cistern. This place is listed as the number one hammam and is in the book '1000 places to see before you die'. Not sure this is true but worth a try!
Being only 10am, it was empty, so I was lavished with attention and not rushed through. I decided I wanted to be pampered (naturally!) so opted for a triple rubbing down by two attendants.
I was fitted out with a pestemal (towel) and wooden shoes which are the most precarious footware imagineable, so much so that I abandoned them almost at once, being convinced they were an accident waiting to happen.
The central marble plinth is flat in this hammam, unlike the one at Cemberlitas which is where Simon and I went last time. That one is convex. It was also very busy that visit, and this time it was empty. I mean literally, empty, except for me! So I had the run of the place, lying about on my towel and moving from hot area to hot area, getting hot, sluicing off at one of the basins around the edges of the room using a bronze bowl. I lay on my back on the central slab and watched the sun move across so that gradually the motes of dust in the air became visible through the sunlight casting through the star shaped windows in the dome. There is also a huge chandelier hanging over the marble, and the only sounds were of water taps running, or when they were switched off, the occasional drip and plop of water which had condensed on the ceiling and fallen down onto the slab, or with a more metallic ring, onto the chandelier.
Just when I was drifting off, big mamma number one (name of Ushan) came and introduced herself. She was very kindly and unlike my last experience, treated me with consideration and care, as opposed to making me feel like 'yet another sausage to be put through the grinder'. Big mamma two appeared, called Phyllis (which is apparently the name of a flower - I asked because it didn't sound like a moslem name, and was assured it is). The two of them set about me with coarse mitts, giving me a dry scrub massage. Oh yeah.
Note: this whole experience is not for people who do not enjoy being touched, or who are coy or self conscious. These ladies do not deal well with embarrassment. They've seen it all before.
After the dry scrubbing, which removes several layers of dead skin, you are led by the hand to sit by the basin where they douse you down to get those flakes off.
Back again to the slab, where you lie down by the edge, on your towel, and are then soaped down in the same manner. Everything is scrubbed and buffed. Flip over, on your back, on your front, sitting so that arms can be done, in between your toes, nothing is held back. Sluiced again, by now feeling dazed with relaxation. But no, you aren't done yet!
This time, it's shampooing time by the basin. The shampoo smells much more pleasant than the soap, which wasn't exactly UNpleasant, but not as fragrant. I think it was olive oil based.
Ok, so now I'm definitely clean as a whistle.
Now the fun part: bubble massage. By means of dipping a cloth that looks like a pillow case into the soapy water and shaking it about then squeezing it from the top downwards, a huge froth of soapy bubbles cascades onto your body and is then used to give you a final massage, just in case any dirt dared to lurk behind.
For a country with a dominant religion which really doesn't quite know how to deal with women and their sinful, alluring bodies, this hammam experience is remarkably strong on physical enjoyment and indulgence. Of course it is also a place where women come to be together, to get clean and to relax. They also come to prepare for weddings and to celebrate other special events.
After all that massaging and cleaning, I was given fresh, thick towels and led across the entrance hall (camekan) to my cabin where I had locked my belongings to lie down on the 'couch' where I had moisturiser rubbed in to me from face to toes.
Finally, a large glass of freshly squeezed orange juice was handed to me. Once dressed,
I spent a while enjoying said juice at one of the tables, feeling renewed, relaxed and very, very clean..
The rest of the day has been fairly uneventful. I caught a taxi across to the Galata side, the new part of european istanbul, where I was booked into the rather lovely converted bank, now the Vault Karakoy House Hotel. My room must be an upgrade, as I am in a terrace room on the fifth floor, with, you guessed it, a small terrace with a table and chairs and a view up the hill to Galata Tower, and down towards the Golden Horn. I'm relaxing after an exploratory walk up and around the area, which is very steep... it's also very funky, with lots of coffee shops, clothing boutiques and tourist shops selling pestemal towels and associated articles as well as the usual bits and bobs: scarves, pottery, tea sets, t-shirts etc.
I have my eye on a falafal bar for supper.
Walked up the hill this time and found the falafal bar again and had a moussaka (which was basically a small portion of fried bits of aubergine, yummy) and a falafal. Pretty good!
Galata Tower and surrounds are packed with people, locals and tourists, but a very different vibe to that in the Sultanahmet area. These streets are serious trendy, but still attracting a student style, so that you see heaps of young people and those who still think young, hanging about, sitting on the steps and the ground, or filling the cafes, smoking, playing music, strumming guitars and chatting. Like a huge outdoor college scene. It felt very safe, very busy, lots of families still out and about at 10pm.
The Tower looks impressive at night, even taken on my iphone!
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