For thousands of years, people have been visiting Turkey’s public bathhouses to have their weary limbs steamed, splashed, scrubbed and kneaded to a state of serene cleanliness.
But what’s the deal for the modern-day tourist unfamiliar with the hammam experience? Is there an etiquette? Are guys and girls mixed or separated? And do you have to get naked? We decided to find out on a visit to Istanbul.
Our Istanbul hammam visit wasn’t actually our first time undergoing the soapy scrub-down. Both John and I had tried the hammam ritual before, once in Morocco and another time in Jordan.
Each time we were scoured and polished to a stinging gleam, but both times we underwent the treatment in the privacy of individual hammam rooms at the hotels where we were staying. This time we were going ‘public’.
We still cheated a little. There are dozens of upmarket, expensive hammams in Istanbul, largely geared towards the tourist market, and while the bathhouse we chose might have been more low-key and budget-friendly, it was still styled as a tourist-friendly establishment. We weren’t entirely sure what that meant in practice, but we figured with other non-locals for company, we’d at least have a better chance of hiding our own cluelessness.
Who were we kidding?
Our Istanbul Hammam Experience
On arrival at our traditional hammam, a 560-year-old establishment originally built as a private bathhouse in a hunting lodge for Mehmet the Conqueror, we were greeted by a smiling young Istanbullu, who handed us a menu of services to choose from in English.
The principle of the hammam is simple: you wash down and sweat in a steam room before being scrubbed free of at least five layers of skin and bathed again. On our services list, you could also opt to follow up the steam and scour with a soothing foam wash, a relaxing oil massage, and a pore-cleansing face mask. We decided to go the full Ottoman.
Handing us each an exfoliating mit called a kese, and a Turkish towel called a pestemal, our beaming attendant told us to go upstairs and strip down in the private change rooms, wrap ourselves in the pestemals, pop the sandals provided on our feet, then come back down and go to the main hammam room.
At this point, normal people might have asked the obvious question: “Do I take everything off?” John and I though, feigning familiarity and too shy to ask obvious questions, mumbled our thanks and made our way up the stairs whispering at each other about whether or not we should leave our underwear on.
Not that I really had an option. Our decision to visit the Turkish bath had been lastminute and I wasn’t wearing a bikini. With a day of sightseeing ahead of us, I wasn’t going to chance wet underwear, so I took everything off and carefully wrapped myself in the pestemal.
In the hammam room, a large square space tiled in white marble and capped with a small dome that channelled light through ageing, painted glass, John and I gathered by one of the marble basins to wash and rinse ourselves.
While many public baths are segregated by gender for the entire experience, this Istanbul hammam – geared as it is towards western tourists – starts with a mixed gender steaming session. We were alone but given there was a chance others would walk in, I washed discreetly with my towel on. Before long, two young western women came through the door and promptly took their bikini tops off. Semi-nude is ok then, I thought, wrapping my pestemal a little tighter.
After washing, we lay down on the marble platform in the centre of the room to steam for a bit. There was a light mist and the temperature was pleasantly warm. Suddenly, our host popped his head into the room and summonsed me to a much smaller steam room where four other girls sat dripping, their damp hair plastered to their foreheads. The tiny space was dense with mist and pressure-cooker hot.
For the next half-hour I baked, while John continued his sweaty vigil in the main hammam, eyes closed and facing away from the semi-naked tourists seated nearby.
Finally, just as my backside was starting to burn on the marble step, I was called into another small room with two marble benches and a basin, for my scrub and foam wash.
Any concerns I might have had at that stage about having nothing on under my pestemal were whipped away with the towel by a small, stern-faced woman wearing a black swimsuit.
She didn’t bat an eyelid at my nakedness but proceeded to point me on and off the bench over the next fifteen minutes as she scrubbed, sudsed and doused me in warm water until my entire body was stinging and as bright red as my face.
The finale was the foam ‘bath’, a surreal-feeling blanket of pillowy suds released over my entire body with a flick of a towel before a final rinse off. Then she gestured me off the bench, gently wrapped the pestemal back around me and sent me out into the foyer, where an attendant wrapped my hair in a towel and brought steaming apple tea.
While I sipped my drink under the fading grandeur of the foyer’s high domed ceiling, John was experiencing his own version of the scrub and sluice, atop the large marble platform back in the main hammam.
When he emerged from the steamy room, looking slightly stunned and ten years younger, he explained how he too was scoured, sudsed and doused by a friendly attendant, but with a guy doing the man-handling, he had the added experience of being dragged around the marble slab by the feet. At least he got to keep his pestemal on!
I’d survived the naked scrub and wash by this stage, but I wasn’t quite ready to embrace naturism and I still had an oil massage ahead of me. So while John sat down to his apple tea, I slipped off to my change room and slipped my underpants back on.
Ten minutes later, I walked into the massage room, where a lady masseuse smiled warmly at me and promptly announced, “Everything off!”
At this point, normal people might have asked the question, “Everything?” Me though, feigning cool and too shy to say anything, promptly took everything off. Again.
I climbed up on the table and lay face down, relaxing surprisingly quickly under her practised hands, once I’d reminded myself that there was nothing here this lady hadn’t seen before. I was so chilled by the time I rolled over that I didn’t even flinch when she moved from my stomach and began massaging my boobs.
In truth, I was ready for it. Despite it being a general no-go zone at home, the boob massage is something I’ve encountered in every single massage I’ve had in Asia and the Middle East. It’s functional and doesn’t feel unpleasant, once you’re used to it. Be prepared though, or be clear up front it’s not for you.
At the end of the massage, kneaded, relaxed, and feeling strangely empowered, I wrapped the pestemal back around me and made my way back down to the foyer wearing a green mineral face mask, to sip some more tasty apple tea.
John also returned green-faced and serene. His massage, again with a guy, had been firm and relaxing. And he’d kept his pestemal on.
Our Hammam Experience Takeouts
Back on the street, looking cleaner than we had in two years on the road, neither of us were feeling much wiser about the ‘norms’ of the hammam, though we had our own take on the ‘tourist-friendly’ version now.
There’s a basic unspoken etiquette, of course: respect personal space and don’t stare at others. Cameras are a no-no away from the main lobby area (hence none of our own photos here).
In the mixed gender steam room, it’s polite to keep towels on or wear a swimsuit, though bare boobs seem to be ok. For guys, it seems the loincloth stays on throughout the hammam experience and a man does the scrubbing and massaging. For the ladies, going au natural in the private scrub and massage sessions also seems fine. You’ll have ladies looking after you in both. I’m sure if I’d actually asked to keep my underwear on, it would have been no problem. At the end of the day, it’s what you’re comfortable with.
Perhaps what you wear – or don’t wear – is different in the local, gender-segregated public hammams? We’re curious, but while the hammam is an ancient tradition that should absolutely be tried at least once when you’re in Turkey, we might wait a little while before we find out.
Our steam clean took place at Aga Hamami in Istanbul’s cool Karaköy area.
Have you experienced a Turkish hammam? Did you love it or did you leave with mixed feelings? Let us know in the comments below!