Hamam is Hamazing

Sunday.  Oops, it’s Sunday.  I forgot that matters a lot of places.  So the Grand Bazaar and the Spice Bazaar are closed.  Like I said, oops.  Anyhow, hotel breakfast is a fine Turkish buffet.  Let me explain:  All cold, included in price of hotel.  4 kinds of cheese, ranging from crumbly-salty sheep milk, to fresh mozzarella.  Dill with yogurt, mint with yogurt.  Plain yogurt.  Tomatoes on the vine, figs, olives, basil.  Juice in colors normal and otherwise.  Bread, preserves, eggs.  Coffee (European, yuck), pomegranates, yellow mystery fruits, capers.  I could go on, but I forgot the other stuff.  A fine way to start the day.  From there, into Aya Sophia first thing to beat the crowds.  For reference, this is worth it.  The crowds in these places become massive by lunch.  Anyhow, as amazing as we remembered the Blue Mosque to be, and as wrong as we were, we were 10 times wronger about Aya Sophia.  It is no longer being restored.  It be restored, yo.  Glittery Byzantine Christian mosaics everywhere, in a stone-arched building that is about the size of a blimp hanger.  Islamic additions.  Drillwork capitals and arcades all around, handmade almost 1500 years ago.  Those cool stairs that are worn into a ‘U’ shape because they’re so old.  A cat walking around soliciting attention.

Aya Sophia Interior

Drill-work Capital

Mosaic

After St. Sophia, the never-a-real-person sainted incarnation of sacred wisdom, we went to what was pretty much a jail for royal people, Topkapi Palace, which is right next door.  I’ve never been to Iraq (obviously), but it seems pretty likely that Saddam modeled the Green Zone on this place.  It’s like a big park… surrounded by layers of great-wall-thickness walls… full of people who lived at the Sultan’s whim.  Chock full.  The most interesting part of this place was the harem.  Apparently, at one time it housed 300 women.  It was posh, no doubt, and these people had strict traditions, a social ladder, the ability to become nobility or even royalty, but still… We went through a lot of rooms and none of them had an out door that wasn’t “just for the Sultan.”  You might say, as about half the signs in Topkapi Palace are eager to, “but the Sultan was really a prisoner, too, with every part of his day governed by ceremonies ad strict customs.  The first Sultan to travel abroad only did so in the mid 19^th century.”  True, but that first Sultan to travel abroad?  He was like “this is awesome.  I want some Italians.”  And brought back a bunch of Italian painters to make portraits of all the Sultans going back to The Conqueror.  So, basically, if he felt like it, he could just change all those rules and customs.  Pretty much like in Aladdin.  It must be said these portraits I mentioned are remarkable.  Since the bespoke Italians were not constrained by something like, say, an ugly ruler with brain damage widely hated by his subjects (it should be noted that the Ottoman’s never bought into the Eldest Son thing), but just some guy who had been dead for hundreds of years, and was known to be strong.  Yes strong, and handsome, probably.  And did we mention wise?  A brilliant scholar, too…  They could pretty much paint the old Sultans however they wanted.  Those are some good looking paintings.  If you want to know how to get old, or grow fat, or grow a mustache and still look like you could conquer Gibraltar, learn from these portraits.  Anhow, that palace is cool, but it is a palace, and Americans get tired in palaces, so we moved on.  That was when I found out the bazaars were closed.

Inside a room of the Harem at Topkapi Palace

We ate lunch at a place with great grilled fish, but terrible service.

Then, we decided to Hamam.  That is the Turkish bath.  Wow.  Famous for a reason.  We opted to go to the old Hamam that is relatively tourist friendly (they’ll charge a lot and be willing to tell you when you do something stupid).  It was designed in the 16^th century by the most famous Muslim architect, Sinan, so in the US you wouldn’t be bathing in it, so much a repatriating the remains buried in it.  Katy convinced me to do it full-on, with attendant wash and massage.  I’ve never had a massage before.  Anyhow, Hamam.  There are two identical ones in the same building, one for men and one for women, who are never supposed to mix.  On the men’s side, this is how it went down.  They gave me three pieces of plastic with words on them, and a little packet with a new wash mit, and told me to “go up, to right.”  I did that, and some men took one of the plastic chits, gave me a key and a towel, and told me to go into this little cell and change.  I new I was supposed to change into the towel and some flip-flops.  I had done my homework, after all.  I did this, and they were like “Go back, now.”  So I left my stuff in the cell, and went down, to the lobby, dressed in a towel and flip-flops.  The lobby was full of people sitting around doing the usual things: drinking juice, reading newspapers, having tea, talking to their friends, wearing clothes… you know.  So that was weird, BUT I DID IT RIGHT.  THIS IS, after all, PUBLIC BATHING.  No, more than that.  Act cool. This is THE MANLY ART OF PUBLIC BATHING.  Stand up straight, you represent your country, Matt, and those Scottish dudes are FAT.  So then I went into the bath proper, ready to be the BEST of ALL Turkish bathers, and pretty much didn’t know how to do anything.

So what did Sinan design?  Well, the changing rooms part is kind of like a three level courtyard hotel, with lots of those changing cells on each level, and a tea house on the bottom and the top.  My room was mine, and it was okay to just lock it with camera, cash, whatnot in it.  You carry the key on a wristband (Sinan didn’t design that).  The bath itself is remarkable.  It reminded me of either Weathertop, from Lord of the Rings, with a colander made of adobe on top, or maybe the Jefferson Memorial with a bunch of holes punched in the roof for light.  It is marble, round, columned and arcaded, and with faucets pouring into marble basins all around, and the adobe colander for a roof.  In the center is a giant polygonal stone table, maybe big enough for 20 people to lay on without touching, and it is all warmed by steam.  After looking like a moron for awhile, one of the attendants, a wiry guy about 50-60 years old sighed and was like, “fine, I’ll babysit the fool.” And told me to lay on the stone.  So I layed on the stone on my back and looked at the holes in the ceiling.  It was surprisingly comfortable, for being a flat rock, and the ceiling was pretty with all the holes in it.  I felt like a professional.  Eventually, my attendant came back and told me to “move over here.”  To one of the sides of the octagon/decagon/whatever and lay along it.  That was how it worked.  If it’s your turn, you get a side.  They are a little short for modern people, but work alright because everybody is getting cleaned.  If it’s not your turn, you lay in the middle, or go into one of the little marble houses (?!) around the edge. 

Then the scrubbing starts.  This is what the Turkish bath is about.  A little bit of soap, and a 60 year old belt sander wearing a towel.  They scrub you with the mitt.  All over (no, not in the butt), and hard.  Some little, dark-colored snakes of soft grit start to collect on you.  Realization hits: “Is that my skin coming off?”  “Yes! Yes!” Says the belt sander, emphatically, “Is YOU!” pointing to you.  “Is good, no?”  It is, in fact, kind of awesome.  Like a snake, or a bug.  Or a god.  Then there is rinsing, which is pretty normal.  Since Katy had insisted (I was easy to convince) that we get the full treatment, I was handed off to someone with real muscles for the oil massage.  This guy was huge, like a wrestler, with bulging muscles.  He said, “Where you from?”  Then later, “Relax, friend!”  And inbetween he pretty much just tried to kill me starting with all the muscles I misuse horribly when I bicycle.  I’m looking at you, tensor fascia lata, plantaris, soleus, and umm… fibialis?  Did I just make that up?  Maybe.  That was painful.  The kind of pain where you jump even though you try not to.  But good in the long run.  American steel being forged in Vulcan’s furnace… No.  Not that, but still, you know, worth it.  After that, it was back to the attendant.  I survived the wrestler dude!  It turns out that the wrestler dude was not the final boss.  The 60 year old attendant was.  The soap massage was 10 times harder.  One thing that was cool was that they would take a cloth bag, dip it in soapy water, and then fill it with air.  They would then squish the air-filled bag against you, forcing the air through the weave of the cloth.  This makes a ton of bubbles, and you can pretty much make a bubble bath with no tub.  Sweet! But since this is MANLY PUBLIC BATHING they massage you so hard you want to cry.

The end.  Shower, and wait for Katy.  Katy had the same experience, but with less brutality, and Jacuzzi deep enough to stand in up to your neck. 

IF IN TURKEY, THIS IS NOT TO BE MISSED.  Cemberlitas Hamami is the one we went to.  It’s like a waterslide in the Guggenheim.

After the Hamam, we walked down to the Golden Horn and had FINEST KABOB, Turkish wine, and semolina ice cream dessert.  And… cut.  Tomorrow hopefully we’ll get to go to the SPICE BAZAAR before leaving for the Mediterranean coast.