We arrived at the Orient Hostel in Istanbul at 2:30am after
a very long travel day. Flying
from Beijing to London, then London to Istanbul, and being up for about 28
straight hours was exhausting and we immediately crashed happy to get some
sleep. But this sleep did not last
long. Roughly 2 hours after our
heads hit the pillow a thundering “ALLLLAAAHHHH AKBAAAARRRRRR” boomed from the
Hagia Sophia, which was located two blocks away from us. This was our first time experiencing the
Muslim call to prayer, which occurs 5 times a day. The call lasts for about 5-10 minutes, and when it was
finished we were finally able to go back to sleep. That is until the next call that occurred around 8am… The video below shows just how close our
hostel was to the Hagia Sophia during an evening call to prayer:
Seeing that the Hagia Sophia was responsible for us being awake
at 8:30am, we decided we might as well see what it was all about. After grabbing breakfast on our hostel
roof, we made our way to Istanbul’s most famous attraction. The line was already at least 300 people
long and waiting in the hot sun for 2 hours wasn’t high up on our list. A few seconds after standing on line, a
man approached us and asked if the “Aussies” (we were labeled as Australians at
least 5 times while in Istanbul) wanted a tour which would involved getting to
cut the line. We were pretty
skeptical about his proposition; ever since our debacle with Rudy in the
Philippines we had been hesitant to engage these street tour guides. But this guy seemed like a real
straight shooter, and getting to cut the line already made the extra 25 lira
worth it (as long as he wouldn’t just run off with our money).
After the tour, we hurried across the beautiful park that
separates the Hagia Sofia and the Blue Mosque in the hopes that we could gain
entry before it closed during the next call to prayer. We were lucky to get in just in time,
and were given two cloth wraps to cover up our bare legs upon entry. The Mosque was carpeted from wall to
wall in order to be equipped for the masses of Muslims that would be filing in
to pray. It was a very cool
feeling being inside the Mosque, but we found the outside of the building to be
much more impressive than the inside.
Immediately put into a food coma by the
exorbitant amounts of hummus we consumed a nap was the next course of action
before we wrapped up the day with a sunset boat tour along the Bosphorus.
Our automatic alarm clock woke us up early again the next
day, so we again took advantage of it by heading to the Topaki Palace. Here we saw a great view of the
Bosphorus, as well as many ancient artifacts and relics that had managed to
remain in tact. The following
lunch we stuffed our faces with kebabs.
Our final day in Istanbul we decided to cleanse our bodies
and get a traditional Turkish hammam (bath). The Cagaloglu Hamami was our destination of choice. It has been open for business since
1741 and served historical figures such as Kaiser Wilhelm, Florence
Nightengale, and Cameron Diaz. The
following is my graphic and scarring account of what goes on behind the closed
doors of a Turkish hammam:
Alex and I were lead into a small dressing room, instructed to
change into nothing but a small towel, and then to go to the back room. After changing, we slowly made our way
towards the main bathroom in our wooden hammam shoes. A blast of heat hit us as we entered the
incredibly beautiful octagonal room, which was made completely out of white
marble. There was a huge slab of
marble in the center surrounded by sinks along edges of the room. A much smaller and hotter room was located
in the back right, where four other men dressed in similar garb were seated. We took our seat here to loosen up, and
wait to be called. After 30
seconds in this marble oven I could feel the beer and kebab grease pouring out
of my body, and quite soon I was drenched in sweat. A few minutes later Alex had had enough of the heat and went
to find the bathroom. Shortly after
his exit a large Turkish man, dressed in a towel that was somehow skimpier than
mine, pointed through the corridor at me.
I had been chosen.
He directed me over to the large marble slab in the middle
of the main room and instructed me to lie face down. I was a little shocked when he removed my towel from my waist
and fashioned it in a peculiar manner (I was now essentially wearing a Turkish towel
g-string) but I thought it was all part of the experience. It was not. I soon looked around at my companions from the sweat
chamber, and they were all wearing their towels normally. But it was too late now as two hands slammed
down on my butt cheeks; my beating had already begun.
The phrase “manhandling” must have originated from someone
who received a Turkish hammam, because it perfectly describes what was
happening to me. A large man was literally
beating the shit out of me on top of a very hard and unforgiving slab of marble. After he worked my back, he flipped me
over to be facing upwards (which really made the g-string towel thing awkward),
and started working my shoulder. I
have lost some mobility in my shoulder from an injury during my illustrious
football career and I could tell that it was bothering my masseur/torturer that
it could not move the way he wanted it to. This is when I made perhaps the biggest mistake of my
life. I opened my eyes. His face was 2 inches away from mine
and he was looking me directly in the eyes. It was as if he had been waiting the entire time, praying our
gazes would meet. His teeth
grinned through his thick, jet-black moustache and he gave me the creepiest
smile I have ever seen before proceeding to grunt “ahhhhh, yessss, YESSS!!!”
and put his full body weight into my shoulder. The shoulder moved the way he wanted it to.
Finally he slapped me on the back and we proceeded to one of
the baths on the edge of the room.
Panting, and feeling as though I had just went twelve rounds with Mike
Tyson, I limped over to the sink and was just happy to be able to sit down. This brief moment of tranquility did
not last long. He soon began
dumping bucket after bucket of water on my head. This proceeded until he must have determined I didn’t have the
information he desired because the water boarding torture stopped. Through my delirious state, I could see
him brining out his next weapon, the scrub. He began violently scraping my entire body with it and telling
me to, “Look at the skin, the
SKIN!!!” as layers of flesh were peeling off of me. Once my body was covered in dead skin shavings, he flipped
me over onto the floor by the sink and began to lather me up. But before he fully cleaned me off, I felt
an enormous weight on my lower back.
It was so immense I was unsure what it was, until it started moving to
my upper back. That’s when I realized;
this guy is walking on me. I could
barely breathe because his weight was compressing my lungs, but then strangely I
began to laugh. I imagined what a
sight it must have been to see this large, moustached, Turkish man in a skimpy
towel stomping my basically naked body into the marble floor of the most
beautiful bathhouse I have ever seen.
He eventually washed me down and dried me off, and Alex and
I were free to go. The feeling of
leaving the hot main room was incredible; it was as if I was a new person. My skin had never been so soft and any
knot tightness that had existed in my body was eradicated. Despite the pain and suffering involved
in the process, the hammam really did its job. While it may not be for the faint of heart, if you can
handle a bit of pain, the Turkish baths are definitely an incredible
experience. It was quite the
sendoff and we are hoping that our time in Israel can be just as enjoyable
without the pain.
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