Volunteering for the benefit of the program…
When ‘Taking a Bath’ gets a totally new meaning
We had survived semi-incarceration, avoided the gate to hell, experimented with natural acoustics, and been whisked away to Istanbul. You know how sometimes you feel like you will never be warm again? When you’ve shivered through a bus trip or a rainy afternoon only to be frozen again in some other location? Turkey was just one of those places (I will tell you about the frozen toes in South America in another tale soon, but in the meantime…). The beauty of the country not withstanding, February does get cold, and walking out to a look out point where you can see the Bosphorus Strait and stare across at Asia in sub-zero temperatures is not necessarily my idea of a great afternoon outing, but there we were, cameras and all, looking at the gulf that separates the two continents, literally and figuratively. And it was bloody cold. But all that is to say that after freezing, we had planned a much warmer place to spend the next few hours (no, hell wasn’t the destination, although come to think of it, after spending about 10 minutes of being pummeled and scraped, it certainly started to feel like it). We clambered back into the van that was taking us around the city, and set on our way. The first stop was to get our innards warmed up; a traditional Turkish coffee, created the way it is intended to be, long and pulled and strained and in other ways massaged until it is just perfect and ready to be served. The trick is to let it stand for a bit so the coffee grounds settle to the bottom of the cup, otherwise you will be constantly trying to strain the coffee with your teeth, unsuccessfully, and be making little ‘spitting’ sounds as you try to get rid of those little pieces of grit.
Entrance to the bath house
Steamy scenes
With circulation semi-restored, we moved on once again to a different part of the city. Clambering out of the van we stared at the brick facade of a rather large building. A single door provided entrance and we announced ourselves by ringing the door bell. We were greeted by the master and mistress of the facility and lead to a pleasant and comfortable waiting area. We settled in for a moment and divided our duties and responsibilities, and to Saksit (Taeng) and myself fell the role of being the guinea pigs or presenters for this segment to be produced in the sweltering interior of a true Turkish bath. Whatever thoughts you may have about Turkish baths – you’re all wrong. They are brutal, sweaty, and accompanied by a lot of grunting and inward groaning.
The camera crew entered the large domed bathing area first to get some initial footage before the real fires and steam were stoked. In the meantime, the host and his assistant (me) went to the changing room and got ready. Wearing only a checkered cloth, we entered the steam room and took a few moments to adjust to the temperature. Once we started to sweat profusely the time seemed right for the next step in our bathing ritual. Two huge men appeared and ordered us to sit upright on the marble seats. They had brought with them a huge pail filled with brushes and god only knows what else, and lots of soapy water. We were drenched, and then we got a taste of what perpetual scrubbing will feel like in hell. It felt as though they were using steel wool brushes on our arms, legs, and back. The only other time I looked so pink was when I spent a little too much time in the sun. Finished with one arm, copious amounts of water were poured over us to flush away any remaining bits and pieces of skin before they went on to the next arm, or leg, or whatever. I am certain some of this trauma was actually filmed and made its way into the program, but soon it was too steamy in the room for the equipment to stay any longer, and the crew (still fully dressed and sweating worse than we were) retreated to the waiting area and enjoyed a few cups of tea. The scrubbing eventually ended, and after a final pail or two of water being poured over our heads and bodies, we were declared satisfactorily clean and allowed to dry off and get back into our normal clothes.
Turkish carpets – quality products hand-woven
More adventures…
Despite the initial discomfort of the scrub-down, the bath had the intended effect, and I felt invigorated and fresh, and definitely a lot warmer and more comfortable than I had earlier that day. “This,” we were assured “was a true Turkish Bath.” Since I have no experience to disprove this statement, I will heartily propose that if you do visit Turkey at some point, don’t miss the opportunity to take in a traditional Turkish bath; the near inquisitorial manner in which you will be scraped and scrubbed may make you blanch, but trust me, the results are well worth the momentary discomfort. Having duly thanked our host and hostess, we made our way back to the van, and to our hotel, where two of us didn’t need to take a bath, but the rest of the crew had to sort their gear, take a quick plunge under the shower, and get dressed for that evening’s dinner and another Turkish delight. But this entry will be too long if I tell you all about belly dancing and belly dancers now, so I will save that tale and a few others for the next entry.
